Melbourne Memories (Heart of Australia)

by Marion Ueckermann

  By

  MELBOURNE MEMORIES

  A Heart of Australia Romance

  © 2016 by Marion Clair Ueckermann

  This book is a work of fiction set in a real location. Any reference to historical or contemporary figures, places, or events, whether fictional or actual, is a fictional representation. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given away to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Contact Information: marion.ueckermann@gmail.com

  Scripture quotations are from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  Chapter 2 Scripture quotation from Job is from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by Marion Ueckermann Copyright © 2016 Marion Ueckermann

  www.marionueckermann.net

  Cover Image Couple ID 11872049 purchased from 123RF.COM © Branislav Ostojic

  Scene Break Image ID 23856165 purchased from 123RF.COM © marina99

  Dear Reader

  Defining moments. We all have them, and they can determine the rest of our lives. Sometimes they’re good—the best things that could’ve happened, the best decisions we could’ve made. But wrong choices made can set us on a path of destruction. They don’t have to, though. God can change everything. He can steer our life’s boat back to still waters, charter it to the right coordinates. All we have to do is hand over control of the rudder to Him and allow Him to steer the ship, to be our captain in rough seas and calm. Then we can breathe and remember, “God’s got this.” And there’s something so amazing about realizing that.

  Be blessed.

  Marion

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  PRAISE FOR Melbourne Memories

  Melbourne Memories by Marion Ueckermann is a wonderful Christian romantic thriller. It moves from the damp streets of London to sunny Melbourne just before Christmas. As with all Marion Ueckermann’s novels there is a delightful romance bubbling away underneath that just warms the reader’s heart. There are also some sinister undertones to the novel as the bright and airy coffee shop atmosphere clashes with the dark world of drugs and violence. What happens? Read the novel and find out! Another wonderful offering from Marion Ueckermann. I can highly recommend it.

  ~ Julia Wilson, Book Reviewer at Christian Bookaholic

  This story transported me to Melbourne, Australia, and is a beautiful love story combined with some suspense that certainly kept me reading. Marion has written a wonderful story that I thoroughly enjoyed about a former rock star finding his second chances at life and love through God's grace and forgiveness.

  ~ Ann Lacy Ellison

  Like a Phoenix rising out of the ashes, we see a former Rock Star’s journey from drug addiction to God’s love and redemption.

  ~ Linda Rainey

  DEDICATION

  To my Dad ~

  Thank you for all the precious memories.

  I miss you.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  GLOSSARY

  ABOUT MARION UECKERMANN

  OTHER TITLES BY MARION UECKERMANN

  Escaping his dangerous past, former British rock star Justin “The Phoenix” Taylor flees as far away from home as possible to Australia. A marked man with nothing left but his guitar and his talent, Justin is desperate to start over yet still live off the grid. Loneliness and the need to feel a connection to the London pastor who’d saved his life draws Justin to Ella’s Barista Art Coffee Shop—the famous and trendy Melbourne establishment belonging to Pastor Jim Anderson’s niece.

  Intrigued by the bearded stranger who looks vaguely familiar, Ella Anderson wearies of serving him his regular flat white espresso every morning with no more than a greeting for conversation. Ella decides to discover his secrets, even if it requires coaxing him with her elaborate latte art creations. And muffins.

  Justin gradually begins to open up to Ella but fears his past will collide with their future. When it does, Ella must decide whether they have a future at all.

  Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!

  ~ Isaiah 43:18–19a (NIV)

  CHAPTER ONE

  JUSTIN TAYLOR HUMMED A TUNE as he climbed the two flights of stairs to his bed-sit in the southern suburbs of London. Peckham. Who would’ve thought he’d end up this far cry from his luxury Chelsea home?

  He climbed the last step, and froze, swallowing the song. His door stood cracked open. He’d been found? He glanced over the banister to the ground floor below. Should he turn and make a run for it? But what if it was only some hooligan looking for spare change? Wouldn’t find any in there, that’s for certain.

  Justin’s feet skimmed across the dimly lit passageway. He pinned his body against the wall outside his flat.

  Breathe.

  Was the intruder still in there? Everything inside him screamed to take flight but he moved closer and stretched out his arm. Jesus, help me. Fingers splayed, he pressed against the door and peered into the semi-darkness. He paused, bracing for someone to bolt out.

  All was quiet, so he entered, inching his feet across the wooden floor. His eyes darted around the trashed room, his initial instinct to curse and then slam his fist into the nearest wall. Both would hurt. Justin held the thought captive.

  It had taken a while, but they’d finally caught up with him, and his tiny hideout was no longer a haven. There was no other option now—he had to get out of London. The city wasn’t big enough for him and them anymore.

  He rummaged through the upturned mess. He found his gym bag and hurried to fill it with the few items of clothing he still possessed.

  “Where is it? Where is it?” he mumbled as he sifted through the mayhem. He lifted the single mattress that had been flipped upside down.

  “Yes!”

  His small Bible lay in the corner on the floor, pages bent and crumpled from the way it had landed. He straightened them then placed the Bible between his clothes.

  Justin gave the room one final glance, then turned back into the poorly lit passageway and walked towards the fire escape, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He wouldn’t be back.

  He shoved open the fireproof door and scanned the dark area, lit by a single floodlight. Nothing, except for a few mice scurrying between the black wheely bins in the alley below. He took the metal stairs three at a time, adrenaline coursing through his veins. As he landed, he caught his breath at the stench of rotting garbage. He held his nose until he was away from the bins.

  Justin kept to the back streets, looking over his shoulder every few steps. Within minutes, he made it to Peckham Rye station without being followed. He hoped. Perspiration
clung to his skin despite the cold November evening air. He caught the train to Clapham Junction. Fifteen minutes later, he changed to the train at Platform 6 which would deposit him almost on Pastor Jim Anderson’s doorstep in Richmond. He knew this route well. Twenty more minutes, and he’d feel safer.

  By the time he arrived in Richmond, Justin’s heart rate had returned to normal. Whatever normal was. He hadn’t experienced that in six years. Still, he’d rather his heart rate was increased from living constantly looking over his shoulder than from sniffing expensive nose candy. By the grace of God, he’d never go back to a life filled with drugs.

  No longer sweating, now only a soft drizzle moistened his skin. Justin pulled his scarf tighter around his neck as he pounded the footpath. With every step, he thanked God he’d had the presence of mind to attend a church miles from where he lived, and to store his most treasured possessions with the pastor. With his British and Australian passports and his guitar, Justin could disappear and eke out a living wherever he found himself.

  He sprinted all the way from the station only to find the Wednesday evening prayer meeting goers still nattering outside. He stood in the shadows across the street, catching his breath, waiting for them to leave and for Pastor Jim to appear. When he saw Pastor Jim locking the doors of the chapel, alone, he hurried across the wet road.

  The pastor pivoted, hand to his chest. “Justin! You scared me half to death. What are you doing all the way out here at this time of night?”

  “I’m sorry. This was the safest place I knew to go.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “They found me. Taken them six months, but they finally found me, and now—”

  “Whoa, son, slow down. Who found you?” Pastor Jim laid his hands squarely on Justin’s shoulders, staring him down. Jim Anderson had made an incredible impact on his life from the moment they’d met, the day Justin thought was his last on this earth.

  “The enforcers…the debt collectors. Danny’s men. They were at my digs today—trashed the place. I was a fool to think that my former dealer wouldn’t turn over every stone searching for me.”

  Pastor Jim’s grip tightened. “How do you know it was them? Considering where you live, it could’ve been any number of bored teens up to no good.”

  “I know, Pastor, because bored teens take stuff to sell to feed their habits. They do not enter uninvited then leave an apartment turned upside down with nothing gone. Whoever broke in was looking for something—like the fifty thousand pounds I owe them. And they’re not going to stop until I pay up. When they find me, there’s no doubt they’ll want to teach me a lesson.”

  “Then you’d better leave London, son. But come to my house first.”

  “I don’t want to impose. You’ve done so much for me already.”

  Pastor Jim waved away Justin’s protest. “I’d be glad for the company. Mary left this afternoon to visit her sister in Oxford.”

  “Are my passports and guitar still here at the chapel?” Justin shifted on his feet.

  “Safely stored in my office. You hungry?” Pastor Jim continued without waiting for Justin to respond. “There’s plenty of food left over from lunch, plus a full fridge. After you’ve eaten, we’ll discuss your options. I’ll drive you to Heathrow in the morning, when you’ve had a good night’s rest behind you.”

  Pastor Jim turned to the chapel doors and unlocked.

  Justin followed him into the dark sanctuary.

  Soon the pastor’s Ford Fiesta wound through the streets of Richmond. The guitar case slid on the back seat while Pastor Jim’s eyes flitted to the rearview mirror every time they turned a corner. More than once, Justin turned and glanced through the back window at the dark streets behind them.

  Justin hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he sat down to a good home cooked meal. Reminded him of his mum and dad. Maybe he should just move back home like the prodigal son he was. But he couldn’t. His presence could endanger his family. Besides, he’d changed so much after his band, Rising Ashes, became famous—especially after he’d turned to the deadly white powder to help him cope with the pressures that came with being a rock star. When his best friend Billy died eight months ago, that was the beginning of the end. Soon he didn’t have the money to pay for his habit. Then Pastor Jim found him, helped him through going cold turkey, walked the road of recovery, and led him to Jesus. Now he plain did not want to give the money to that scum Danny Delaney. Not that he’d had it to give. At least not the amount he owed. All that money wasted, gone up his nose, and the noses of people he didn’t even know.

  “I think it’s best that you leave Britain altogether. Get as far away as possible. We could book a ticket online, but it’s probably best you buy it at the airport and pay cash. I still have the money you asked me to keep safe the day I found you in Hyde Park.” Pastor Jim took a sip of tea.

  “What money?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No.” He couldn’t recall much of that day. If Jim Anderson hadn’t crossed paths with him in the park… The stranger had saved his life and become his pastor, his mentor, his friend.

  Pastor Jim set the teacup back on its saucer. “You were on your way to pay your drug dealer when you were overcome again with grief. You told me about Billy, about the drugs, about the money, and asked me not to mention the money again until I thought you really needed it. Well, I think you really need it now.”

  None of this sounded familiar. How high had he been? Probably just as well he didn’t remember the money—would’ve been a temptation to start using again.

  “How much is there?”

  “Enough to buy you a ticket somewhere and sufficient spare to set you up and keep you going for a while. You’ll need to find work, of course.”

  Work? He glanced at the shaped black case propped against the wall. All he knew was singing and playing that guitar—the one he hadn’t touched in months. Billy had given him the guitar as a birthday gift. After Billy died, everything fell apart. The last time he played that guitar he’d left the stage mid-show and plunged further into a downward spiral.

  Justin wiped his lips, mustache and beard with a paper napkin. He hated all the facial hair, but it helped disguise him. Women, like the ones who had thrown their underwear at him during his concerts, now walked straight past him, revulsion etched on their faces. Even his designer shoes hadn’t hinted at who he was, because no one got past the messy beard.

  Maybe he’d try a razor once he’d settled in a new country, although he’d become partial to the hair. He might keep it. Justin swept his long fringe out of his eyes. Then again, maybe not.

  “Australia should be far enough away, don’t you think? I was born there, so I have dual nationality.” He’d been back to Australia when the band did their world tour two years ago. Sydney. Melbourne. Perth. He’d loved them all. Though it would be interesting to see the place through drug-free eyes.

  “Perfect. And I have a niece in Melbourne who could help you get on your feet.” Pastor Jim smiled.

  “No.” Justin raised his hands and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I couldn’t take charity, especially from people I don’t know.”

  “I know her. She’s my late brother’s daughter, Ella—a lovely lass. Let me call her and tell her you’re coming. Pre-introduce you. She owns a coffee shop in the city. I think it’s pretty well known. I’m sure she’d be happy to help you out, maybe even give you a job.”

  He wouldn’t—couldn’t—impose on anyone. “No.”

  Pastor Jim sighed. “All right. But if you find yourself in a bind, or just need a friend to talk to, go to Ella’s Barista Art Café on Southbank Promenade.”

  Even though Pastor Jim had been teaching him about truth and righteousness and honesty these past few months, Justin couldn’t stop the words that tumbled from his mouth. “I’ll be all right.” If he could get far enough away, there might be some truth to his words.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ELLA ANDERSON
SUCKED IN A BREATH, trying to still the flutter in her stomach as her eyes darted to the clock on the wall again. Almost eight. Any second now.

  She pressed the plastic lid firmly onto the takeout cup, and held out the hot drink and bagged breakfast muffin to her customer with a wry smile. In the crowded coffee shop, chatter from coffee aficionados rose like rain falling on a tin roof. She raised her voice. “There you are, sir. One orange poppyseed muffin, and a medium cappuccino with a shot of caramel to take away. That’ll be eight dollars eighty.”

  Ella glanced down as the tall, groomed businessman, not one of her regulars, slid two five-dollar notes across the counter. The man’s fingers brushed against Ella’s as he claimed his purchase. Accidental, or deliberate? He gave a super-white grin and glanced at her name badge.

  “For a phone number, Ella, you can keep the change.” His grin widened, revealing more perfection. He must’ve spent hours in an orthodontist’s chair growing up. Either that or he was just plain blessed.

  Ella punched the amount into the vintage cash register. Yeah right, Mr. Generosity. One dollar twenty will go a long way. The cash drawer sprang open, and Ella stuck her hand inside. She withdrew a silver twenty-cent coin and a gold dollar and pushed them in his direction with two fingers.

  “Enjoy your coffee and muffin.” She offered her usual bright and bubbly barista smile, but only because she expected that from all her employees. If they were expected to uphold the policy, shouldn’t she? Friendly service was one of the reasons Ella’s Barista Art Café was the most famous coffee shop in Melbourne.