“Yes miss, I'm here to pick you up and transport you to the Montgomery residence. Is this, eh, all you have with you?” The man enquires, frowning at my single suitcase with a mixture of uncertainty and scorn.
I mentally roll my eyes at this asshole’s judgement of me. Responding with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “Oh no, I’m having the rest of my stuff shipped, I couldn't possibly cart all of my possessions across the two continents by myself, now could I?!”
I stifle a laugh at the man's confused look. I’m guessing people don’t usually speak to him like that as he doesn’t seem to know whether or not to take me seriously. Eventually, he must decide to just ignore what I said, as he reaches for my suitcase. “Right well let's get going.” Turning on his heel, he strides out the terminal door, assuming I'll follow him, which of course I do. I’ve no other choice unless I fancy living in the airport - no thanks.
As we step out of the airport, the warm Californian air hits me. It’s early evening and the heat feels like it's warming my whole body right through to my core. It's revitalising and definitely something I could get used to. It beats the cold and wet Northern Irish weather by a long shot.
Focusing on my surroundings, I notice a black limousine with tinted windows parked at the curb, right by the door, beside a ‘no parking’ sign - I guess rules don't apply to the rich and arrogant.
Leading me over to the car, the driver opens the door for me and I climb into the back while he puts my suitcase in the boot, or trunk, as the driver referred to it.
I hadn’t given it much thought, but I guess I’m going to have to get used to calling things by different names now. If I remember correctly from some of the TV shows I’ve seen, trousers are pants and trainers are sneakers; chips are french fries and crisps are chips…Jeez, it’s like learning a whole new language. I’m totally going to call things by the wrong name and confuse people.
Looking around at the interior, it’s safe to say I’ve never been in such a fancy car before. It has soft leather seats that I sink into and a plush carpet lies underneath my feet. Hell, it even has a TV and a mini-fridge. Oh, how the other half live.
I have no idea where we are going or how long the ride is, and the driver must have had enough of me as the divider separating us stays up, meaning I'm unable to ask any questions. Guess I should just sit and chill for now, and by that, I mean stress over what I’ve gotten myself into. Certainly, based on first impressions, it’s not looking too promising, and I have the feeling it’s not going to improve any time soon.
I must doze off at some point and when I next wake up I realise I slept for several hours. Flip, this jetlag thing is serious. I’m exhausted even though all I’ve done is sleep for the last day.
Looking out the window, I’m surrounded by trees on all sides, so tall that they block out the sun. Through the thin gaps in the trees, I can see mountain peaks in the distance, indicating we are miles away from the California coast now.
The trees continue to fly past us, not giving me any clue as to where we are, or where we are going. I must have been staring out the window for half an hour when we drive past a sign stating that we have just entered ‘The Town of Crescentwood’. I vaguely remember Nicole saying this is where my father lives.
Soon, the never-ending forest of trees is exchanged for high walls and steel gates, indicating people’s property lines. Peering through the gates as we drive by, I catch sight of huge mansions, larger than anything I’ve ever seen before. Each property is so large, no reasonable person could possibly need that much space. The butterflies in my tummy are at an all-time high, seeing the reality of this world I’ve stepped into with my own eyes. I have no idea how to fit into this life.
We have only passed a few mansions, some of which I can’t even see, they are set so far back from the front gate, when the car starts to slow and we approach a wrought iron gate with a guardhouse containing two armed guards, one of whom approaches us as we roll to a stop. This is the first house I’ve seen that has guardhouses and guards present.
While we are stopped at the gate, I notice security cameras mounted on top of the gates. Taking a closer look, I realise the camera provides a 360-degree view, and, looking further along the wall, I notice there are cameras mounted every 100 yards or so. Who needs so much security? It makes me wonder what he’s trying to hide, or who he’s trying to keep out.
I hear the driver talking to one of the guards before he signals to one of his colleagues and the gates open to allow us in. Now that I am right up at the gates, they seem even more sinister, like I’m about to enter through the gates of hell. I suddenly have the feeling, once I pass by them, I will never truly be free again.
Before I can fall too far into my internal freak-out, the car lurches forward and we drive through the gates. Turning round in my seat so I can look out the back window, I watch as the gates slowly close behind us, swallowing the lump in my throat.
We slowly make our way down a tree-lined driveway which opens up to a large driveway in front of an enormous colonial-style mansion with huge pillars all along the front of the building, rising to the roof; and more windows than is appropriate for any normal house. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Off to the side is a huge six-door garage and surrounding the property are luscious, perfectly manicured lawns and flower beds. I'm so far out of my comfort zone right now, I have no idea what to think. All I know is that I do not belong in this world with my ratty clothes, nails bitten to the quick, and 'don't give a shit' attitude.
Before I can take in anything else about my new home, the car door opens and the driver ushers me out of the comfort and temporary safety the car provided. I guess I better suck it up and get ready to meet my father.
I find myself wondering if I have any other family. Is my father married? Does he have any other children? What if I have siblings; brothers and sisters I’ve never met. I hadn’t thought about it until right now. I don’t even know if I want siblings. I’ve been an only child my whole life. More than that, I’m used to being on my own, never having anyone to rely on, socialise with, have an inside joke with. I have no idea what that would be like or if I’d even like it, or be good at it. Maybe I’m so used to being alone that I wouldn’t be able to get along with anyone else.
The driver grabs my suitcase from the trunk and strides towards the front door of the house, once again leaving me no choice but to follow him. As we approach, the door opens, and standing on the other side is a butler. Well, I assume he's a butler, it's not as if I've ever met one before, but he looks like a quintessential butler with his short greying hair, black suit with a grey waistcoat, and polished shoes.
“Miss Sophie, welcome to your new home. I’m Thomas, the house manager. I trust you had a pleasant journey?”
I’m unable to respond to him as I look around the foyer in shock. It’s official, I’m not in Kansas anymore. There is no way on God’s green earth that I should be standing here in this pristine, fancy as fuck foyer in my dirty trainers…eh, sneakers.
In front of me is a sweeping staircase that ascends to a second floor where there is a balcony that overlooks the front entrance. Taking in the rest of the entrance hall, I see portraits and sculptures delicately placed around the open space, and hanging down from the roof is an enormous, delicate-looking chandelier. Off to the left is an entranceway, beyond which I can see a formal looking living area. Another living area is through the entranceway on my right and looking past the stairs, I can just make out a homely looking open-plan kitchen and dining area.