by SL Beaumont
Stephanie paid and thanked the taxi driver and pulled her bags up the front steps and into the house.
“Now, I have put you in the blue room with the little bathroom at the top of the staircase. I hope that’s ok?” Ellie asked.
“That’ll be perfect, Grandma,” Stephanie said smiling. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and studied the pictures of various ancestors and family members which hung there. As a little girl, they had meant very little to her, but now with her burgeoning interest in history, she looked at them through new eyes. Wow, she thought, some of these are really old. I wonder how far back my family history goes? Making a mental note to study the photos further, she began lugging her suitcases up the stairs.
Stephanie wasn’t due in Oxford until October, which meant that she had two whole months of summer to enjoy. And enjoy it, she intended. She had worked hard for the previous six months juggling two jobs to save as much money as she possibly could, and now she needed a holiday, before the real work began.
A couple of hours later, a quiet knock on her bedroom door, offered Stephanie a welcome reprieve from an afternoon of unpacking. Her bedroom looked like a clothes bomb had detonated.
A tall, gangly boy with short dark hair and glasses slipping down his nose stuck his head around the door and grinned at her.
Stephanie stood up, smoothing down the short vintage dress that she had changed into, and smiled back at the face of her old childhood friend. “Michael Morgan, how are ya?”
“My god. How did the airline allow you to bring so much stuff?” he exclaimed, looking around the room. Suitcases lay open with their contents spilling out, stacks of books sat haphazardly on the desk by the window, and a large pile of shoes at the entrance to the small walk in wardrobe looked about ready to collapse.
“I didn’t bring it all this time,” she said a little defensively. “I left quite a lot of things at Dad’s house in London when I went back to New Zealand in February and he brought them down here.” Although, she had to admit, she had been rather surprised at just how much stuff she had accumulated.
Michael shook his head in disbelief. “Hey, your grandmother thought you might like a break from all of this, and I just have to take someone for a drive in the MG. I’ve finally got it running again,” he said excitedly. Michael’s pride and joy was a 1956 MG Roadster which he and his father had spent several years restoring.
“Great idea, I could do with a break. Give me a sec, eh?” Stephanie replied. She disappeared into her bathroom to fix her hair and makeup, leaving Michael looking through a box of books, which had just been delivered.
“You really are into this history stuff, aren’t you Steph?” he called.
Stephanie stuck her head back around the doorframe, lipstick in hand. “Yeah. They’re all suggested pre-reading for my course.” She nodded towards the box.
Coming out of the bathroom, she rummaged through the shoe pile and selected a pair of purple wedges and slipped her feet into them. She grabbed a small bag off the desk and throwing the long strap over her head and across her body, said, “Let’s go.” She followed him down the stairs to the front door.
“Actually it will be nice to get out and see Carlswick again,” she said. “It’s been a while.” She hadn’t spent a lot of time in the village at all over the last two or three years, preferring to stay at her father’s house in London, when visiting England.
“Wow. This looks amazing,” Stephanie said as she ran her hand lightly over the highly polished bonnet of the sky blue MG. The spokes of the chrome wire wheels shone in the sunlight. Michael beamed proudly and proceeded to wax lyrical on the quality of the engine and the original parts that they had managed to source.
Stephanie’s eyes must have glazed over, because he stopped talking after a couple of minutes and grinned sheepishly, pushing his glasses back up his nose, “Sorry, I’m boring you.”
Stephanie laughed. “Not at all,” she said. “Although you lost me at the bit about carburettors. I didn’t realise that you had become such a car guy.”
“I am assuming that is a compliment and not some sort of backhanded Kiwi insult?” he replied uncertainly.
“It’s a compliment, mate. Now let’s go for a ride,” she said, opening the passenger door. “Ooh, hang on – I need to get something.” She ran back into the house and up the stairs to her room and returned carrying a scarf. “The last time I rode in a convertible, I didn’t tie my hair up and I ended up looking like a scarecrow when we stopped,” she said laughing, as she slid into the passenger seat. She pulled her mane of straight dark hair into a high ponytail and tied the scarf around her head, securing it in a knot at the back of her neck.
Michael hit the accelerator, and they sped down the driveway, waving to her grandmother, who was sitting on the terrace, enjoying the late afternoon sun.
Stephanie grinned as they raced along the lane towards the village. Michael’s family were neighbours of her grandmother’s and he had been Stephanie’s childhood playmate when she had visited each year. Apart from her best friend Anna, who lived in London, Stephanie didn’t have a lot of friends in the UK, so she was delighted that he still wanted to hang out.
Carlswick had originally been a fishing village, with a bustling harbour, until the estuary had silted up. Now the sea was 10km away, but the pretty little village had survived thanks to the local farming community and in recent years the many lawyers, stock brokers and successful musicians who had decided to make the area their home. The village comprised quaint stone buildings, which tumbled their way down either side of the hill to a green village square nestled at the bottom of the valley.
Michael slowed upon entering the village’s main street. Without warning, he spun the car around and brought it to a screeching stop in front of an old pub. Stephanie had to grab the door to stop being thrown around. “Whoa,” she shrieked, laughing. “A bit of warning next time.”
Michael’s entrance had the desired effect and no sooner had he turned the engine off, when a voice called, “Hey Mikey.”
Stephanie turned her head in the direction of the voice. In the car park beside the pub, a group of girls were sitting at an outdoor table chatting to three guys, who were unloading amps, guitars and drums from a beat up Combie van. The shorter of the guys waved and started walking towards them.
“Looks like you’re about to meet the local rock gods – The Fury,” Michael said, as they got out of the car. “Y’know, they played all the summer music festivals and are on the cusp of the big time according to those in the know.”
Stephanie had heard of them. She’d also seen them play in London in January. Her friends in New Zealand would be so jealous to know that she was actually about meet them. Removing her headscarf and throwing it on the seat, she quickly composed herself; she certainly didn’t want to appear star struck. They’re probably completely full of themselves anyway, especially with an entourage hanging on their every movement, she thought, glancing towards the group of girls.
Michael came around to her side of the car. “I designed their official website,” he whispered proudly.
Stephanie looked at him in surprise. The guy, who Stephanie now recognised as the band’s drummer, reached them, before she could respond. His blond hair was styled so that it stood straight up all over his head and he peered out over his small round sunglasses. “Hey, Mike – nice car. Who’s ya friend?” he asked, turning his attention to Stephanie.
“Hey. This is Stephanie,” mumbled Michael, slightly put out that he was more interested in Stephanie, than in the MG.
“Hi,” Stephanie said looking him straight in the eye, as she arranged her features into one of confusion. “And you are?”
“I, ah, I’m Jack,” he stuttered, obviously used to being recognised. He ran his hands through his blond spikes and straightened his shoulders, stretching himself in a way that reminded Stephanie of a cat who had just woken from a long nap.
She smiled to herself. “G’day Jack,” she said
. “Mike, I just need to pick up a couple of things from the newsagent. I won’t be long,” she said, indicating, with a flick of her head, to the shop three doors down.
He nodded. Stephanie turned and started walking along the footpath. She could feel herself being watched and glanced sideways, where the other two guys were leaning nonchalantly against the van, taking a break. One had short dark, dreadlocks and dark skin. He had a couple of the girls looking up at him admiringly, hanging on his every word. Stephanie’s eyes met those of the other guy. James. He held her gaze steadily and gave her a half smile, before turning and lifting another drum out of the van and carrying it in the side door of the pub.
Shit! How did I not recognise him on the train? Stephanie thought, pulling her gaze away and trying to desperately ignore the blush rising up her face. He must think I am such an idiot.
There was a crowd of people around Michael’s car, when she came back from the newsagent several minutes later.
James separated from the group as she approached.
“Hello again Stephanie,” he said.
“Hello again, James,” she blushed.
“So you know Mike?” he asked quietly, holding her gaze.
“Yeah, we go way back,” she replied, self-consciously chewing on her bottom lip. Should I say something about not recognising him earlier? she wondered.
“Huh. It’s strange that we’ve never met before, then. I’ve known him for years too,” James mused. “What’s your surname?”
“Cooper,” Stephanie replied.
The smile disappeared and his face fell. “Not a Wakefield, Cooper?” he asked.
“One and the same,” Stephanie answered, studying him. Now that she knew who he was, she could see why he carried himself the way he did. Typical wannabe rock star – oozing confidence, she thought.
James sighed and his expression darkened. “So you don’t know that we’re not supposed to have anything to do with one another, then? My family hates yours.”
“Really?” Stephanie was surprised at the sudden change in the conversation. “Why? Did we win more prizes than you at the Royal County Show or something, eh?”
“Ha. That’s funny,” he said, the smile returning. “No, there’s some old feud. The Knox’s have had nothing to do with your family for years.”
Before Stephanie could ask him to elaborate, a pretty girl wrapped her arms around James’ waist and kissed him on the cheek. She glanced at Stephanie, giving her the kind of once over that girls everywhere recognised – assessment of a threat.
“Victoria. This is Stephanie. She’s from New Zealand,” James introduced them, not taking his eyes off Stephanie.
Stephanie smiled and said hi, as Victoria muttered, “well I guess that explains the outfit.”
Jeez, what have I done to deserve that? Stephanie thought surprised and a little annoyed. Her next words flew out of her mouth before she could censor them. “Well, I guess London fashion hasn’t reached the country, yet.”
Victoria gave her a dirty look and tossing her long copper tresses, turned her back to talk to another girl who had joined them.
James raised his eyebrows at the catty exchange. He went to speak, and then stopped, looking as though he were waging an internal battle. “My band is playing at the pub here on Friday night – you should come,” he said, finally, almost reluctantly.
Stephanie shrugged. She suspected on the train, that he was too good to be true. Of course, there would be a girlfriend hanging off his arm, she thought, disappointed. “Maybe. Are you any good?” she teased. Although she knew The Fury weren’t just good, they were great.
James’ mouth dropped open in surprise, but before he could answer, Michael called to her that they had to go.
She grinned at James’ expression, as she jumped into the passenger seat of the MG, hanging on for dear life as Michael roared off down the street.
Chapter 3
Stephanie woke early the next day. She rolled over in her big, comfy bed and looked into the smiling eyes of her adorable four year old half-brother, laughing back at her from a photo on her bed side table. She felt her heart give a painful squeeze. Toby. She missed him already.
Stephanie’s parents had met in London in the early 1990s, when her mother Marie, had been on what New Zealanders called their OE - Overseas Experience. It was almost a rite of passage for many young Kiwis to come to the UK after finishing school or university and spend two or three years working, partying and travelling. Marie had been no exception, until she met Max at the law firm where they both worked. Following a whirlwind romance, Marie discovered that she was pregnant and returned to New Zealand. Max followed and although they tried to make a go of family life, New Zealand was just too small for the ambitious and driven Max. After three years and much heartache, he returned to London, alone.
It was testament to the obvious affection that Marie and Max had for one another, that they put their differences aside to ensure that Max remained a strong presence in Stephanie’s life. And so, twice a year, she and Marie would return to the UK, to enable Stephanie to spend time with her father. When her mother remarried and Toby was born, Stephanie began travelling on her own.
It was during these visits that she got to know her English cousins, particularly Matt, who was just a year older. Max and Stephanie would often holiday with Matt’s family when she was younger. Matt’s passion was rugby. He captained his school team and had just completed his first year at Oxford, playing for the University. It would be good to have him around. She made a mental note to call him later, but first she had to call Toby.
Checking the time, Stephanie determined that it would be early evening in New Zealand. She could hopefully catch him before his bedtime. Grabbing her iPad, she sat up in bed and put a video call through on Skype.
By late morning, she had her room in order. She sighed and sat down on the small sofa in the corner by the window. The beginnings of a dull headache threatened and she massaged her temples. Fresh air and coffee – that’s what she needed.
“Grandma, I’m just popping into the village – do you need anything?” she offered passing the sitting room where her grandmother was getting ready for her weekly bridge game.
“No thanks dear,” she called.
Earlier, her grandmother had pressed a set of car keys into Stephanie’s hand.
“My car is yours to use while you are here, darling. I am not allowed to drive it anymore, more’s the pity. Eyesight, apparently,” she said with a disgusted shake of her head. “Michael’s given it a tune, so you should be good to go.”
Stephanie skipped around to the garage and heaved open the wooden doors. An old purple, two-door Fiat 500 was parked waiting for her.
“Yes,” she breathed excitedly, “I’ve always loved this car.” She slipped into the driver’s seat and adjusted the rear view mirror to her height and admired the black leather seats.
She had noticed a new café across the road from the pub, when she was out with Michael the previous day, so that would be her first stop.
Stephanie heard the café before she saw it. Situated on the main street, it looked as though two old buildings had been knocked into one. It had bi-fold windows pushed wide open at the front and rock music blaring from inside. Stephanie smiled to herself – I bet the old locals love that.
She pulled into the car park to the right of the building and walked around to the front entrance.
A loud roar coming down the street took her attention and she watched as the same Combie van she had seen the previous day pulled into the pub car park opposite the coffee shop, smoke billowing in its wake. She suppressed a smirk. I would have thought up and coming rock stars would be able to afford better transport, she thought amused. James opened the front passenger door and jumping down, ran his hands through his hair, causing his t-shirt to ride up exposing a hint of what looked to be very toned abs.
Stephanie stood rooted to the spot, appreciating the display. James looked around as though sensi
ng he was being watched, and caught her eye, just as someone roughly brushed past her knocking her shoulder. Taken by surprise, Stephanie dropped her car keys and turned to see who had bumped into her. Victoria strutted past; take out coffee cup in hand. “Close your mouth, he’s way out of your league,” she murmured nastily. Stephanie stooped to pick up her keys and watched as Victoria crossed the road to where James was standing.
Rise above it, Stephanie, she told herself, swallowing the retort which had formed on her lips. Shaking her head at Victoria’s retreating back, she turned and walked through the open double doors, into the café.
The café’s modern interior completely contrasted with the traditional exterior. The walls were painted white and about 10 square tables each with four chairs were scattered throughout the space. Along the two side walls were black leather sofas with lower wooden coffee tables and matching small leather armchairs. A long wooden counter ran along the entire back wall with black and chrome bar stools dotted along. The whole room smelled of freshly ground coffee mingled with fresh paint. The exposed wooden floor boards had been polished until they shone.
Stephanie instantly felt transported back home. Now, I just hope the coffee is good. A small drum kit was set up in the front corner by one of the windows on a square red paisley rug. Beside it rested several guitars.
Ooh, thought Stephanie, live music too – this just gets better.
A young guy was working flat out behind the counter making coffee, whilst keeping up a steady banter with his customers – all teenagers.
He had long curly, sandy-coloured hair and when he looked up Stephanie recognised him as The Fury’s bass player. Huh, they’re everywhere, she thought.
She joined the queue at the counter and watched him working for a few minutes. The guy was clearly swamped, but very relaxed and good natured about it, which seemed to rub off on his customers, none of whom appeared to be getting impatient.
