When Poppy's grandfather dies, her father inherits his childhood home in Happy Springs, New Hampshire. He decides to take his three daughters from England on their first trip to the land of his birth to fix up the house as a potential summer home and give Poppy a break from some problems she's been having. He says it's an old house that just needs a little work to restore it back to its full glory. It's going to be fun fixing it up. Poppy isn't so sure...

---

 
There are two sorts of people in the world.

The first type are 'Morning People'. You probably know one, those sorts who skip merrily into each new day with an animated blue bird swooping around them and virtually sing the words 'good morning' like they are Debbie Reynolds, Gene Kelly or the other guy. There is something unnatural about people who wake up cheerful. I hate these people with a passion.

The second type of people I like to call 'Normal People'. Those people who need a bit of a run up at the day and some peace and quiet while they ease into the morning. I'm one of these people. I liken normal people waking to a computer starting up in that you have that period between pushing the start button and the operating system loading. Cornflakes, juice and a shower is my BIOS.

Unfortunately for me, my sister Fleur is a morning person. I love her. No offence intended to Daisy but Fleur is totally the bestest sister in the world. And yet, one day not too long from now I will probably smother Fleur in her sleep. Possibly even tonight.

~o~O~o~

"Nggggggggh!" I screamed, going from peaceful slumber to wide awake in the space of a second.

In front of me the sight of Fleur howling with laughter disappeared from view as a curtain of tangled bed hair fell across my eyes. Not that I can make out her laughter because all I can hear right now is the opening to Van Halen's 'Jump' blasting in my ears. Pulling the iPhone ear buds free I clutch at my poor abused ears.

"Oh. Em. Gee," cackled Fleur, fanning herself with hers hand. "Your face."

Mumbling an obscenity at her, I fell back into my sleeping bag. Unfortunately that only caused her to laugh harder.

"Wha' time?" I asked, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. The start of one of those headaches you get when you wake up too quickly from a deep sleep was tickling at my brain.

"Real or local?" asked Fleur.

"Both?" I yawned.

"Real time is just past Midday and local is just past 7am. FYI, Daisy has been up since 5am local."

"Thanks for letting me sleep in then," I groaned. Daisy was also a morning person, as was my dad. I took after mum in being normal.

"No problem. Dad said it's time for you to get up though. We've got the first of the builders arriving for nine and dad wants us ready to go for then."

"Ugh."

"C'mon, shake a leg. It's a beautiful Thursday morning in America and we've got a lot to do. I'll be in the kitchen sorting out breakfast," said Fleur, patting my sleeping bag covered leg. In response I just covered my head with my pillow.

~o~O~o~

"Hey sleepyhead, I thought I was going to have to come back there and sing or something," giggled Fleur, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as I shuffled into the kitchen. I'll confess I wasn't the quickest of risers and it had taken me best part of ten minutes to get up.

"Mof'ee?" I mumbled as I wiped the sleep out of my eyes with the heels of my palms.

"Sorry, mof'ee's off. The power isn't yet back on. Grab a seat and I'll get you some orange juice," said Fleur giving my shoulder a quick squeeze before turning to a collection of brown paper bags set out on the kitchen worktop. "It's room temperature I'm afraid."

I let out a catlike yelp of a yawn as I slumped heavily down on a high backed wooden kitchen chair, which creaked slightly under my weight. Resting my head against my arm as I slumped against the table I enjoyed the comfortable softness of the sleeve of my cotton dressing gown acting like a pillow. Golden early morning sunlight flooded the room through the windows running along the rear wall of the kitchen.

"Hey, when did we get a table?" I asked, realising what I was resting against. "This wasn't here yesterday."

"It was but not here. Dad found it in the wait for it... not one, but two... car garage with a few other items of furniture. He thinks it was the table his parents had in the kitchen when he was a kid so he cleaned it up and put it back here," said Fleur, punctuating the words 'one' and 'two' by holding up the appropriate number of fingers.

"Wow if it's that old maybe we should be calling the Antiques Roadshow in to see if it's worth something?"

"I'm gonna tell dad you said that," laughed Fleur as she placed a carton of juice and an empty plastic cup on the table. "Drink up."

"It's smooth right? You know I don't like the bits," I whined.

"I still can't work out how your pet name from dad isn't 'princess' given how much you moan about things... there's no duck... my orange juice has bits in it..." mocked Fleur with a laugh. "It says 'no pulp' so I think that means it's smooth. I mean the bits are pulp so it must be the same thing."

"What's for breakfast?" I asked, pouring the juice into the cup.

"You're drinking it."

"We couldn't stretch to a bowl of cereal or something? I thought you guys went shopping yesterday?"

"We did but we're not going to do a proper food shop until the power has been restored. Anyway, fear not young one," replied my sister with a knowing smirk. "Dad has promised to take us out for 'brunch' later to a place spoken of in hushed whispers amongst the members of his tribe. A house where they sell pancakes of a cosmopolitan nature."

"Sweet," I yawned, sweeping a tangled mass of hair back. "Our first authentic American brunch experience. It's going to be those thick chunky American pancakes you see in the movies, right?"

"As large and as thick as a manhole cover according to dad."

"Not that our father is prone to wild exaggeration or anything."

"Of course not," replied Fleur with a wink.

Draining the orange juice from my cup, I stretched and started to feel a bit more awake. I poured myself a second cup of juice and glanced around the room. The kitchen was large by standards back home. The wooden kitchen units formed a wide 'U' shape, probably at least twice the size of our kitchen back home, with the open end filled by the large windows dominating the external wall. On one side within the 'U' was an island worktop with a sink and on the other side was the table. The whole room smelt slightly of bleach and I noted a pile of cleansing stuff on one of the worktops.

"Where's dad?"

"He and Daisy are out walking the cat."

"Oh okay... wait? what?"

"Walking the cat. And don't start, I've already said it to them but Daisy doesn't want to let Fluffy out of the house alone until we've had chance to butter the cat's paws. It was a suggestion from mum. Hence the said walking of said cat so it can do its business. Not only are we going to be the kids from the creepy old Haas place but we're going to be the strange kids from the creepy old Haas place," sighed Fleur.

"Great."

"Yeah."

"Is are phone working then if mum called?"

"No, dad called her on his mobile. The house phone is another one of the 'today' things according to dad."

"Oh. Mum's okay with us having Fluffy?" I asked, remembering her allergy was the reason we'd never had a cat before.

"Subject to a couple of conditions over where Fluffy can go in the house, yeah. She did make it clear when she and the boys fly over next month she expects the place to be spotless with no stray fur."

"Great. We get to clean this place top to bottom not once but twice," I groaned.

"Yeah... anyway, you need to grab a shower and get ready," said Fleur picking up the carton of orange juice. "Dad cleaned the family bathroom yesterday. We can't use the shower until he's replaced the head and we've no hot water anyway until we have power but the plumbing does work, so you should be able to have a cold strip wash."

"Oh joy."

"I've put your towel on top of your suitcase with your bathroom stuff," said Fleur, shooing me out of the chair as I drained the last of my juice from the cup. "C'mon. Chop, chop. Lots to do."

~o~O~o~

Brushing the last of the tangles out of my hair, I played with the fringe with my fingers teasing it out as I wanted in the mirror. I knew it was a vanity but I was proud of my hair. Starting off fairly straight it naturally turned into loose curls by the time it reached between my shoulder blades. The colouring of my hair took after my father's dark blonde hair rather than my mother's strawberry blonde, although there was a hint of red to it in the right light. The way I figured it we all were entitled to at least one vanity and my hair was mine. It took a lot of work to maintain properly but was well worth it for the changes it made to the shape of my face.

Turning my head slightly from side to side, I found myself smiling at my reflection in the bathroom cabinet mirror. I'd started blockers at 15, hormones at 16 and I was quietly pleased with how I looked. I mean I could look better. I wasn't beautiful by anyone's standards except maybe my parents and they were clearly biased. Even pretty would be a real stretch but I thought I had the whole fresh faced English Rose look down well. To be fair with a skin colour so pale it was almost blue, my choices were either the English Rose look, the Goth look or the St Tropez spray tan look. On that basis the English Rose look was a good look, a little bit of blush, some understated eye make-up and a little mascara and 'barely there' pink lip colouring. The words of the song by the Jam came to mind, 'no matter where I roam, I will return to my English Rose'. Well, if it was good enough a look for Paul Weller to find attractive, it was good enough for me.

I reached into my toiletries bag and pulled out a scrunchy ringed with paper pink roses that I pulled over one wrist. I had a feeling I'd be needing later if dad had us gophering for him. It was actually my mother's but she let me have it as she'd worn her own hair in a professional chin length bob since I was a tweenie. She'd been given it as a teenager in the 80's by grandma making it an honest to goodness 'vintage' fashion scrunchy, which along with the snood and legwarmers formed the holy trinity of 80's retro fashion for the 21st Century. I also treasured it because she'd given it to me, not Fleur. It felt kinda like a rite of passage to womanhood, something passed down from the matriarch that wouldn't have been passed to one of my brothers.

My thoughts were interrupted by the muffled sound of Fleur calling up to me. "Hey hurry up in there! Dad will be back soon!"

Gathering up my toiletries and cosmetic bags I swore under my breath as the later slipped from my grasp, spilling over the floor. Kneeling to pick everything up, I paused as I saw the white back of a square of photo paper. Turning it over, I felt a lump form in my throat at the image of two nearly identical teenage girls on it. One was a little taller and the other one was a little more filled out in a good way. They easily passed for cousins or at a casual glance even as sisters. The same hairstyles, clothes and general overall look gave a sort of twin vibe. Both girls were linked in an embrace with broad smiles on their faces as they hoisted high champagne flutes in a toast against a backdrop of paintings with sold tags on a gallery wall.

"Ellie..." I whispered, tracing the outline of the shorter of the two girls with my finger. "I miss you so much. I... I..."

Bowing my head, I squeezed my eyes tightly shut to try and regain control over my emotions. The only sound in the room was my ragged breathing and the soft pitter-patter of tears as they fell from my eyes onto the photograph. I'd truly forgotten about the photograph, buried as it was at the bottom of the bag. Once it evoked such a pleasant memory that I carried it everywhere but now all it represented was pain and guilt.

The photograph was from when we were celebrating the close of our first exhibition. Well, Ellie said it was 'ours' because in that irrepressible mad way of hers of looking at the world we were the stars of the show. It was like she lived in an imaginary version of the Truman Show and everything really was about her. In actuality it was an exhibition for a dozen or so local artists but regardless of the truth, the fact that we were the only ones to sell out all our works just reconfirmed her view of us as sixteen year old art prodigies. I remember her saying 'Stick with me kiddo and you'll be all right' just prior to that photograph being taken. If I only had of done she might still be alive but I didn't. I didn't... and she was dead. And I wasn't but I should have been.

"Get it together you stupid cow," I cursed in between sobs, punching myself in the leg. "Get it together."

After a few minutes, I managed to stop the flow of tears. Wiping at my eyes, I groaned noticing the black streaks on my fingers and set about retouching my make-up.

~o~O~o~

"It's typical of mum isn't it? Thousands of miles away and she still runs this family," sighed Fleur. "Do you think this matches the picture?"

Fleur held up a picture of a telephone, one of those cordless ones that lets you walk around the house with the handset, that had been taken off of the Wal-Mart website. In her other hand she held a box with an apparently matching picture on it. After a quick glance I nodded my assent to Fleur.

The thing about our mother was that unlike dad, who was a bit of an idealist and a dreamer, she was very organised and practical. Mum might not want to build a new world like dad but she was damn well going to make sure the existing one ran properly. She was a barrister and was a partner in her own small but successful chambers specialising in corporate law and was known for 'tilting at windmills' as she put it. If you had a difficult, technical case hinging on an obscure point of law, mum was your barrister. She was a hardnosed, no nonsense, intellectual career woman who cried when one of the robots died in the film Silent Running of all things, sang Disney musical numbers in the shower and drank her tea every morning out of a wonky cup I'd made in pottery at junior school. She was a walking bundle of contradictions. I really missed her.

"Penny for them?" asked Fleur, tugging gently on my sleeve.

"Just thinking about mum," I replied with a slight sniffle. "I miss her."

"Yeah, me too," said Fleur sliding the box with the telephone into the shopping trolley. "Though there are some advantages to being here without her."

"Like what?"

"Like being with dad is kinda like being on holiday without responsible adult supervision."

"You're so bad," I laughed, lightly slapping her on the arm. "But thanks for making me smile... so what's next on the list?"

"Let's see...." said Fleur, shuffling various website print outs in her hand. "We've got the phone... the kitchen appliances... we eventually got the one thing mum didn't provide a print out for, the bedding, after working out why the duvets looked odd and didn't have tog ratings... we need a table lamp... and dad forgot to pick up a cordless drill yesterday, so we need one of those..."

"I call the lamp."

"Thought you might," said Fleur with a smile handing me a piece of paper. "Mum wants that one."

"Where should we meet up?"

"Ummm... see that sign over there?" asked Fleur, pointing to a sign in the distance that read 'Customer Service'. "How about we meet there?"

"Okay... how about last one there has to do the others cleaning duty for Fluffy's tray for the week?" I asked, surreptitiously glancing up at the aisle signs. The lamps were a couple of aisles further away but I wouldn't be slowed down by the wonky wheeled trolley like Fleur which fought to go in the opposite direction from the one you pointed it in. "Or are you chicken?"

"You're on," cried Fleur, laughing as she pushed the trolley at me before starting off in a sprint. "Don't forget the trolley."

"Bitch!" I shrieked after her. "You fucking cheater!"

Hearing a throat being cleared behind me, I turned to see the disproving glare of a stern faced elderly lady.

"Bollox," I muttered under my breath as I schooled my expression into my most contrite face.

~o~O~o~

Puffing hard from the exertion I wrestled the shopping trolley to a halt next to Fleur at the Customer Service Desk, the muscles in my arms screaming from the fight to make it go remotely in the direction I had wanted it to go. Fleur glanced briefly in my direction before turning her attention back to a poster on the wall by the desk.

"That sooooooo doesn't count," I hissed. "You fu-freaking cheated. Not only that some old biddy chewed my ear off about my language thanks to you."

"As that old guy in one of your geeky films says, 'I changed the conditions of the test'. I won and you get poop scoop duty," said Fleur smugly. "Anyway, that's not important. Look at this."

I looked over at the poster Fleur had been pointing too.

"HAAS for Congress..." I read from the poster, a patriotically decorated red, white and blue affair. A woman of indeterminate age with immaculate coiffed hair and who bore a strong familial resemblance to dad, reassuringly smiled out of the poster. "I didn't know we were running."

"I think dad has some explaining to do," said Fleur.

"You bet he does," interrupted a new voice from behind us. "And not just about your Aunt Kathy's congressional career."

"Aunt Libby!" squealed Fleur turning and embracing the woman behind us.

"Hey sweetie," laughed Aunt Libby returning the hug. "It's been too long."

Breaking the embrace Aunt Libby turned her attention to me. She took a step back to appraise me for a moment and I found myself shifting uncomfortably under her gaze.

"And I'm guessing this tall drink of water is my niece Poppy. C'mere sweetie," she said, her face breaking into a broad grin as she spread her arms.

"I'm not that tall Aunt Libby," I sighed as I settled into her hug.

"You're taller than me girl," she laughed "And both of you are as skinny as a rake, which we'll have to change. I guess that's to be expected though. Your mom's a skinny little thing too."

At 5' 6" or so, Aunt Libby was by no means short although I was a three or four inches taller than her. However, the real difference between us was in her shape, which curved in all that right places giving her a figure I could only envy with my much narrower hips and smaller bust. Even Fleur looked a little androgynous next to Aunt Libby, although to be fair I think a lot of women probably did. Even in jeans and a black polo shirt she was femininity personified. She looked gorgeous and she clearly knew how to use it. If you looked carefully you could see she used more make up than you'd imagine to look like she didn't use much at all but it worked in giving her a faked natural beauty look. I remembered dad saying she'd been a cheerleader in high school and clearly she still kept in shape because there wasn't an ounce of fat in the wrong place as far as I could see despite her curves.

"You look even prettier in person than you do via Skype girl," whispered Aunt Libby in my ear. "Welcome to the family young lady."

I squeezed Aunt Libby in response, feeling the warmth of her love for me. Somewhat reluctantly withdrawing from the hug I dabbed at my eye to blot a stray tear.

"Are your parents here?" asked Aunt Libby, looking around.

"No, it's just us. Dad and Daisy are back at the house," replied Fleur. "We were on a shopping expedition while dad speaks to the builders. We were going to surprise you later."

"That sounds like something my brother would do," chuckled Aunt Libby good-naturedly. "I'm pleased to hear you've got professionals in though and he won't be doing the work himself. I've seen what he's like when he's got tools in his hands, it's like evolution in reverse."

"Ummm... we're only using the builders for the big stuff. We'll be doing all the decorating and such," said Fleur with a touch of exaggerated despondency. "Unless of course you could convince him otherwise..."

"Don't you get me involved in family feuds now," said Aunt Libby genially. "That battle you have to fight on your own. Or get your mother to fight."

"It's on her orders we're doing the decorating. It's a money saving measure."

"Where's Alice and your brothers anyway?" said Aunt Libby placing an arm around Fleur's shoulder. "I'd have thought you all would have come over together?"

"Mum's got a case that's going to run a few more weeks, so she and the boys are staying until it's over. Grandma is helping her out until then."

"It's worrying on all sorts of levels that she's left your father in charge."

"I'm not convinced that Daisy isn't in charge," I giggled. "She's got dad wrapped right around her little finger."

"Oh you can sooooooooooo talk, 'pumpkin', about that!" exclaimed Fleur. "Don't think I've seen you."

"Hey, I got a computer for my last birthday. A nice computer sure but still a computer. You got a car on the strength of batting your eye lashes at dad!"

Fleur had got an old VW Beetle in 'Herbie' colours from my parents for her eighteenth birthday. It gave her a level of freedom that I could only dream about. She could go where she wanted, when she wanted. I had to take a bus or the taxi service of mum and dad. The only blessing was that mum had made her display green 'P' plates on the car, which Fleur hated.

"I did not! Anyway, I seem to recall you got driving lessons for your last birthday and if you actually take your test... again... and pass this time then who knows what your birthday present might be..."

"That bollard jumped out at me!" I hissed, jabbing a finger at Fleur.

"Hey girls, cool it!" said Aunt Libby placing a hand on my shoulder. "I thought your mother said you two were getting on better now."

"Oh this is better," laughed Fleur, winking at me. "This is nothing like what it was before, right sis?"

I pouted a little before a smile crept across my face. "It's okay Aunt Libby, we're good. Besides, I kinda like having her chauffeur me about."

"Yes M'lady," intoned Fleur in her best Parker impression as she doffed an imaginary cap.

"So," I asked turning back the poster. "Who's Aunt Kathy?"

"You... you don't know who Kathy is?" asked Aunt Libby, canting her head slightly as she studied me. "Seriously?"

"Is she related to Uncle Samuel?" asked Fleur, glancing at the poster. "No, wait... she's campaigning as a Haas... is she a cousin?"

"She's my baby sister... and your father's as well," said Aunt Libby. "Your dad has seriously never mentioned her?"

Fleur and I exchanged brief looks before shaking our heads.

"No," we replied in unison.

"Why that pig headed boy..." growled Aunt Libby, looking heavenwards. "Would you girls like to see her? She's actually doing a 'Congress on your Corner' event here right now over in the garden centre. I'd just come over to drop off some flyers for the campaign appearance she's doing at the store this weekend. I'm hoping it might bring some new trade in."

I exchanged a look with Fleur, who shrugged, smiling slightly.

"Why not," I said grinning. "It's sort of like being on 'Who Do You Think You Are'."

"Welcome to Haas family history 101," said Aunt Libby. "You may be living way over there in England but you're a Haas and you should know the basics of where you come from."

"So why haven't we heard of Aunt Kathy?" I asked as we set off for a corner of the massive store that we'd not been near during our shopping. I suppressed a giggle watching Fleur fight with the steering on our trolley.

"I can only guess. Their relationship used to be really close as teenagers," replied Aunt Libby after a brief pause. "Kathy's four years younger than me so by the time I hit my teens she and I weren't that close but your daddy and her being closer in age meant that he tended to be put together a lot as small kids. They remained that way as teenagers and when Jacob was made the starting quarterback in High School he and Kathy, who was a real tomboy back then, used to spend hours practicing in the yard catching passes in the evenings and at weekends. By the time your father graduated she was probably the best receiver the school never had and those two were as thick as thieves."

"Dad played American football at school?" queried Fleur. "He never mentioned that."

"Didn't just play it, lead the school to its only undefeated seasons on two occasions. Your father was a High School god as hard as that is to believe," giggled Aunt Libby. "There was even some college interest in him but he was adamant that he wasn't going to college on an athletics ticket. So he went to Dartmouth and studied agronomy and gave up football, much to your grandpa's disgust. I remember him berating your father about how the blue collar vote loved a football hero."

"What was grandpa Haas like?" I asked.

I couldn't recall ever meeting him or even speaking to him and other than a handful of pictures my dad had from his childhood I had little idea about what sort of person he was. Dad would only ever talk about his mother who had died when he was a teenager. He mentioned so little about Grandpa until he fell ill that for the longest time I thought dad had been raised in a single parent household.

"Difficult," said Aunt Libby with a shrug. "Dictatorial. Domineering. Being a Haas meant power was your birth right and that meant we could never come second in anything, never put a foot wrong. You have to remember the Haas family has been here since the 1660's. We came over as Dutch Quaker famers originally seeking religious freedom. We quickly acquired some prime farming land, some of which became the town of Haas Springs, and had made a lot of money by the 1700's."

"Wait, Haas Springs... is Happy Springs?" asked Fleur.

"Yeah. There is a statue to lots of greats, grandfather Willem Jacob Haas in the old town square you girls should see. Anyway, the upshot is we're pretty much New Hampshire royalty. There has been a Haas in either the state senate, city council or the Governor's office since Independence and we've had a fair few Haas in either the House or Senate in DC, most recently being Representative Katherine Haas - New Hampshire 2nd District."

"She never married?" I asked.

"No, she did. She married into the de Ville's at your Grandpa's urging, another wealthy old money family, but in Haas County there is a strong benefit in campaigning under the Haas name."

"Huh, so why did she and dad fall out then?" said Fleur as we came to a halt at the end of an asile in front of a small gathering of people and press. In the centre of the throng was the woman in the campaign poster.

In reality Aunt Kathy was a little taller than I'd expected, still with some of the curves of Aunt Libby but with a little more athletic frame and a smile they could launch a container ship of Colgate. Just looking at those perfect teeth made me run my tongue over my own brace.

"Your father and grandpa had a major falling out around the time your father was awarded his Bachelor's degree. Your grandpa had just about tolerated your father's agronomy degree on the basis that it would play well with rural voters in any future Senate or Gubernatorial campaign but he expected him to settle down and join the family business on graduation while working towards an MBA. He also expected him to find a wife from among a selection of 'approved' women, i.e. families with wealth and connections. Instead your father announced he'd secured a scholarship to go to Oxford to do his Master's degree in agronomy and that he'd marry who he wanted to and not who your grandpa wanted him too. Well, you know what happened there. Your dad and mom met and when your dad announced his intention to not only marry but live in England and after a heated exchange in which some things that were impossible to take back were said, your father and grandpa never spoke again."

"So how did that affect Aunt Cathy?" asked Fleur.

"You have to remember I'd moved out several years earlier when I fell pregnant and married your Uncle Samuel. Neither will tell me what was said but I know they spoke shortly after your dad's excommunication from the Haas household and they got into an argument, the upshot of which was neither spoken to the other in over twenty years. Then with your father gone and me given up on, your grandpa turned all his efforts into securing the Haas legacy through Kathy. Now that your grandpa is dead and your father is here I'm hoping that my brother and sister can mend fences."

"Do you think they can?" I said, watching the Aunt Kathy working the small crowd.

"I don't know," sighed Aunt Libby. "All I know is I need to try and make things right for my own piece of mind."

We stood in melancholic silence for a few minutes watching Aunt Kathy. Even with my limited knowledge of politics, I wasn't yet old enough to vote after all, I could see how slick she was at it. She stopped and took the time to make each person she met feel they mattered to her in some way, making eye contact and actually speaking to them rather than at them. I watched campaign badges and stickers being handed out by a small group of university aged kids as they trailed behind Aunt Kathy, each one taking the time to exchange a few words with the person.

"Do these sorts of small scale events work?" asked Fleur, changing the subject as she gestured at the crowd. "Does anyone ever change their vote from meeting a politician, other than deciding not to vote for the one they met?"

"You're new here," said Aunt Libby with a smile. "All politics in New Hampshire are 'retail politics'. It's not so much the votes you gain by meeting with people but more the votes you lose if you don't do it. We've become so used to candidates, even incumbents like your Aunt Kathy, working the vote that when one doesn't there is a backlash against them, like they think they are too good for us or something. Remember, New Hampshire kicks off the Presidential primaries so we expect to be wooed. Besides, she's chosen the venue carefully. This is as much about 'Wal-Mart Mom' as it is retail politics."

"Huh. Who'd have thought baby kissing still worked in the era of twitter?" I said.

"Trust me, there are a lot of voters out there who don't follow their news from the net preferring to get it from newspapers and television. Older voters in particular are more inclined to vote than younger voters and for many of them twitter is an anathema. "

"That's a big word for a Thursday," said Fleur, a smile creeping across her lips. "I get that dad ran off to escape this and Aunt Kathy decided to pursue it after he left but you're older than both of them and you seem to know a lot about politics so how come the posters aren't for 'Libby Haas for Congress'?"

"There's a little bit too much of your grandpa in me. If I played politics it would be to win and I don't think I could live with being that sort of person. I much prefer to sell cheesecake and cupcakes and dabble in your Uncle Samuel's campaigns for High County Sheriff."

"How's that going by the way?"

"The next election will mark his sixth consecutive year of office as High Sheriff of Haas County," said Aunt Libby smugly, adding quietly under her breath. "And your grandpa said he was too young and a nobody mick son of a drunk that would amount to nothing."

I glanced behind Aunt Libby to Fleur who mouthed the word 'issues' to me and I quietly nodded my head in agreement.

"I'm going to go speak to your Aunt and let her know that your dad is in town," said Aunt Libby, refocusing back on the two of us. "I'm not sure what your father would think about me introducing you to Aunt Kathy without speaking to him first, so would one of you mind skipping meeting her this time and taking these leaflets over to Kathy's campaign manager?"

"No problem," said Fleur accepting the wodge of leaflets Aunt Libby pulled from her handbag. "Where to?"

"The dark haired woman by that table," said Aunt Libby gesturing to a small trestle table laden with campaign memorabilia. "We'll meet back here in a few minutes okay?"

"Do you want to stay with the trolley?" asked Fleur as we watched Aunt Libby move towards the crowd. "Or do you want to take them instead?"

"I'll stay," I said, shuffling a little uncomfortably at the attention been given to the crowd by the campaign team. Avoiding any attention from strangers had long been one of the main aims of my transition and crowds tended to make me nervous. I knew it was irrational but in the back of my mind was the idea that a crowd could become a pitchfork and torch waving mob yelling 'kill the freak' pretty easily, particularly given we were in the one part of the store that actually stocked pitchforks.

"I'll see if I can snag us a badge or something," said Fleur with a grin.

"They're giving out doughnuts over there, see if you can get us some. I'd kill for a Yum-Yum. I've starrrrrrving," I begged, adding as I moved my hand to cover the shopping. "Besides, this is a land full of gun totting cowboys so one of us needs to know where our towels are at."

Fleur waved as she set off for her destination, leaving me to pick idly at imaginary lint on the pile of towels in our trolley. Getting jostled by people moving through the aisles to and from Aunt Kathy's event I moved the trolley closer to the side of an aisle selling protective gardening clothing, using the trolley to shield me.

"Ah see y'all have circled the wagons there ma'am," said a male voice from my left, a strong southern sounding accent easily noticeable. "Seems mighty sensible given the number of towel rustlers around in these here parts."

"Ha-h... uuhhh..." I said, the sarcastic initial tone of my voice tapering off as I turned to face what I could only assume was an angel or a gift from a suitably benevolent alternative deity.

Easily six foot tall and athletic, with enough muscle to show that he worked out but not enough muscle that he looked like he was considering running for Governor of California, he looked like he'd stepped straight out of one of those American teen shows where imperfection only existed as a special guest star to show how perfectly kind the perfect kids were. His face was clean shaven, although a hint of a dark beard shadow could just be seen on his jaw line partly obscured by a light tan that I would have been interested in finding out if it was full body. He gave off an overwhelming feeling of rugged wholesomeness. I was vaguely aware that he was wearing clothes but struggled to pull my eyes from his face.

"Howdy ma'am," he said tipping the brim of his straw cowboy hat slightly. His face broke into a wide grin that seemed to tickle at the outside corners of his wonderfully chocolate brown eyes.

"Uhhhm?" I replied, waiting for the runner carrying the message from my brain to make it to my mouth. In contrast to the link between brain and mouth, the link between nose and brain seemed to be running superfast as I noted a pleasant cologne smell that I couldn't quite place emanating from him that seemed to blanket my senses.

"Ah'm guessing y'all not from these parts ma'am?" he asked, a mischievous light dancing in his eyes.

"I have towels," I said, inwardly cursing my brain for its contribution to the conversation.

"And they're mighty fine towels too," he replied, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Ah'd bet y'all looked lovely now in one, miss?"

"Umm... H-H-Haas. Ja... P-p-poppy H-haas," I stammered. Taking a deep breath, I tried again. "I'm Poppy. Poppy Haas."

I thrust a hand stiffly out in greeting and waited for him to shake it.

"Did you... did y'all say 'Haas'?" he asked, canting his head to scrutinise me more closely. "As in the Congresswoman?"

"Umm... yeah. She's... umm... an aunt. On my father's side. But I've never met her," I replied, mentally making a note to take what was left of my brain to task for the last part of pointless information that it had ventured. What did he actually care about whether I'd met my aunt? And why was I telling him it anyway? And why hadn't he moved to shake my hand which was now firmly and embarrassingly locked in waiting for a hand shake that didn't appear to be forthcoming anytime soon.

"Y'all don't sound like you're from around here."

"N-n-neither do you Tex," I replied, rejoicing at my brains late entry into the conversation as I found my words beginning to form my easily. "I'm English. I'm here for the summer."

"Ah have a feeling that we're gonna be in for a lovely summer then Miss Haas," he replied. He reached out and gently took my outstretched arm by the fingers before slowly leaning in to kiss the back of my hand. The sensation of his lips gently brushing my skin sent a shiver of goosebumps along my body that from the way his eyes twinkled as he peeked up at me I was sure he noticed.

"W-w-who are you?" I asked biting my lip at the tingling feeling spreading from my hand.

"Ah'm uh... Tex... Ah mean Rex. Umm.. Rex Stetson ma'am," he said looking momentarily flustered. I blushed as I realised I was twisting slightly from side to side as he held my hand and focussed intently on the floor tiles while I sought to regain my composure.

"Are... do you live here?" I asked, exhaling loudly as I sought to regain control of my breathing which seemed to have stopped.

"I... ah'm not from here either. Ah'm here visitin' relatives."

"Where's home?"

"The.. uh... great state of Texas, ma'am... uh... Dodge City."

As soon as he had said that, he seemed to hold his breath while waiting for me to speak.

"So you umm... got the hell out of Dodge then?" I giggled, feeling a sudden burst of bravado that sent another message running to my brain to ask it why we were flirting with him.

His face momentarily creased in concentration before relaxing as a chuckle escaped from deep within him. "Ah guess ah did."

We stood for a few moments grinning at each other like fools, before I looked away blushing.

"Ah guess ah'd better be moseying along then Miss Poppy," he said tipping at his straw cowboy hat, the name of which momentarily escaped me.

"Will ah... I mean I," I said hastily clearing my throat. "Will I see you around?"

"Ah don't know Miss Poppy," he replied, grinning in a way that told me he knew he had me where he wanted me. "But ah'll be looking out for y'awll."

"Be seeing y'all Miss Poppy," he said tipping his hat once more.

"Umm.. bye Rex."

"Ma'am," he added, tipping his hat at someone on the other side of me.

"Whoa, now that was prime beef," mumbled Fleur around the ring doughnut projecting from her mouth as she stepped up next to the trolley.

"Umm... yeah."

"Here's your doughnut," added Fleur as she held up a ring doughnut covered in hundreds and thousands on thick sticky pink icing. "Sorry, I couldn't find any Yum-Yum's."

I risked a glance behind Fleur, spotting Rex in the distance. He appeared to have been stopped by one of the women working for Aunt Kathy and was talking to her in an animated fashion. As he spoke he looked back towards me and our eyes briefly met before I found myself blushing and quickly turning away. I could feel my eyes stinging as I tried to blink back tears of confusion.

"Poppy?" mumbled Fleur, resting her free hand on my shoulder. "Did you hear me?"

"Oh Fleur," I sobbed, wrapping my arms around her neck and pulling her into a crushing hug. "I w-w-w-was f-f-f-flirting with him."

"Hey, shush now," she cooed, stroking my hair with her free hand. "It's okay. It's okay."

"N-n-n-no, it's not. Ellie..." I wailed.

"That wasn't your fault. You need to accept that. Just like all guys aren't those lying arseholes that killed Ellie. Dad's a good guy and for all we know, so is your prime beef."

"But..."

"So you flirted with him, Poppy. Big deal. Doesn't mean you have to sleep with him or even see him again."

"I guess..." I sniffled.

"God knows you have every right to have trust issues sis after what happened," murmured Fleur. "Just... just don't blame yourself for having fun okay? It's okay to flirt now and then."

"I guess..." I sniffled again.

"Dad said he was going to get you some help right from a therapist that was recommended to him right?"

"Yeah..."

"Then give the therapist a chance because you can't keep tearing yourself apart every time you see a guy you might like or you think too much about the future or your art."

"He seemed nice," I whispered into Fleur's shoulder. "Honest. He wasn't at all slick like t-t-those m-m-men w-w-were."

"See. He might just be a nice guy and if he isn't and is just a regular common or garden arsehole... well Uncle Samuel has a lot of guns I'm willing to bet."

I couldn't help but laugh a little at that thought.

"Thanks Fleur," I sniffled.

"No probs."

"Umm... Fleur?" I asked, raising my head from her shoulder. "Where's my doughnut?"

"Well it was in my hand before you hugged me..." laughed Fleur. "But I think you know full well where it is now."

Pulling back from my embrace of Fleur, I groaned as I saw the mess of pink icing and doughnut smeared across my top.

"Result!" exclaimed Fleur brushing some granules of sugar off her own top. "All the icing went your way."

"This is my favourite top too," I whined. "I bet it leaves a fucking mark."

I turned at the sound of someone clearing their throat to see the disproving glare of a familiar stern faced elderly lady.

"Oh... bollox."

~o~O~o~
 
Authors note: As promised, Chapter 2 in February. Chapter 3 will be towards the end of March keeping with the one chapter a month intention. Also profuse apologies to any Texans but there is a reason the accent is written in such a cliche manner that will become apparent in a little while to anyone who isn't an fan of a certain type of late 1950's romantic comedies. No reproduction without permission, etc. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, comment and kudos last chapter, it turned out to be my highest kudo score by miles!!! Who'd have thunk it? If you enjoyed this chapter, then your comments are always welcome. :-)