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...
"Hey, wake up sleepyhead we're almost there."
My eyes fluttered open at the gentle nudging from my sister as she reached back from her seat in the front of the vehicle. Letting out a yawn, I stretched my arms out and tried to work some of the kinks out of my neck and shoulders.
"Hey, down in back," said my father briefly glancing back over his shoulder at me with a grin. "It's hard enough trying to get used to driving on this side of the road again as it is, without you obstructing the rear view mirror."
"Tell me about it," I muttered glancing out of the window, the late-afternoon summer sun muted by my sunglasses. "Do they all know they are driving on the wrong side of the road? Driving on the right is just kinda fu...freaky."
I shuddered slightly watching a car pass by on a side of the vehicle that my instincts kept screaming should be the pavement.
"Language please Poppy," sighed my father with a slight edge to the voice. "You may be seventeen now but while you are under my roof I hope you will respect my rules, particularly with Daisy in the car."
I blushed as I ducked my head and spared a glance at my sleeping younger sister in the seat next to mine. Even at seventeen the one thing that always brought me up sharply was the thought of disappointing my father in some way. I could deal with him being angry, though he rarely was in front of any of us kids, but him being disappointed in me caused a gnawing discomfort in the pit of my stomach that would niggle all day until I could get back in his good books. I guess l was just too much of a daddy's girl at heart. In contrast, mum and me had endured stand up, knock down screaming matches from pretty much the onset of puberty and we were only just coming to terms with our new, slightly tentative, harmonious relationship.
"I think it's actually the car rental company's roof dad," laughed my older sister from the front passenger seat.
"Yes, thank you Fleur. I knew I should have brought the boys," said my father shaking his head slightly, a put up tone creeping into his voice. "But nooooooooooo, your mother was all 'it will be good to spend time with your girls' to me."
Dad flashed me a quick wink in the rear view mirror signalling he wasn't serious and that he had forgiven me for my earlier outburst.
"Y'know, for a town called 'Happy Springs' I expected it to be more...joyous," said Fleur staring out of the window. "Maybe spontaneous musical numbers breaking out in the streets or at least public dancing."
"And I've not seen any springs either," I added.
"Do you think they meant springs, 'boing!', or 'stick-it-in-a-bottle-carbonate-it-and-charge-one-pound-fifty-a-bottle' springs?
"I kinda pictured a town full of laughing Zebedee's," I said with a grin.
"BOING!" cried my sister and I together, causing my sleeping younger sister to stir.
"Should've brought the boys," muttered my father under his breath in his most put upon voice. "And not let Alice raise them on the kids shows of her youth."
"Are we there yet?" asked Daisy, elongating the last word as she stretched.
I reached over and brushed some of her fringe out of her eyes before impishly flicking one of her strawberry blonde pigtails.
"Hey! You said you weren't going to do that anymore," she squealed, covering her pigtails defensively with her hands.
Reaching over as best the seatbelt allowed, I put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a partial hug.
"I'm sorry," I said leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "You just looked so cute I couldn't help myself. I won't do it again though, I promise."
"It didn't really hurt or anything. Just don't do it, 'kay?" she replied settling into the hug. "I like it that you're nice to me now."
"I wish I could undo the past sweetie," I whispered resting my chin on her head. "I wish I could change a lot of things but the worlds not like that. We get second chances not do-over's."
"New and improved though, little sister," said Fleur leaning back from her seat to rest her hand on my knee. "New and improved."
I clasped my free hand over hers and closed my eyes, listening to the rhythmic sounds of my little sister breathing and the wheels on the road while taking a moment to bask in the love of my sisters. Despite all the things that had happened recently, I still couldn't believe how lucky I was to have the love of my sisters.
"We're here girls," said my father, his voice catching a little as he watched us in the rear view mirror. He steered us to a stop on the opposite side of the street under the shade of a tree.
Releasing my seat belt, I slid out of the car, well minivan in reality, and stepped down onto pavement. In front of me was the sort of property you see in movies, set back from the road with an immaculate front lawn sloping up to an imposing two storey colonial revival style house.
"Not bad. Not bad at all," I said helping Daisy down. "I think I can live with this."
"Sweet," said Fleur walking round from the other side of the car. "I don't think this looks anywhere near as bad as that solicitor made out when grandpa's will was read."
We briefly high fived as we took in the view, sharing a grin. Mum had insisted that the cost of any decorating be kept down by us doing it rather than employing someone and looking at the house in front of us even the flower baskets hanging from the porch were picture perfect.
"Uh, is it me or is someone living in our house?" I asked, noticing child's tricycle sitting at the top of the driveway.
"There are indeed people living in that house, because girls it's not ours. That's the Jensen's place, or it was when I was a kid. Our house is on the other side of the street," chuckled my father. "I parked this side so we got the best view. Isn't it something?"
My breath caught in my throat as I turned to see the ramshackle property behind us. Like the other buildings in the street, it shared the same two storey colonial revival style although rising from one side was a...well a turret I guess you'd call it. A brick rounded turret with windows all around the top storey which rose slightly above the roof of the main building. It gave the impression of once being an imposing building, nearly half as big again as the properties around it. However, this was clearly a building that had seen better days. Only two of the four windows on the first storey had any shutters attached and the three that were attached appeared to be hanging on through willpower alone. The glass in the three attic windows rising from the roof were cracked and several roof tiles were missing revealing the underlay. Things were little better on the lower floor with two huge windows, one either side of the leaning porch, pretty much obscured by a pair of untended trees. The tattered screen door swinging slightly in the breeze to bang against the front door gave it a forbidding feel despite the summer sunshine. It was the virtual dictionary definition of property blight.
"It's something all right," breathed Fleur.
"It just needs a little bit of love," said my father grinning.
"It needs painting," piped up Daisy as she moved round to our dad to get a better view.
"Then we'll paint it."
"It needs new glass," said Fleur.
"I'll call a glazer once our stuff is unpacked."
"It needs an exorcism," I said, raising my sunglasses to get a better view.
"Then we'll get a priest," laughed my father.
"What's an exorschism?" asked Daisy.
"Nothing you need to worry about," said dad scooping Daisy up into his arms. "It's just your sister being silly."
"You know we're going to be known as the kids from the creepy old Haas place," said Fleur, emphasising her words with a rather melodramatic sigh.
"Hey now, be nice I grew up here," said Dad with a frown. "It'll be fine once we've given it a bit of TLC."
"Is it too late to go home and send the boys out instead?"
"Hush Poppy. It'll be fine."
Any retort I had once cut off by a groaning from the house followed by a loud crash as one of the remaining shutters fell to the ground. Slack jawed Fleur and I exchanged a horrified look.
"Well that's one trip up the ladder saved," said my father with a forced smile. Pulling some keys from his pocket he threw them underarm to Fleur. "I'll park the car by the garage and unload. Why don't you are your sisters go ahead and take a look around our new summer home."
"Oh joy," I breathed as I pulled my handbag out of the car.
The front door creaked eerily as Fleur turned the handle, pushing it open to reveal a dingy hallway stretching the length of the house. Dust swirled in the light as a gentle breeze blew in from behind us, which from the smell emanating from it was the first time in a while it had been exposed to fresh air. The squeak of my trainers on the varnished hardwood floor echoed through the house eerily as I entered the hallway.
"Abandon hope all ye who enter," I whispered, only to get a nudge in the ribs from Fleur.
Stopping to take in the view, I brushed my fingers around the outline of a discoloured rectangle on the wall which I assumed once marked a picture frame that had been there a while before its final removal. Similar marks were visible on the floor indicating where there had once been heavy items of furniture.
"The floors don't seem in too bad a state," said Fleur tentatively bouncing up and down on the boards. "No real movement, or anything that I guess a bit of washing and buffing up wouldn't sort?"
"Great, that's your job then," I replied with a grin. Fleur stuck her tongue out in response.
Pushing open a door into a room that I guessed had once been a living or dining room I marvelled at the large fire place that dominated the outer side wall. Intricately carved wood panels flanked the hearth and a thick wooden mantel shelf rested across the top. The wood seemed almost black in the poor light from the obscured front window.
"Now that's a fireplace that wouldn't be out of place in some costume drama," said Fleur running a finger along it.
"Dusty?" I asked squatting down to look at the carved wooden panels beside the hearth.
"Not as bad as I thought given it's been empty for what, a year now?"
"Longer. Aunt Libby said Grandpa went into that care home about eighteen months ago if I remember."
"These wood panels are something else," said Fleur running a hand over the carved panels. "Though the one on the right seems damaged. Is this something you could fix?"
I reached over and traced the cracks in the wood with my fingers.
"I'll have to find the right wood and sketch out the pattern. Maybe. Carving was more Ellie's thi... I... I..."
I blinked back unbidden tears as an unwanted memory surfaced and I sank to my knees fighting back a sob. I hated being so weak, so emotionally out of control, a passenger on the rollercoaster of my emotions. I felt my sisters arms wrap around me as she gently pulled me into an embrace.
"Shhhh, now," she soothed, stroking my hair. "Remember what mum said. It's okay if you need to let it out. Bottling it all up isn't doing you any good. All it's doing is making it burst out like this when you can't hold it in anymore."
"How can I after...after... she... she... can't. How c-c-c-can I..." my voice trailed off into great heaving sobs as I buried my head into her shoulder.
"You can do it by not doing it on your own for a start. We're a family. Families help each other."
"But I don't deserv... don't deser... don't..."
"No. You're not doing that to yourself again, you hear me? You deserve the same as everyone else in this family. You're no better and no worse than anyone else here, okay? There's no room for that sort of thinking," she said pulling me tighter into her embrace.
In response I just sobbed harder until emotionally exhausted and a little travel lagged, I eventually drifted off to sleep in her arms.
"Merrr-ooow?"
I awoke to what felt like someone rubbing the tip of my nose in tuna scented wet sandpaper but actually turned out to be a cats tongue.
"Hey there girl? boy?" I murmured, gathering the cat into my arms as I sat up. "Where did you come from?"
"Respectively, it's a girl and the garage," said my father putting down his kindle and switching off the clip on light as he got up from where he had been sitting. "Daisy found her when I was unpacking the car. We decided to call her Fluffy. It seems she's taken a liking to you."
Kneeling next to me, he gathered up his jacket from where it had been bundled up as a pillow for me.
"Fluffy?" I said holding the short haired tabby cat out in front of me. "Fluffy?"
"Daisy found her, so she got the naming rights," he said with a smile. "Her stuffed toy cat is called Fluffy remember? And what with your mom's cat fur allergy she's never had a real cat. So, Fluffy."
"Shouldn't we have her checked for like fleas or rabies or something?" I asked turning the cat in my hands slightly to get a better look at her. In the early evening sun her silver streaks seemed to glow slightly.
"Already done it. We took her to the local vets and had her checked out. She's not chipped or on their lost list and is in perfect health as far as they can see. Tomorrow we'll stop by the local sheriff's office, so if someone has reported her lost or stolen we should know soon."
"Where's Daisy?" I asked listening to the silent house.
"Your sisters have gone on a supply run, including picking up some take-out for dinner. They should be back soon."
"Take OUT?" I asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "Surely, you mean take AWAY?"
"Don't call me Shirley," replied my father with a chuckle. "It's been twenty years since I've been back here. I'm reconnecting with my roots."
"Yeah, life was sure tough in the 'hood eh? Detached mansions set in what, half an acre of land from the looks of it?"
"Hush now," he mock scolded, lightly tapping me on the nose. "Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about you."
I placed the cat gently on the ground and pulled my legs tight up against in a hug, not meeting my father's eyes.
"I'm fine."
"You're far from fine. And these... moments... are getting worse, more frequent. You've got me worried pumpkin," he said softly. "I've spoken to a couple of friends on the faculty at Dartmouth and they've given me the name of a therapist in Plymouth that might be of help. She's supposed to be a little out there but has great results with..."
"Freaks like me?"
"Hush," said my father tapping my nose again. "You're many things but not a freak, you hear me? I don't know what goes on in that amazing brain of yours at times but I'm not going to let you bottle this up until you have a breakdown or worse."
"Me? Amazing?" I scoffed. "Dad, you have a host of awards sitting on the mantelpiece at home. That new strain of wheat you bred to produce better yields in harsher terrain is feeding millions."
"And yet people still die of hunger in places where the soil won't support it. Even worse, there are places where the soil could support it but stupidity stops people from growing it due to conflict or the over exploitation of natural resources such as water vital to crop growth. I could create a wheat crop that could grow in a desert without water and people would starve due to the stupidity of mankind."
He sighed for a moment and scratched the cat, I guess I should call her Fluffy as it's her name, behind one of her ears.
"Sorry, that was a little preachy," he laughed. "Anyway, you on the other hand are an artist and a very talented one too. Not only did you sell all your artwork at that local gallery exhibition but that gentleman from the Royal Academy told you to keep in contact with him so he could come to your future exhibitions. I didn't see him tell anyone else that."
"No, he told Ellie that too," I whispered as I felt my eyes start to sting again with unshed tears. "That was always her dream. It was all she could talk about, going to The Slade and then the RA. I actually preferred The Ruskin, then the RA, but I always knew I'd go to The Slade to keep her happy."
"Ohhhh...Poppy, I didn't know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
I leant into his hug as he pulled me close to him.
"I'm soooooo sick of crying," I sniffled.
"I know pumpkin," he said kissing the top of my head. "We'll give that therapist in Plymouth a call tomorrow okay?"
"If you think she can help..."
"I don't think it could hurt. It'll be a nice road trip anyway. It's been ages since I've been to Plymouth."
"Okay dad..."
"Mind you, don't expect miracles. It's been my experience that Haas women are naturally tearful. Why should you be any different when you're upset?"
"Because I'm not..."
"Shush now. I think I recognise one of my own daughters okay?"
"...Okay, dad."
"We good?" he asks giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze. He might have said 'we' but I know he meant 'you' from the tone of his voice.
"We're good. I'm good."
"Good," he said releasing me. "Oh, you might need this."
I dubiously accepted the cloth handkerchief he offered me from his pocket.
"Oh don't worry, I've not used it for its intended purpose. I keep it for damsels in distress."
I dabbed at my eyes with it, noting the familiar smell it seemed to hold.
"It smells like...mum?"
"Yes it does. She spritzed a little perfume on it before we left as a keepsake. That's another reason I carry it. It's like having a little piece of your mother with me wherever I am."
That sums up my parents really. It's like they are still in some teenage romance still. Nothing big or fancy, just little things to show their love for each other. As you can imagine my younger brothers hate all the relatively chaste public kissing involved between our parents.
"By the way, the good news is while you were sleeping the heating engineer came and checked out the furnace and gave it the all clear so we'll have hot water for the radiators and showers once we have power. The bad news is that due to a paperwork snarl up the power company won't have the electricity connected until tomorrow."
"So we're staying in a hotel tonight?" I asked hopefully.
"Pfft. Hotel, shmotel. I stopped off at a sporting goods store on the way back from the vets and picked up some battery powered lanterns and some sleeping bags. Think of it as indoor camping. Oh, if you want to have a look around before the girls get back with dinner, grab a lantern from the hallway. The sun sets surprisingly quickly around here."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to replace the batteries on the smoke and carbon monoxide detectors. It looks like your grandfather had them installed relatively recently but better safe than sorry."
As my dad head towards a doorway I hadn't noticed at the other end of the room until now, I turned and headed back through the double doors that I had originally entered.
Fluffy dutifully trotted behind me, the bell on her new collar jingling. The hallway was quite dark by now but I spotted the lanterns next to the pile of luggage we had brought with us and headed over to them.
"Oh, watch out for the canoe!" yelled my father, his voice echoing off the walls of the empty rooms. "We had a bit of an incident at the store!"
"What canooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!"
I hit the ground with a heavy slap, and heard my sunglasses skittering off my head and across the floor.
"YOU OKAY?"
"NO I'M NOT OKAY! SOME IDIOT PUT A CANOE IN THE HALLWAY!" I yelled back rolling onto my back. I gingerly blew on my hands trying to sooth the stinging from the impact. I hissed quietly from the pain.
"MY BAD!"
"WHY THE FU--FREAK IS THERE A CANOE IN OUR HALLWAY?" I yelled back. This time the only response was silence.
"DAD? HELLO?"
Being careful not to put too much pressure on my stinging palms, I pulled myself up on my knees and took a good look at the canoe. What was a real surprise was that it wasn't one of those modern fibreglass ones. It had a real wooden frame with some sort of canvas stretched over it and a pair of heavy looking oars inside. On the seat was a label and I leaned forward to see it more clearly.'Property of Clarks Sporting Goods. Display only. Not for sale.'
How the fu... freak did we end up with a display model of a canoe? Daisy. It had to be Daisy. My sister was disaster on wheels, well she was when we let her be on wheels. Which we didn't often because hello, disaster on wheels.
"Merrrrrrrow!"
I looked up to see Fluffy rubbing her chin against one of the ribs of the canoe, her body protruding half-in, half-out of a hole in the side.
"Oh. Is this your handiwork or Daisy's?"
In response Fluffy rolled on her back, batting at the tattered fabric with her paws.
"Pleading the fifth eh? Probably for the best."
"Meow?"
I shifted on the sleeping bag trying to get comfortable as I surveyed the cartons of Chinese food arranged on one of our hard bodied suitcases. Dad had moved the rest of our luggage into the room with us, including oddly, the canoe which Fluffy seemed to have adopted as her own personal cat basket. Although the tree out front mostly obscured the window, dad had also rigged up a makeshift curtain using a groundsheet he'd picked up with the sleeping bags. The effect of it all was that the light from the lanterns gave the room a surreal sort of urban campfire like feel to it.
"So what's the plan for tomorrow?" asked Fleur as she worked to cram a larger helping of noodles into her mouth with the chopsticks then ought to reasonably fit."Ohhhhh....this is good."
"I've got a couple of contractors coming in the morning to give me some quotes for the big stuff that I can't do, so I'll need to stay here for that. I'll also need you and Poppy to run some errands in town and out to the old Schultz Mall for me in the morning. We need some blinds for the windows for a start, so that the world and its wife can't look into the house. Then in the afternoon, we're going out to surprise your Aunt Libby. She doesn't know we're here yet."
"Wait...why haven't we told Aunt Libby we're here?" I asked pausing on the sesame prawn on toast that I had chosen.
"Because knowing your Aunt Libby, she'd insist on us staying the night with her," replied dad. He reached over to help Daisy pick up a chicken wing from one of the cartons."And this is more fun isn't it princess?"
Daisy nodded happily in response as she bit into some chicken wings, enjoying being able to eat food with her hands for once.
"Wait...there was an alternative to this?!? A bed with a mattress and real sheets?!?" shrieked Fleur around a mouthful of noodles.
"Chew your food kitten, this isn't a race," said dad.
"Daaaaaaaaaad."
"Trust me, we'll look back fondly on this night at the end of the summer."
"You're absolutely sure they didn't have any aromatic duck?" I grumbled prodding a carton of lemongrass chicken noodle salad. "Every Chinese restaurant or take away I've ever been to does duck. You know I like crispy aromatic duck."
"Will you stop going on about that. I asked. They said did not do any duck items on the menu. They were very insistent," she replied.
I snorted my disbelief at that statement.
"Look... Duck Off!"
"Fleur!" chastised dad.
"What?" she replied sweetly. "That's what they said to me."
"You know very well."
"I'm sorry daddy," she said in a sweet little girls voice, her face schooled in contrition.
"Balls" I muttered under my breath.
"Poppy!"
"Pork balls! Do we have any?"
"Here, balls to you," said Fleur passing a carton over to me with a sly grin.
Picking up my chop sticks I made sure that I held them in such a way as to give her the finger while favouring her with a big grin.
"I should have brought the boys," groaned dad, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Yes, you sho--"
A loud crash from outside stopped Fleur in mid-sentence.
"Daddy, what was that?" asked a startled Daisy as she looked around nervously.
"That was nothing to worry about princess. It's just one less trip up a ladder tomorrow."
End of Chapter 1
Authors note: I honestly didn't intend to write this as there were two other stories I was trying to write (including Wynter Lionness which has a chapter nearly in the can) but I couldn't not write it as it was muse blocking. I've decided to go ahead and publish just to get it off my desk and give me an outlet in between writing the other stuff. It's meant to be a little fun and give me a chance to try writing something in modern times not involving super powers or magic. I've also never written something set abroad really, so another first. This is the first of approximately ten chapters of roughly the same length in an on-going story. I'm sort of pitching it at a John Hughes / Dawson's Creek level of realism (and those references didn't date me at all) *rolls eyes*. I intend to publish a chapter a month, work permitting. No reproduction etc without permission. Comments always welcome if you enjoyed it.
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...
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.
"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.
"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."
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.
"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.
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."
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...
*Fleur's View*
'C'mon, she'll be fine. She's with Ellie, neither of them are stupid enough to go anywhere with any guys... and frankly your brother makes a better looking girl than I do... let her have some fun and let us have some fun without dragging your little bro-- sister along behind us... besides, there is this hawt guy you need me to introduce you too...'
I awoke with a jolt, the springs on the bed squeaking under my sudden movement as I come to rest sitting upright. Taking a few moments to catch my breath, I let my eyes adjust to the gloom before reaching over to the nightstand beside the bed to check my phone.
Saturday, 3:30am.
That's just... peachy. Grabbing a pillow from behind me I pull it over my knees and lean into it, letting out a whisper scream of frustration knowing there is no way I'll get to sleep again after that memory being dragged into my dreams. I can't stop dreaming about 'what-ifs' and 'what-dids'. I hate that cat and I don't mean Fluffy.
Generally, I like cats. I like the West End musical, Top Cat and the actual fur covered bundles of feline superiority but there is one I've increasing come to dislike. I don't know the cat's name (or even if it had one) but I know the name of its owner, Erwin Schrá¶dinger, and his cat stars in every nightmare I've had for the last six months. What IF I had done things differently that night?
What IF... I had been a responsible big sister? I could have sent my underage sister and her best friend home from the pub with a flea in their ear after spotting them and their sixth form gaggle. Ellie and Poppy would have hated me for a few weeks but that would have been better than what actually happened and yeah I know it would have been hypocritical given my own undiscovered exploits at sixteen and seventeen but being a big sister is about passing on the lessons you learnt the hard way to spare your younger siblings from sharing your mistakes. If mum and dad knew half the stuff I did back then... well, I'd probably be grounded until I collected my pension.
What IF... I had listened to my instincts and stayed with my sister instead of listening to Martha and my hormones? The hawt guy that she hooked me up with that night might have had a great body but he had a brain so small that a stegosaurus would have felt smug in comparison. On top of that he was a truly awful fuck. No Wham, a rather undersized Bam and not even a "thank you ma'am"... which was particularly galling given he was the only one of us to get off that night. If I'd stayed with Poppy I certainly would have sent mister-too-smooth-by-far and his friends packing. If you spend your Saturday nights frequenting the pubs and clubs of London at sixteen like I did you learn the hard way to spot the dangerous ones. I was so lucky at sixteen, a child in the world of adults, I know that now. Ellie wasn't.
Intellectually, I know it's not all my fault. I know others played their parts, opening their boxes to set the cats of possibility running. What IF... Poppy hadn't been outed like she was to the whole world online by those idiots at school? That's the trouble with the 'net, once it's out there you have no way of knowing who gets to know about you.
Even worse, and I feel so guilty for even thinking this, What IF... Ellie hadn't been passing herself off as Poppy to mess with people that night? It... it... might have been Poppy that died that night. She was the intended target after all. How bad a person am I to feel relieved that my sister's best friend, someone who more of a sister to her than I ever was, died instead of Poppy?
I'm trying so hard to be a better big sister... trying to be more like Ellie in many ways... and just trying to be a better person... and yet I'm such a fraud. I've been making a show of being all smiles and jokes and trying to be French to Poppy's Saunders, hoping that no one notices the quiet desperation behind it. This isn't even really me. It's the empty shell of the old me, that happy-go-lucky carefree party girl Fleur. I don't know who I am anymore. I just... I just know I need to find a way to be a better person. Somehow.
What was it Poppy said to Daisy the other day? 'We get second chances not do-overs'. My do-overs may haunt my dreams but in my waking hours I need to grasp my second chances when they come along and maybe, just maybe, I might find my shot at redemption. I might find out who Fleur Elizabeth Haas really is, not who she thought she was. And maybe, just maybe, I might find out if I like her although I don't hold out much hope.
Wiping at my eyes, I reached for my laptop on the nightstand and powered it up. Logging onto the house's wireless network (yeah... beds, furniture and wireless - we were busy on Friday), I opened up my messenger to see mum's name showing as available. It's 8:30am back home so I guess she's having breakfast and checking her email like she always does.
My finger hovered over the touchpad on the laptop for a moment, the room silent except for the muted whir of the laptop fan and the soft tapping of my tears falling on the keypad. I just feel so alone right now. I need to speak to someone. More than anything I can't face three hours being stuck alone in a room with someone I dislike so much. Me.
Taking a deep breath, I wiped the back of my hand across my nose and clicked the touchpad to reveal my online status and then clicked again to accept the invitation from mum. I've only been gone a few days but my spirits soar at the image that appears in the opening pop-up window and I can't help but smile at the sight of her sitting in her dressing gown clutching at a mug of tea. I can faintly hear one of my brother's voices in the background, I think it might be Heath, which I assume means the boys are in the living room watching TV, playing Xbox or whatever it is that boys do on a Saturday morning.
"Fleur? Is that you honey? Is everything okay there?"
"I...."
"Fleur... it's too dark and I can't really see your face properly. Can you move closer? Is everything alright?"
"Oh yeah, it's all fine mum," I replied quickly wiping the tears away from my eyes before moving closer to the laptop. "My body clock is still out of synch that's all."
"Are you sure? You don't quite sound right."
I can't do it. I can't disappoint this wonderful woman who has such a high opinion of me by telling her what a fraud I am.
"The rooms a bit stuffy and I didn't want to open the windows at night. You should see the size of some of the bugs over here."
"Your father never mentioned anything about big bugs in New Hampshire," said my mother, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. It was a cheap shot to a phobia she has but I've seen mum work a courtroom and I learnt from her.
"Yeah... anyway... sooooo did River pass the test and get his new belt?"
The broad smile that breaks out across her face tells me all I need to know about my youngest brothers martial arts training.
"Is that... bacon?" she asked, sniffing the air like a bloodhound despite her eyes still being half-closed. "I love bacon."
"I know. It's bacon. Grab a pew at the table," I reply. "I'm making Grandad Mortimer's signature bacon butty's... thick cut fresh bread lightly toasted so it is firm enough to hold but still soft enough inside to absorb the juices, three rashers of back bacon, a sliced tomato, a little sliced cucumber and ketchup. We couldn't find any proper brown sauce yesterday, so sorry about that. I've also got a fried egg left over if you want it?"
"Please."
"Great. It'll be a few minutes, so help yourself to the juice chilling in the fridge. Daisy... stop feeding Fluffy at the table please," I ordered, catching a red faced Daisy in mid-act of feeding the cat a piece of bacon. I choose to ignore the sulky tongue she stuck out at me before trying to cute kid pout her way out of trouble. Like that is going to work against the me, the undisputed queen of the daddy's little girl pout.
While preparing Poppy's butty I sneak a little bit of bacon for myself from the grill. It's nice enough, and maybe this is just me, but bacon always seems to taste better when you are hung over.
"So what's the plan for today?" I ask to the room as I crack an egg into the frying pan.
"We're going to Aunt Libby's store this afternoon," said my father with a sigh putting down the magazine he was reading. "I've agreed for Libby's sake to try and patch things up with Kathy, if she'll talk to me."
"What sort of shop does Aunt Libby own?" asked Poppy, sitting back down at the table with her juice. "Is it a local shop for local people?"
"Not in the sense you mean Poppy," chuckled dad. "Your Aunt owns a chain of stores across New Hampshire and the North East operating under the 'Live Free or Diet' name. They sell all the sorts of things that you'd find in a coffee shop except it's all made from scratch on the premises. Their signature food is cupcakes and cheesecakes if I remember what Libby was telling me."
"A chain? How many stores does she have?" I ask as I pop some bread into the toaster.
"Forty or so I think."
Huh. Self-made successful business woman from an influential old family and married to the Sheriff... yeah, I can see why Aunt Kathy is pushing the association with Aunt Libby.
"So is Aunt Libby loaded or something?" asked Poppy.
"I don't know about 'loaded' but she's done well for herself. She took the little money that mom gave her and used that to finance her first venture. Not bad for someone who has pregnant at the time with her first child," said Dad with a smile. "I have some great memories as a senior going there after school with Kathy and babysitting your cousin Sean."
"What about Aunt Libby?"
"Well, she married John de Ville. The de Ville's are old money like us... like dad I mean. However, unlike us they choose to flaunt it a bit. I was on the team with 'Cadillac' and I remember him with his Audi and his expensive Swiss watches. Dad always insisted we drive American. I guess some habits die hard given the rental Explorer sitting in the drive."
"Cadillac?" I asked, as the bread popped from the toaster.
"John Cooper de Ville III. He hated being called 'John Jr' or 'Little John', so from Elementary School went by his middle name. We all called him 'Coop'. Well, combine that with his wealth and the swagger he had on the field in high school and it was a short leap to 'Cadillac'."
"This place really is something else... so how come your sisters are loaded and we aren't?" I asked.
"We don't do too badly Fleur despite how little I earn at the University," replied my father. "Your mother brings home good money, even with the charity and 'no win, no fee' work she does. I can't recall any of you ever wanting for anything despite my excommunication from the Haas fortune."
"A car..." interjected Poppy.
"Anything reasonable," replied my father, lightly tapping Poppy's nose. "Anyway, money isn't the most important thing in life by far. I'd hoped I'd raised you all to know that."
"So what's this afternoon going to be like then?"
"I'd guess the usual political networking and baby kissing publicity event of my childhood. It'll be odd to be at one where my father isn't the one running for office."
"Do we need to do anything?"
"No. Your cousins will be there, so it will give you a chance to catch up. Other than that, all you need to do is enjoy the show and the free food while I talk to your Aunt Kathy. Dress code is smart casual though."
"Will there be any press there?" asked Poppy, blanching visibly.
"Yes, but don't worry it'll only be local," said dad, placing a hand on Poppy's. "They won't be interested in you. Anyway, your Aunt Kathy's campaign people wouldn't dream of sharing the spotlight even if you wanted it. This is all about her election."
"Fleur?" asked Poppy, trembling slightly as I took a seat next to her, putting down plate with her bacon butty on her placemat.
"If you don't want to go we can go somewhere else while dad meets with Aunt Kathy?"
Dad nods his head slightly in affirmation to me behind Poppy. I watched her bite her lip in thought for a few moments before she turned back to face dad.
"I'd like to go. It'd be nice to see Sean again. He's... he's been really supportive. An' I'd like to see Aunt Libby's shop."
"I know he'd like to see you too," said dad, wrapping Poppy up in a hug. "It'll be fine, don't you worry."
I hear Poppy mumble her 'okay' in the hug before dad releases her to embrace a squealing Daisy, tipping her upside down in his arms.
"Mmmmm...." sighs Poppy as she takes a bite from her butty. "I really needed this."
"No probs," I replied, getting up from the table. "Oh, and I had a look at that top of yours from the other day. I think I've got all the icing stains out but you might want to have a look anyway. It's in the basket in the utility room."
"You did?!? Ohmygod... I love that top!" squealed Poppy jumping to her feet and embracing me in a hug. "Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you!"
"Hey, I did that for myself as much as you," I giggled. "I might want to borrow that top. I have the perfect skirt for it."
"Just keep your paws off it missy," scowled Poppy, narrowing her eyes.
"Or what?" I teased. "If you think you're ready for a shot at alpha female, bring it on."
"On second thoughts," laughed Poppy releasing me from her embrace. "You always were the biggest bitch in this family..."
"And don't you forget it," I replied, shooing her away with a wave of a dishcloth.
"Fleur..." said Poppy, pausing at the doorway leading to the utility room.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. Thanks for everything. You're like the best sister ever."
I give her a weak smile in response and with a nod of her head she disappears in to the utility room.
Oh Poppy... that is like so far from the truth.
End of Chapter 3
Authors note: Let's pretend this is really March 31st... *ahem* Sorry, very busy with work (in a good way) but it really drained my creative efforts. Hopefully things will be a bit easier for a while and I still intend to try and get things back on track by posting another chapter at the end of April. No reproduction without permission, etc. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, comment and kudos last chapter as it is really appreciated and helps me work out if this is going the right way. I'm been enjoying writing these characters and it's been really useful in helping me step up my game in writing Wynter Lioness, which I'm holding back on posting until I've got a group of chapters under my belt again. If you enjoyed this chapter, then your comments are always welcome. :-)
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...
Chapter 4
*Poppy's View*
Aunt Libby's 'Live Free or Diet' coffee shop chain wasn't what I expected. Maybe it's television's fault but you mention the words 'coffee shop' and 'America' and I'm thinking 'Central Perk' the same way if you say 'bar' and 'America' I start humming the theme to 'Cheers'. Live Free or Diet, or 'LFD' as the staff called it, didn't have a sofa occupied with fashionable Gen X'ers dominating the room but rather a mix of clientele with no one group seeming to dominate it enough to make it 'their place'. Oddly, that seemed to make the place feel more welcoming as you never felt you were judged for being different from the crowd. I guess in a place where no one group was the majority, everyone was the minority and tried to get along. That being said, there are minorities and there are minorities. I'm guessing being a tallish English gender dysphoric teenage girl in a New Hampshire coffee shop meant I was still in a minority of one.
Visually, the most striking feature of LFD was the wood and brass oval 'island' counter in the centre of the shop, which was ringed with red, white and blue leather stools (in that colour order). In the inner part of the island the staff were manning the various coffee machines and the tills. Although there were people sitting on the stools the island the majority of the customers were sat in the booths that lined the walls. The medium height walls between booths were roughly head height when sitting and gave you a degree of privacy without making you feel isolated. A really nice touch was the dividing walls were lead paned stained glass which threw some interesting light effects across the booths. I almost wanted to get my watercolours and do a study of the light.
I don't know if it was because it was the original branch or if it was typical of the other LFD stores but it also had a real homey family store feel to it. Instead of the bland stock photography pictures on the wall that faked history and atmosphere, there were genuine pictures on the wall of staff and customers celebrating various seasonal events and public holidays over the years. In some of the oldest ones, little more than faded Polaroid pictures in frames, I spotted dad from back when he was in his final year at high school. I think that made him a 'senior' but I'll be honest and admit I'm still getting to grips with the local customs and language.
In addition to the decor there was the most amazing smell coming from the kitchen that was gently wafting through the customer area, mixing with the variety of coffee smells from the island area. Aunt Libby made a big thing about the fact that all the food they serve here they make on the premises from scratch and the smell of baking bread was mouth watering. If the bread smelt that good I couldn't wait to try some of the desserts on the menu.
I could have spent hours here just enjoying the atmosphere and aromas if it wasn't for the fact the place was heaving with people. My newly discovered other aunt, Congresswoman Kathy Haas New Hampshire 2nd District, was pressing the flesh; mingling with diners while schmoozing them and their vote for all they she was worth. Every now and then her gaze would sweep across my dad and her face would briefly cloud over before the politician in her took control and the smile reappeared. I don't know why dad and Aunt Kathy had stopped speaking but I had the feeling what she did to dad was serious. If you think I'm jumping to conclusions that it was her and not dad that did whatever it was that stopped them talking I have one word for you - Politician [pol-i-tish-uhn] (noun) which to quote from the online definition I googled means "seeker or holder of public office, who is more concerned about winning favour or retaining power than about maintaining principles". I had a simpler definition - Politician [pol-i-tish-uhn] (noun) "a habitual liar and thief".
In contrast my dad breeds new crops to feed millions in soils and climates that otherwise wouldn't sustain them. If you look up the word 'principled' in a dictionary it will say "see Poppy's dad". No way would he not mention her in my seventeen years of life otherwise surely? I have no idea what the bitch did but it has to have been pretty heinous. No Christmas cards, no birthday cards, not even a passing allusion to 'I have a sister I don't speak to'.
Still it would have been interesting to watch Aunt Kathy work from a distance if it wasn't for all her campaign flunkies roaming the shop trying to pressurise you with the hard sell into wearing a 'Haas 2012' badge. Though oddly they kept calling it a button. I've no idea why.
It seemed to me that they wanted as many people as possible wearing them before the media arrived, which I overheard they would later in the day. When I told them I didn't need one of their stinking badges, arguing I had no idea what Aunt Kathy's policies were, the flunky listed some of them which included her role in getting the new stadium built for the Haas High School team, The Huntsmen. I tried to make a joke about that being the only form of hunting I could support and inadvertently got into a policy discussion with her over hunting rights that quickly morphed into a heated argument. All I said was hunting animals for sport was barbaric act and that people who hunted bears should be made to do it as God intended... with a piece of branch or a rock mano-a-bearo...
I'm guessing there were votes in keeping the hunting lobby onside because she launched into me like I'd insulted her parentage, which to be fair I did later on but hadn't at that point. That situation occurred because the flunky was far better at debate than I was and before I knew it she had tied me up in verbal knots with my own words taken out of context and turned against me. That was the point that I questioned her parentage before storming out in tears. It was brutal and if that was what passed for political debate in Haas County I was going to stay well clear of it. It was a nice sunny day outside and I had intended to stay by the car sulking but eventually hunger got the better of me and I sloped back in dodging the flunkies. Spotting Fleur seated at the island I quickly made a bee line for her and took a seat on an empty stool next to her.
"Hey," I said nudging her gently. "What's the cheesecake like?"
"Mmmmmm..." moaned Fleur as she slowly slid the fork out from between her lips.
In response to Fleur's overacting I recalled a line from an old movie and motioned to the smartly dressed middle aged waitress on the inner side of the island counter.
"I'll have what she's having," I said with a giggle.
"So that's one blueberry pie with a scoop of ice cream and whipped 'not the low fat crap' cream, a stack of apple pancakes with another scoop of ice cream and one New York cheesecake with more whipped cream?" she replied, peering over her glasses at me.
"Fleur!" I gasped turning to my sister. "Ummm... could you maybe hold the blueberry pie and the stack of apple pancakes?"
"So just the cheesecake?"
"Yeah... basically," I reply with a sheepish grin. "Sorry."
As the waitress moved away, I stared in horror at Fleur as she all but licked the plate clean. In response to my staring she just waived a hand at me dismissively.
"It's a little slice of heaven."
"You're going to balloon up if you keep eating like that," I replied, shaking my head.
"Meh. It's all good, the weight always goes to my boobs first anyway," she said, favouring me with a wink as leant towards me squashing her breasts together with the insides of her arms for effect.
"Fleur!" I whisper-yelled, anxiously glancing around.
I thought the eyes of the teenage boy sitting on the other side of the island were going to pop out on stalks like in a 1940's Bugs Bunny cartoon. Spotting the boys reaction Fleur dissolved into fits of laughter.
"You should have gone for the works little sister, a little fat in the right places could give you the killer Haas figure that Aunt Libby and I have..."
"Fleur!" I snapped. I so wasn't in the mood for having my deficiencies highlighted after my flunky run in.
I'd just started to slide off the stool before Fleur caught my arm. This time when she spoke her voice was devoid of the humour that it had possessed moments before.
"Poppy... I'm sorry. It's just... habit. I don't mean it, it's just... just... I speak before I think sometimes. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said or done that," said Fleur, silencing my response by pressing a finger against my lips. "That being said, my thoughtlessness apart there is a serious basis to my teasing. Mum and dad may not have noticed but I did okay? Since... Ellie... I know you haven't been eating right. Yet since we've been here you've been more like your old self. Well, when you don't stop to think about things anyway. From the moment we stepped off the plane here you've been eating normally again. I don't know if it's being away from everything back home or what but this holiday has already done you more good than a dozen shrink sessions had back home."
I tried to say something in response but Fleur just shushed me, keeping her finger firmly pressed against my lips.
"I wouldn't put it past mum to have sent the three of us out with dad for the very reason of getting you outside of yourself. Take some advice from your wiser, yet still great looking, big sister. Think less and live in the moment more, okay?"
My eyes met Fleur's intense gaze for a moment, before I closed them feeling the sting of tears at the corners of my eyes. Slipping off her own stool she nudged me back onto mine with her hip just in time for the waitress to deliver my cheesecake.
"I've got to go use the little girl's room. You eat your cheesecake okay?"
"Fleur... thanks. I'll think about what you've said okay?" I replied, stiffening briefly as she wrapped her arms around me in a hug before relaxing into it.
I was still getting used to the extra physical contact that women seemed to have as part of their daily lives. Back when I was Jacob no one ever hugged me like that. Even mum stopped when I got to a certain age. She never said anything but one day those small daily hugs just started to dry up. I guess it was because in her eyes one day I was a big boy? A man? I never found the courage to ask why she stopped doing it. I just mourned there passing as another sign of my hated development towards manhood.
"De nada little sister. It's what big sisters are for."
"I got lucky with you," I sniffled. "Some of my friend's big sisters are real jerks."
"When it matters you will always be able to count on me from now on Poppy," said Fleur, her own voice heavy with unspoken emotion.
"I know," I said, feeling her arms slide across my shoulders as she released me from her embrace.
"This is all a bit heavy for lunchtime isn't it?" I said, forcing a half laugh as I tried to change the mood.
I was about to say more when I felt Fleur's trailing fingers hook under one of the straps of my bra and pull. Yelping in surprise as the strap snapped back into me I felt my face heat up as people sitting nearby turned to see what the commotion was about. Spinning around I saw Fleur slowly backing away from me, her arms out in a calming gesture.
"Live in the moment little sister," she said with a wink, her voice full of humour. "Besides, everyone's a jerk sometime and I'd be thrown out of the Big Sisters Union if I went too easy on you..."
"I don't know about tha--"
"Hush Poppy, don't be modest."
I glanced over at Fleur sitting opposite me in the booth and gave a small nod in response to her eye rolling.
"And this is Daisy, she's as bright as a button and--"
I tuned out the rest of dad's boasting about his family, letting my eyes wander around the collection of early forty-something's seated in the booth and in the chairs pulled up at the open end of it. After we'd eaten, Fleur and I had collected Daisy from where she was sitting with Aunt Libby and wandered over to dad where we'd got embroiled in this conversation. The male occupants of the booth were all bound together by being on the same American football team in High School. Together they represented some of the star players of the legendary twice undefeated 'Haas High Huntsmen'. We had ESPN back home, so I'd a little familiarity with American football. Dad watched games regularly during the college and NFL season and that at least meant I could follow some of the conversation about long past games. It was kind of cute the way they kept referring to each other by their nicknames when they discussed plays.
"I never thought I'd see the six of us back together man," laughed Floyd 'Safe Hands' Kennedy. "Just wait until I tell my son that I met 'Hawkeye' Haas. Y'know, my boy's been chasing your passing records this year man."
Floyd was Dad's favourite target back in the day and made a wonder catch that won a state championship in their first undefeated year. He was the most successful in sports terms of anyone at the table having spent seven years in the pros playing as Wide Receiver in Boston before retiring with a reoccurring ACL injury that wouldn't heal properly. For Fleur and my sake he explained that an ACL was the Anterior Cruciate Ligament. I'm guessing it's in the knee or something from the way he would rub it when he spoke about the injury. He had recently been elected to the local school board and was a supporter of the school's athletic programmes.
"Kid's got promise. Rest of the team sucks big time though," added John 'Cadillac' de Ville. "Hell, we should suit up and show them how to do it. I could still rush for more in a game than that kid wearing my number could do all season. Frankly, it's an insult that they haven't retired our jerseys. Hell, I'm going to have a word with that poor excuse of a Principal. If it wasn't for me they would never have been able to raise the finance for the new stadium. Boy owes me."
John Cooper 'Cadillac' de Ville III, Running Back. I guess I should be calling him Uncle John as he was married to Aunt Kathy, not that he seemed to spend any time with her while she was working the room. In fact he spent most of the time topping up his coffee from a hip flask he kept in his jacket and flashing the bling. His suit had an expensive tailored look to it that suggested to me that my sisters and I weren't the only thing made in England at the table and his watch was a big chunky piece of Swiss engineering. I couldn't help but think of the villain from the Muppet's recent movie when I looked at him. He certainly wasn't hiding how great he thought he was and was doing most of the bragging in the booth.
"You think Jim Brown wasn't as good as you were Coop. The kids aren't bad, they just need to catch a break," said Billy 'Fleet Feet' Murphy, Tight End.
Another 'uncle', Uncle Billy was Aunt Libby's brother-in-law and like his older brother, Sam, was a member of the Sheriff's department. He'd gone to college on a football scholarship but also studied hard and got himself a criminology degree as well. He never really made it in the pro's and after a couple of years playing indoor arena football he came back and joined the Sheriff's department, rising to the rank of detective. He'd nearly crushed the life out of me in the hug he gave when he realised who we were. I couldn't help but like Uncle Billy with his constant laughter and the twinkle in his eyes when he spoke.
"Maybe, though you guys were pretty special," said Billy's wife Laura, kissing her husband's cheek.
Laura had been a cheerleader and was just as much fun as her husband. She looked amazing still after all these years and was perched on her husband's lap at the end of the crowded booth, dressed in a smart skirt suit. She managed the LFD branch we were in for Aunt Libby and had come out to find what all the commotion was about before getting swept up both onto her husband's lap and into reminiscing with the boys.
"They put too much emphasis on passing the ball these days," said Uncle John, ignoring Uncle Billy's comment. "We won more often than not due to the running game. The old ground and pound approach."
"I think Hawkeye here played more of a role than you credit him. Those passing records have stood for a long time now. They broke your rushing record a couple of years back didn't they?"
"You mean that kid on steroids? Doesn't count."
"I think you are the only person who ever suggested that kid was on drugs," replied Uncle Billy with a scowl.
"I don't care about the kids. It's just great to see you back man," added Richard 'Brick' DeAngelo, Centre. "I just wish you hadn't had to leave in the first place. I don't like to speak ill of the dead but your father was a grade a piece of--"
"Brick, just you remember that's my wife's father you're talking about," interrupted Uncle John, preventing him finishing his sentence. "You don't get to speak about a family like the Haas's in that way."
I tried hard not to laugh as Fleur rolled her eyes and pulled a face in response to Uncle John's words.
"Still doesn't change what an as--"
"Ricky the kids," hissed his wife Amanda, giving an apologetic glance to my dad. "And it's wrong to speak ill about those who can't defend themselves."
Amanda DeAngelo was a delicate, petite woman that you worried would be squashed when her husband rolled over in bed. Like Laura she had also been one of the cheerleaders when my dad was at school.
"Hey, it's okay," said my father. "My father was a difficult man, I'd be the first to admit that. However, while things didn't work out quite like I expected I can't complain. I've got a wonderful family, a job I love and friends who after all this time still have my back."
I watched my dad and Brick do that guy first bump thing and everything seemed okay. I never got the secret language of guys, despite having the chance to observe them in the natural habitat first hand for so long. I watched Brick redden slightly in response to my father's warm words of friendship. A mountain of a man with a slightly hangdog look, I could see that he wasn't the sort that expressed deep emotion well.
"So I hear you're the Mayor now?" asked my father, a big grin on his face. "I couldn't think of a better guy."
"Neither could I," said Uncle John as he took a sip from his coffee. "It also helps Kathy's campaign by being able to point to local farmers son and sports hero as a political ally which is why we bankrolled his campaign."
I watched Brick start to say something before his wife gently placed her hand on his arm and shook her head.
"So you're the ones who've moved into your old man's place then?" asked the final member of the team present, Aaron 'Rocket' Haas, also a Tight End.
Yeah, Haas. That was a shock.
From what dad had said when he introduced everyone, Aaron was a distant relation whose ancestors split from the family tree sometime at the start of the last century. The unspoken subtext seemed to be that they hadn't fared as well financially as the 'core' Haas lineage. If Aaron was any indication of the calibre of his branch of the family I wasn't surprised in the least. He immediately made me feel uncomfortable with the way his gaze kept wandering over Fleur and myself and he oozed with all the oily charm of a used car salesman, which it turned out he sort of was. He managed to drop into the conversation at every opportunity that he owned the local BMW dealership and was also something called a 'realtor'. Not just any old realtor either but a 'Certified Commercial Investment Member'. It still sounded like being a glorified estate agent to me but what did I know?
"Yeah, doing it up ourselves as a summer home. It's going to be a great fun, isn't that right girls?" asked my father with a slightly manic grin.
"Yay," replied Fleur affecting a flat tone to her voice as she slowly twirled her index finger in circle. "Can't wait."
"What about you pumpkin?" asked my father, squeezing my shoulder. "You're looking forward to helping out your old man right?"
I coughed nervously in response, suddenly finding the decoration on the place mat to be of great interest.
"Huh," said my father with a frown before turning to Daisy who was nestled under the crook of his other arm. "What about you Princess? You're up for helping out your old dad?"
"Can I use a hammer? 'Cos mummy won't let me use a hammer," replied Daisy with an expectant look on her face. "I don't know why 'cos that building was old anyway. It's not like it was new or anything an' everyone says the new one is much nicer..."
"Uh... I'd forgotten about that. It's probably best you don't then if mummy said no princess," said my father, bending down to kiss the top of Daisy's head. Fleur and I exchanged worried glances at the thought of Daisy holding any tools.
"Ooo-kay," replied a dejected sounding Daisy.
"Good girl, now let's--"
My father's words went unfinished as a piercing squeal erupted from just outside the booth.
"Jakey? Oh My God! Jakey Haas! It is you!"
A tall blonde woman with the sort of tan that only came naturally if you lived much nearer the equator and far too much make-up for my liking was bouncing up and down excitedly in her white stiletto heels and spray painted on clothing. Glancing around the table I watched Amanda and Laura roll their eyes.
"J-J-Jane?" said my father, a rabbit caught in the headlights look on his face.
Anything further he might of said was cut off when she cupped the sides of his head and kissed him with enough passion that I found the need to reach over and cover Daisy's eyes with my hand. That it had the effect of pushing them apart was purely an accidental bonus. Honest. I watched my father's mouth silently open and close a few times after Jane pulled back from the kiss, a smug satisfied look on her face.
"You still have it honey," she purred leaning forward to give the entire booth a view of silicon valley as she wiped her lipstick off my father's lips with her thumb. Eventually after what seemed like an eternity my father finally spoke.
"I'm uhm..."
"Staying for the summer? I heard," said Jane showing perfectly straight Hollywood smile white teeth. "Maybe I'll see you around sometime handsome."
With a finger wave she turned around and strutted back off into the crowd. I'd say something about undulating motion to describe her hip movement but by that point I was grappling with Fleur who was intent on pursuing the home wrecking hussy and disemboweling her with a spork.
"Whoa! Same old Jane," laughed Uncle John. "You know she always hated that you were the meal ticket that got away and the one thing Jane hates is losing. You better be careful Jake, while the cat's away and all that... What was it you said about her again when you dated her back in high school? Mad as a box of frogs but bangs like a wild animal?"
"John! Language!" hissed Laura reaching across the table to press her hands against Daisy's head. "Little ears!"
"You had sex with that?" hissed Fleur, murder dancing in her eyes.
"Hey your old man was a jock, not some monk," said Uncle John, still laughing. "Girls were throwing themselves at us. We were like rock stars. What were we going to do? Man doesn't live by bread alone..."
Luckily I anticipated the shift in direction as Fleur changed her focus to disembowelling Uncle John with her spork.
"Because you needed the fresh air to calm down," I said with a sigh as I sat down heavily on the bench seat of an empty trestle table. Around us the waiting staff of LFD were buzzing around, carrying drinks and meals to similar trestle tables in other parts of the patio garden.
"Calm down?!?"
"Yes, calm down. You aren't going anywhere until I hear the words 'in control' from you," I said, saying the words 'in control' in my best Animal from the Muppets impression.
"I.. but... I... Aaaaaarghh!" screamed Fleur, underlining her frustration with a stamp of a foot.
Closing my eyes I swung my legs up on the bench seat as I laid back, letting the warm afternoon sun wash over me. "I never, ever thought I'd ever meet anyone other than mum who had carnal knowledge of our father. Frankly, I'm not even that comfortable knowing mum and dad have done it."
"Tell me about it," said Fleur. I felt the trestle table move slightly as she sat down on the opposite bench. "The use of the word 'bang' in the same context as dad and any woman makes me feel nauseous."
"I need some serious brain bleach to get rid of that memory," I replied with a shudder. "The thought that our father had a recreational sex life as a teen is going to need a lot of therapy to overcome."
"Therapy? More like a lot of vodka."
I glanced under the trestle table noting that Fleur was lying down on the opposite bench seat. Maybe it was my boyish upbringing but there was something in talking about emotionally painfully things while not looking at each other that seemed to make it easier. Actually, there was part of me that would be more comfortable talking about difficult emotional things using morse code to someone else in a different room.
"Good luck getting served. We're both under 21 remember? It's not 18 like back home."
"Not insurmountable little sister. I've got a dress back at the house that with the right make up and accessories..."
I snorted my disapproval in response.
"What are we going to do Poppy?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"It's not our fight Fleur. It's down to dad to deal with that woman."
"We're going to leave this to dad? You know he's not equipped to deal with a woman like that."
"It's what he wants us to do and we should respect that," I said with a sigh. "As much as we may not like to think about it dad clearly has a history with that woman."
"Not listening... la-la-la-la-la..."
"Fleur..."
"Nope, as far as I'm concerned dad has had sex a grand total of six times, all with mum, all with the lights off and all solely for the purposes of procreation. And he didn't enjoy it."
"Fleur, we need to face the fact that... actually, I think I prefer your version of reality."
"Thought you would," giggled Fleur.
"What do you think mum will say when dad tells her tonight?" I asked, trying to picture the conversation.
"You should have let Fleur spork the bitch."
"Fleur..." I replied with a snort. "Remember what dad said."
"Oh, was that when he said 'I tried to say something but she distracted me with what she was doing with her tongue down my throat during the kiss' you mean?"
"Oh God, not that!" I cried, placing my hands over my ears. "La-la-la-la... not listening..."
"Then what?"
"I meant that we were to stay out of it and he would tell her that he was happily married and that the kiss was deeply inappropriate."
"Oh that..." said Fleur. "I still think sporking the bitch works better."
"Fleur..."
"Okay, okay... we'll go with your approach but I still reserve the right to call sporking the bitch 'Plan B'. Happy?"
"I can live with that."
I stared up at the blue sky overheard while we both sat in silence. Other than the odd wisp of fluffy white cloud the sky was clear allowing the warmth of the sun to permeate every inch of me. I found myself let out a small sigh of contentment.
"Do we have to go straight back inside?" I asked, not wanting to move from this spot ever again. The feeling of a full stomach and the warm sun giving me a contented glow.
"I think we're good for half an hour," said Fleur, stretching languidly. "Dad knows where we are."
"Great," I said stifling a yawn. "Wake me up before you go-go okay?"
"Bad joke but no problemo," said Fleur with a small laugh. "I could do with a nap myself anyway."
"Night big sister."
"Night little sister."
"Ah'm sorry if I disturbed y'all ma'am," said a familiar voice. "Only there weren't no other spare tables..."
I watched Rex raise his small plate with a piece of steaming hot chocolate cake on it. He was sitting on the ground beside the table resting his back against the bench seat by my feet. Glancing around I noticed that the sun was still high in the sky and patio garden was full of customers, so I figured I hadn't been asleep for too long. A noise from the other side of the table indicated that Fleur hadn't gone anywhere and was still asleep snoring softly on the other bench seat. Relaxing a little now that I realised I wasn't alone, I gave Rex a weak smile.
"Umm... it's okay," I mumbled, my voice quavering a little with nerves.
"Ah can go if ah've disturbed you any?" asked Rex as he started to get his feet.
"No, no, it's fine. Really," I said, motioning him to sit back down.
I took a moment to take a deep, calming breath and remember the words Fleur had said to me. Just because the men that... Ellie... doesn't mean all men are like that. Dad was a good guy. So was granddad Mortimer. And so were my brothers... well as good as younger brothers could be I guess. Uncle Billy seemed nice and I knew Uncle Sam was. Maybe Rex was too? He seemed nice. He had that sort of plain spoken, simple honesty to him.
"Thank you kindly ma'am."
I found a giggle escaping as he tipped an imaginary hat to me with his free hand. It was a slightly comical gesture but at the same time it spoke of something... respectful... safe?
"I'm guessing you probably want your hat back?" I asked, offering his hat to him. "What was I doing with it anyway?"
"You were goin' all pink in the face ma'am an' I was worried y'all would burn in the sun."
"Oh... umm... thank you," I replied, reaching up to touch my face. It felt warm but I wasn't sure if that was the sun or the effect Rex was having on me. I felt a warm glow inside that even when I was sleeping, at my most vulnerable, he had looked out for me. "So... umm... are you here with your relatives?"
"Relatives?" he asked, placing his straw Stetson back on his head.
"Yeah... you... um... you said last time that you were here visiting your relatives..." I replied, setting a record for the most uses of the word 'you' in a single sentence.
"I did? I mean... oh yeah... they're all back in the store eatin' an' stuff."
"Aren't they going to worry about you that you're out here with me?"
"Umm... no? Ah said ah was getting too hot an' would come on out here for some air an' all."
"But isn't Texas hotter than New Hampshire?" I asked, frowning.
"Umm... Ah'm heartened to hear that you remember so much about our earlier conversation," he replied, those wonderful chocolate brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "Y'all been thinking about me since we last me then?"
I turned my head away from Rex as I fought to regain my composure while I had no doubt that my face flushed a shade of red that matched the most vibrant shade in my paint box.
"Ah'll guess that's a yes then Miss Poppy," he chuckled.
"Well... umm... y-y-you remembered me too," I stammered, desperately trying to think of a way of getting the conversation back on safer ground.
"Ah could hardly forget as beautiful a woman as y'all now could I?" replied Rex. "Particularly not one named after the state flower of m'ah home state."
"The state flower of Texas is a poppy? I didn't know that."
"Umm... yeah?"
"That's... kinda kewl, actually," I replied, biting my bottom lip nervously as I looked back at Rex through my eye lashes. 'Stop flirting girl' hissed a voice inside my head.
"Ah think it's 'kinda kewl' that's y'all beautiful too, Miss Poppy," said Rex with a grin.
"Yes... I mean no! No! I didn't say that it was 'kinda kewl' that you thought I was beautiful, I meant the state flower being a poppy was 'kinda kewl' because it's a beautiful flower. It's why I choose the na... I mean, it's not me being beautiful because that would make me sound conceited thanking you for saying that and obviously I'm not conceited or even beautiful really actually I'm quite plain to be honest and I don't want you to think I'm conceited or beautiful well maybe not not think I'm beautiful but not make you think I'm the sort of girl who fishes for compliments from boys an' stuff an'... an'... an'," I said, coming to a halt to gulp down air as I tried to regain control of my breathing.
"Ah know what y'all meant Miss Poppy. I was just teasing you."
I found myself scowling slightly at Rex's maddening grin. For all the safe vibes Rex gave, I got the feeling he was the sort of guy that liked to tease a girl.
"Aww, don't be like that now Miss Poppy. Here, have a peace offering from me," said Rex, cutting a small piece of chocolate cake with his fork and holding it out for me. I tried to wave it away but he just cocked an eyebrow at me Spock style and gestured again with the fork, moving closer to me.
"Now y'all wouldn't want to offend me by refusing m'ah southern hospitality would you?"
I shook my head in response, mouth firmly closed.
"Open wide..."
After hesitating for a few seconds, I opened my mouth tentatively letting the warm piece of chocolaty goodness slide into my mouth. A small involuntary moan escaped as the fork slowly slid out past my lips, causing me to blush once more.
"Oh that's good..." I whispered, tasting the thick chocolate filling in the cake.
"Your aunt sure knows how to bake," said Rex, cutting the remaining chocolate cake into two pieces on his plate.
"I couldn't, it's your cake..." I said as he offered me a piece.
"Ah'm happy to split it with you Miss Poppy," he said with a wink.
This time I accepted the proffered piece of cake without hesitation, closing my eyes and savouring the taste. If sex was half this good I'd be surprised.
"M'ah momma says that there ain't no problem that chocolate won't solve," said Rex around his own piece of cake as he ate it.
"A wise woman."
"That she is, Miss Poppy, that she is."
"Poppy, just Poppy please," I said, biting at my bottom lip again. "Miss Poppy makes me sound like a primary school teacher."
"Ah could see you teaching elementary school Miss Poppy," chuckled Rex. "Ah could see you being good with kids an' all."
"You haven't seen me with children," I snorted.
"No but I'd like too," he replied, his face split wide in that maddening grin that seemed to hint that if this was a game of cat and mouse, I was most definitely not the cat.
My eyes danced across his muscled chest that his tight tee shirt did nothing to hide despite the khaki windbreaker he wore. For a moment I found myself wondering why he didn't just take the windbreaker off if he was hot indoors but before the thought could go anywhere my eyes locked with his. For a few moments I forgot everything just gazing into his eyes, enjoying the feeling of warmth and simultaneous sense of both safety and danger that they evoked in me. It wasn't a bad danger but if the way my body was reacting was any clue it wasn't perhaps the sort of danger a good girl entertained.
"Poppy?"
"I.. what?" I said, blinking back to reality.
"Ah said what do you want to be doing with yaw'r life?" he said. "Are you okay, you seemed... distracted?"
"No! I'm fine, really. I'm fine."
"Y'all sure?"
"Uh... I'm fine. We're all fine here now, thank you. How are you?" I asked, looking away only to see Fleur still lying down but biting her lips in an effort to stifle her laughter.
"Ah'm all the better for seeing y'all Poppy," said Rex, reaching out to take my hand in his. "But ah must be getting back to m'ah folks now."
"Ooo-kay..."
"Y'all take care now Miss Poppy," said Rex, bending slightly to kiss the back of my hand. I felt a rush of goose bumps down my arm emanating from the spot where his lips brushed my skin. "Ah hope to see you again real soon."
"Umm... t-t-that wouldn't be the worst thing..." I said, stumbling over my words. "And I said c-c-call me P-P-Poppy remember?"
I intended to be stoic as he departed with a tip of his hat but found my traitorous right hand finger waving goodbye to him against orders. Stuffing it in my lap under my loyal left hand I watched Rex re-enter the store with a wave in my direction. I couldn't see his face clearly but I was fairly certain that permanently maddening grin of his was plastered across his face.
"Not a word," I growled at Fleur as the first of her suppressed giggles escaped. "Not a word."
I took no comfort at all from the squeal Fleur emitted moments later as she laughed so hard she fell off the bench.
"Ha-ha...ha," I said, pulling the door open again. I had twenty years and several hundred pounds less of doughnuts on him. "If you think you can do better, you can try and get close to the target... oh wait, that's right you tried and failed."
Opening the cooler box next to the seat I pulled a coke from it and took a deep pull from it, washing it around my mouth.
"That's right you don't like the taste of chocolate do you Augustine?" said Rosenberg with a chuckle. In response I gave him the finger.
"My mother always said the way to a woman's heart was through chocolate and you can--"
I was about to say more when the van lurched slightly as the side door pulled back again.
"Jeez, jumpy much?" said the casually dressed middle aged Hispanic woman as she entered the vehicle, nodding at my drawn pistol. I gave her a sheepish shrug as I slid it back into its holster under my windbreaker.
"I wasn't expecting to see you Sandra, what gives?" I asked.
"I'm here on behalf of the great state of Texas to arrest you for crimes against their accent," she said with a sigh. "You sound as bad, no actually you sound worse, than Nick Cage in Conair."
"I sayed, put tha bunnay back in tha box," mimicked Rosenberg in a bad southern accent. "It's a miracle that the British kid is as dumb as he is."
"Hey, you guys wanted me for my computer skills not my acting skills," I said, starting to get up. "I can catch the next flight home if you don't like it."
"Cal-i-for-ni-ay, dude" said Rosenberg, giving me the bullhorns gesture.
"Bite me Rosenberg."
"Okay, that's enough," snapped Sandra. "We all have jobs to do if this is going to work. Rosenberg, you just make sure that you stay in contact with Williamson okay? It took a lot of time, money and effort to get her onto the Congresswoman's staff."
"I know my job Soto," said Rosenberg with a frown.
"Then make sure you do it," replied Sandra, still glowering at him. "As for you Nicholas, there is no point sending our best nerd in there if you can't get close enough to the Haas family to do the nerd stuff. How's it going with the Haas girl?"
"Slowly. She's a bit shy. Seriously cute but a bit shy," I replied. I felt a smile tickling at the corner of my mouth as I thought of Poppy but quickly shook it off. "If I go too quick, it'll spook her."
"What about the other sister?" asked Rosenberg.
"Too late now. We're stuck with the Poppy kid like Nicholas here is stuck with that stupid accent now we've played our hand," said Sandra with a resigned sigh.
"We could bring in someone from out of state?"
I watched Sandra's head bobble slightly as she thought it over, before she shook her head.
"I'd rather not if I can help it. My experience has been things work better if you keep it small," replied Sandra. "Has the girl, Poppy, said anything about why her father has come back now of all times?"
"No. I'm not even sure she knows," I said with a shrug. "Could it be coincidence?"
"I might have said so until I saw him sit down with the principals today. No, he's got to be back for the money."
"Do you think someone spooked them and he's here to get it out of the country?" asked Rosenberg. "If he can move it before we've finished connecting the dots, we'll lose it."
"No, I've put too much effort into this to lose," said Sandra, her face set. "We keep doing, what we've been doing. Now get back to work okay?"
Rosenberg and I both nodded our assent. As I started to slide the door to the van open, Sandra called out to me.
"Nicholas?"
"Yeah?" I said, turning to face back into the van.
"We've all got a lot riding on this kid. Don't fuck up, okay?"
Authors Note: And welcome to the May 2012 chapter of 'We are Family'. What? It's not May you say? Umm... yeah, sorry about that. The good news - or the bad news depending on how much you liked this chapter - is work is finally allowing me to getting back to writing again and I'm finally getting back into the swing of things after a few really bad attempts to restart. The next chapter has already been started and hopefully should be ready sometime November work permitting. Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter and hopefully you've enjoyed it. If you enjoyed this chapter, then your comments are always welcome. No reproduction without permission, etc.
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...
Chapter 5
"Hey, wake up sleepyhead we're almost there."
I started awake at my father's words and gentle nudging, the late morning sunshine stinging my eyes as I blinked into wakefulness. Pulling my ear buds free, the soulful sounds of Inna Modja were replaced by Randy Newman. Dad was big on what he called 'real music' but what Fleur called 'grumpy old white guys'. Even though he was in his early 40's, which I guess isn't that old for a dad, his playlists were full of folk songs, Springsteen, Dylan and others. I liked that song from Toy Story but on the whole preferred mum's playlists of A-Ha, Disney songs and 90's Britpop hits if I had to choose one of them for in-car entertainment. With a yawn I peered out of the side window, the rows of regularly spaced trees running parallel to the road like bars.
"I thought you said this person was in Plymouth?" I asked, stretching my arms to work out some kinks from the long drive. "And for the record, it's still freaky that Plymouth isn't on the coast here."
"Did I? Sorry, I meant just outside Plymouth. We're only a couple of miles from her place now," replied my father, glancing down at the satnav built into the dashboard.
"I get things are different here but you need to try and be a little bit more accepting of difference, Pumpkin."
"Me? I'm the poster child for difference," I replied with a derisive snort.
"I hate to disappoint you Poppy but you really are very set in your ways," replied my father with a shake of his head.
"Whatever," I mumbled under my breath.
"And you know full well you aren't any different than any of your sisters to me."
"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted at that statement..."
"Poppy..."
"Okay, okay... flattered," I said, holding my hands up in mock defeat.
"And the other thing?"
"I'm not really that bad about accepting difference am I?"
"I'm just saying, since we arrived here you've taken just about every opportunity that's presented to moan about things that aren't the same as back home. You need to remember that this was my home before I met your mother. All these things that you are so quick to dismiss for being different are part of me. I'm not saying you can't or shouldn't criticise things where the difference warrants it... but maybe you could, to quote Bing Crosby, try to 'ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive'?"
Had I really moaned about everything that was different? Ugghhh. Maybe. Truth be told maybe I didn't really want to be here, any more than I wanted to be back in England. Was I really rejecting a part of my dad when I was so critical of things here? Double Ugghhh. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt my dad's feelings.
"Okay... no promises, but I'll try alright?" I said quietly.
"Good enough, Pumpkin. Good enough," said my dad reaching over to briefly squeeze my shoulder.
"So, how far are we from this therapist? All I can see are trees. What's she live in, some sort of cabin in the woods?" I asked, trying vainly to spot some signs of civilisation beyond the trees lining either side of the road.
"Yes."
"I... what?"
"Yes, she lives in a cabin in the woods."
"I thought you were taking me to some sort of therapist, not the local wise woman," I said with a frown. "Shouldn't therapists have like an office or be based in a hospital or something?"
"Poppy, she's a proper therapist. I'll admit she has a reputation for being a bit unorthodox but she has very good referrals from people I trust. I think her institute has an office somewhere in Plymouth but she does a lot of her work from her cabin. Which is, coincidentally and perhaps not unsurprisingly given it is a cabin, in the woods."
"Well if she sacrifices me to appease some ancient gods I'm soooooo telling mum."
"Pumpkin, it'll be fine. Stop being so melodramatic," chuckled dad.
At the prompting of the female voice on the satnav, dad took a turnoff leaving the smooth asphalt of the road for a rougher finished surface, cracked from weather and age. The ambient light around us dimmed due to the thicker tree canopy. For a dazzling urbanite like myself the thought of so much mother nature in one place was both beautiful and slightly intimidating.
I slid my own iPhone out of my cardigan pocket in response to its gentle vibration, tapping the read message notification with my thumb.
*Fleur: Are you there yet?*
*Poppy: No. Dad taking me to cabin in woods. Concerned I'm going to be sacrificed to appease ancient gods. Send help.*
*Fleur: Don't worry, remind them that sacrifice of virgin was optional in movie! :-p lol*
*Poppy: I'd be safer if you were here. Slut dies first. :-p*
*Fleur: Ouch! Will get you back for that!! Text me when out little sister.*
"Poppy?" asked my father, raising an eyebrow quizzically in response to my giggle.
"Sorry, I was just texting Fleur... So, how did it go with Aunt Kathy?" I asked, raising the question that I'd been dying to ask all weekend but had never found the right moment to.
"Not great," said my father with a sigh. "Not great at all..."
"What did she say?"
"Nothing beyond the basic pleasantries. It's been over twenty years since we've spoken..."
My father trailed off into silence, his face scrunched up in frustration.
"What happened between the two of you?" I asked.
"Stuff..."
"Stuff?"
"Stuff."
"What the fudge is 'stuff'?" I asked, turning in my seat to get a better view of my father. Yes, I said 'fudge'. I'm trying to be a better behaved girl remember. It was fudge or frak. I went with fudge.
"Stuff is... stuff," he replied, his eyes never leaving the road. "Stuff you don't need to worry about."
"Gee... patronising much?" I said, sulkily turning away from him to face out the side window again. "I am a part of this dysfunctional Haas family of yours to, y'know."
"Poppy..."
"Talk to the hand," I replied, in a manner that even I thought was a little petulant sounding. We drove on for a few minutes more in silence before the car came to a halt in the middle of the road. The ratchety creak of the handbrake startled me enough to turn to face my father.
"Stuff... means that some stupid things were said, okay?" said my father, his voice barely audible over the sound of the engine ticking over.
"Just how stupid could it have been that you didn't talk for twenty years?"
"Stupid enough," he said with a heavy sigh. "You have to remember that my childhood was--"
"Norman Bates style freaky?"
"...unconventional," replied my father, emphasising the word. "Dad expected us to rule the world... or at least New Hampshire. I was born into a dynasty to be a prince of the modern age in my father's eyes. Sort of like the Kennedy's but more Dutch Protestant and less Irish Catholic. Of course, it wasn't so much about realising our ambitions as realising his."
"That doesn't sound fun," I said, frowning at the thought of my father's childhood.
What surprised me even more was when I saw my father reach up and dab with the back of his hand at some silently shed tears. My father rarely ever cried.
"It wasn't," said my father, his voice back to a gentle whisper. "And it wasn't the worst part..."
"What wasn't?"
"The worst part... the worst part was that all that narrow mindedness... the vitriol and mistrust... as much as you tried to keep it out..."
"Yes?"
"Some of it got in."
"I... what?" I said, my voice wavering slightly with my uncertainty at how to respond to my father's words.
"Nothing to concern yourself with right now, pumpkin," replied my father, clearing his nose with a man-sized snuffle. "We've got an appointment to keep."
I nodded distractedly as he started the car back on its way down the track. Lost in my thoughts I reflected on my father's words.
"Aunt Libby runs Uncle Samuel's campaign doesn't she?" I asked after a few minutes of driving in silence.
"Well, I think it's more of a partnership," replied my father.
"Would Uncle Samuel be where he is today if it wasn't for Aunt Libby?" I asked, knowing the answer before it was given.
"No," replied my father after a few moments of silence.
"Aunt Kathy is a congresswoman."
"Yes," replied my father, his voice still unnaturally subdued.
"One married someone and helped them win public office, becoming the de facto kingmaker in the process... one holds public office and aspires to greater public office..."
"Yes."
"But you don't... you're different. You don't even run things at home. Mum does all that..."
"I would like to think of it as a partnership," replied my father, a smile returning to his face for the first time since we'd started this conversation.
Yeah right, a partnership in so much as mum sometimes told us to ask our father who would always tell us to do what mum wanted. If dad the power behind the throne in our household he was so far behind it he wasn't just behind the throne he was in a different wing of the palace.
"Dad... it doesn't sound like any of it got into you... I can't imagine Grandpa Haas taking my transition as well as you did?"
"You've got that right," said my father, a frown returning to his face. "I was about Daisy's age when I remember him one night, drunk as a skunk, crowing about the assassination of a man out west. He was ranting about his sort should be barred from public office and how San Francisco needed another fire to cleanse its sins."
If dad was about Daisy's age then it would have put it in the late 1970's and assassinations in San Francisco...
"It was Harvey Milk wasn't it?" I asked. See, I watch serious films. Or the trailers for them...
"Yes... and that was one reason why I was determined you would never meet him. Even as a small child it was obvious you were different. You needed the space to find yourself without the likes of my father sowing the seeds of doubt in your mind about what other people would think, trying to tell you what you felt was wrong."
"You did good," I said, my face flushed red with embarrassment. "I prolly never thank you or mum enough for that."
"You don't need to thank us for doing the right thing Poppy. It's what parents are supposed to do," replied my father. "Anyway, it was never really an issue about your grandfather. He never made any effort to contact me and to be honest, even after he died I never expected to hear from his estate. I thought it would be split between Libby and Kathy... well, maybe more in the favour of Kathy than Libby."
"So why did Grandfather Haas leave us his home? It's a pretty personal thing to leave to the son he didn't talk too."
"I wondered that too," said dad with a grin. "Turns out it wasn't him that did it. It was a condition of mom's will. The house had been put in her name decades ago when I was a child, some sort of tax dodge I think, but in her will she left it in trust for me on the condition that my father be allowed to live in it rent free until his death. I've no idea why. Mom died before I graduated high school and it seems that before your grandfather could get me to sign it over to him we'd had our falling out."
"So when grandfather Haas died..."
"Yeah, I was surprised as anyone. I understand that Kathy was spitting feathers as dad had told her he was leaving pretty much everything to her. I think when his mind started to go he forgot that the house wasn't his to bequeath, something the lawyers had to sort out before we could take possession. Luckily your mom knows people in corporate law over here who knew people who could help."
"We should visit Grandma Haas' grave. To thank her."
"I think that would be nice Poppy," said my father, a warm smile lighting up his face. "We could all go. I never got the chance to introduce my girls to her in life. I can't change that but... we should definitely go. Make a trip of it."
"We could even just go now?" I asked hopefully. "This drive has been very therapeutic. I'm probably cured..."
"Poppy..." warned my father.
"Oh all right, just remember if I get sacrificed I'm going to be cross for the remainder of the day," I said with a theatrical sigh.
For information, when I say 'Therapy Cabin' I'm not thinking 80's Saturday morning kids show but a more serious retro 60's show. The 'Therapy Cabin'... A Martin Quinn Production... in Color!...' kind of thing. I can hear it now in the ominous voiceover... 'How does a nightmare begin? For Poppy Haas, aspiring artist and most beautiful of the Haas girls, it began at few minutes past midday on a lost Monday morning looking for a proper therapist she never found. It began with a welcoming sign that gave hope of black coffee... it began with a homely, un-deserted looking cabin and a father too stubborn to turn around and continue their journey... in the weeks to come, Poppy Haas would go back to how it all began many times... da-de-daaaa... da-de-daaaaa...'
"Here's your coffee, Miss Haas... that was white with two sugars right?" asked the receptionist handing me a hot, watery, milky white liquid in a cardboard cup.
"Ummm... thanks," I replied ducking my head. I'd actually asked for black, no sugar but I'd probably mumbled it or something. There's no other way that someone could get an order that wrong right? It had to be at least partly my fault. I'd say that some coffee was better than no coffee but after taking a mouthful I was pretty certain whatever I was drinking had no more been near a coffee bean than... well, something else that hadn't been near a coffee bean.
I put the cup down and returned to the old copy of Cosmo that I'd been thumbing through trying to work out from the quiz what sort of movie heroine I was. I'd been hoping for something a bit Ripleyesque but evidently I was an 'ingénue', which struck me as a big word for a magazine who's previous article was entitled 'Are you a bitch?' but there you are. Once I knew what 'ingénue' meant I'd know whether to be insulted or not.
"Poppy?"
I looked up from the magazine to see my father standing in the doorway of the therapist's consulting room. Next to him was I assumed the therapist. Nearly as tall as my dad, she was smartly dressed in a suit and heels giving very much a CJ Cregg from the West Wing kind of vibe. Wiping sweaty hands on my jeans I stood up and followed the therapist into her room.
"Go get 'em, pumpkin," said my dad, stooping to kiss the top of my head as I passed him. "I'll be outside if you need me."
"Hello, Poppy. We felt it better if this session was a one-to-one with just you and me," she said gesturing for me to sit in one of the leather arm chairs in the room.
"My name is Professor Caroline Marx."
We briefly shook hands before I literally sank into the arm chair. Sitting down beside a large ornate wooden desk that faced out towards the woods, she swivelled her desk chair around to sit facing me. The gap between us was filled with a low coffee table and my flailing legs as I tried - unsuccessfully - to get to grips with the armchair.
"So, your father gave me his view of why you are here but I'd like to hear your perspective if I may?" she asked, picking up a stylus and some sort of tablet pc.
Sitting, or perhaps more accurately, sinking, before the Professor this all finally felt very... real. I recalled the previous therapist my parents had made me go see after Ellie's death. I hadn't wanted to go and the pain of Ellie's loss was still so raw that I hadn't yet worked out how to mask it so my objections had only made my parents all the more determined that I would speak to someone. Fortunately for me, the woman they sent me too was so wet she was virtually a liquid and at the point she'd reached for the glove puppets so we could talk about my feelings 'in safety' I already had her number. It had only been for one session because I had convinced the therapist that I was on the road to being 'okay' and at the time my parents, whatever they may have suspected, had no proof to the contrary.
Okay, so I made the glove puppet bit up but you get the general gist of it.
Now though, I was sitting opposite a full blown professor of brain stuff who came highly recommended by brainy people my dad knew and there wasn't a hint of a puppet in sight. If anyone was going to get me to talk about things it was this woman. It wasn't the framed certificates on the wall that made me think that, it was the look in her eyes. It was like she'd weighed and measured me the moment I'd stepped foot in her office. This woman was confident she was going to break me. She was going to make me talk about Ellie... and I wasn't ready to share my pain yet. It was a burden I deserved to carry and no one was going to take that away from me.
I really needed to be somewhere else.
"Would you believe that I feel amazingly better already and it's all down to the healing powers of the Therapy Cabin? You could put that as an endorsement on your website if it helps?" I said, trying to rise from my seat before the suction from the leather pulled me back down. Leather seats in summer. They might as well have put glue on the upholstery the way they were sticking to me.
"Poppy..."
"I'm fine. Honestly. I'm getting better every day... y'know, time heals and all that. I'm sorry for my dad wasting your time. He's a little over protective," I added.
This time I unsuccessfully tried to use the arms on the armchair for leverage. This sucker didn't want to let me go.
"Poppy..."
Frowning she tapped something on her tablet and proceeded to read from it.
"In the case of the mistaken identity murder of promising young artist Ellie Arundel, Mr Justice Lightfoot sentenced her murderers William Hallis and Joseph Carey, both 22, to 30 years imprisonment each. Carey will be back in court shortly to face a further charges relating to his actions during sentencing when he hurled a series of transphobic insults at Poppy Haas who had been in court to witness the judge's decision. Miss Haas, 17, formerly known as Jacob Haas, had been Hallis and Carey's intended target on the night of Miss Arundel's murder..."
I felt the strength flow from my body as I sank back into the armchair. The memory of Carey screaming insults at me after the judge had announced his sentence caused me to flinch involuntarily as each memory hit me.
"Do you want to try that again?" asked Professor Marx as she looked up from the tablet at me. "Because if you are here to waste my time then I'm very happy to end this session and tell your father that you were unco-operative."
"D-d-don't you have to be nice to me?" I stuttered, shocked at the harshness of her response.
"No. I'm your therapist not your mother," she said in a clearer voice, her stern expression softening slightly. "Poppy, I can tell you've spent far too long bottling things up from our brief conversation so far. It's not surprising to hear from your father that it's beginning to tear you apart. Do you seriously believe you are getting better?"
"Maybe?" I replied, the uncertainty in my voice evident to us both. "I mean, yes."
"Then you won't mind talking about Ellie will you?" asked the Professor.
"I..."
The words seemed to die on my tongue as I struggled and failed to come up with a reason for why I couldn't talk about Ellie without admitting how much doing so hurt.
"Ummm... are you going to ask me about my feelings?" I asked, trying to think back to my last therapy session. I could deal with that conversation, divert the conversation down a pathway I could manage.
"I'm not really bothered about them," replied the professor. "Maybe later. So, how long ago was that article written?"
My shoulders slumped as I realised that short of refusing to answer she wasn't going to give up with this line of questioning. Clenching my fist closed, I dug my finger nails into the palm of my hand to distract me as I replied.
"Uhhh... December... last December..."
"So what, just over six months ago?" asked the Professor, her eyes keeping contact with mine despite the scribbling of her stylus on the tablet.
I nodded my head in reply.
"And how long ago did Ellie die?"
"Murdered. She was murdered. Died makes it sound like it could have been an accident. They spent weeks planning it," I snapped, unsuccessfully trying to suppress my irritation at her words.
"Sorry Poppy," said Professor Marx holding up her hands in a placating gesture. "A poor choice of words on my part. How long ago was she murdered?"
"Nearly a year ago. She was murdered last July."
"Why did they... murder... Ellie?"
"As the article said, they didn't want to murder Ellie. It was me that they had planned to kill. It was me they should have killed..." I said, my voice trailing off into a hoarse whisper. "They even said that at the trial..."
"Who did?"
"Ellie's murderers... it was part of their manslaughter plea. They said that they never intended to kill her, that they meant her no harm... it was me they wanted. Only me."
"It was a hate crime."
"Yes," I snorted. "Though surely all murder is surely a hate crime..."
"So why you? Out of all the thousands of transgirls why you?" asked Professor Marx.
"It was the press exposure for The Exhibition that first put me on their radar."
"The Exhibition?" she replied, mimicking my hard capital 'E' sound quizzically.
Ellie had insisted that we overemphasise the 'E' as if it was a capital because when we were famous artists the art books would refer to it as such. It always used to make me smile the way Ellie discussed our futures. She couched them in the same sort of language you would use when writing the biography of a famous artist.
"Ellie and I... we were part of a local gallery exhibition for promising artists. We were the youngest there. Most of the artists were either at the local college, or an art school or older. We were sixteen and full of our own self-importance. Well, Ellie was. I... I didn't even want to go."
"Why didn't you want to go Poppy?"
"The press and that it was too public."
"That surely is the point of an exhibition... that the public can come?" said Professor Marx, canting her head slightly in curiosity.
"Too public for me. I'd gone 'full time' eight months earlier, the previous September, and since then I had been having some... problems."
"Problems?"
"The school had been pretty good about it and so were the other kids in my classes but there was a small but vocal minority though that weren't so nice. They were kinda okay to my face when others were around but they gave a really bad vibe and, well... outside of class... online... they were showed their true colours."
"How?"
"Every bad hair day, every mistake with my make-up... every outfit that didn't quite work... they were posted online via social media. Everyone is an instant journalist with smart phones these days. Take a picture, upload it and comment on it in 140 characters or less, or whatever. They said it was because I was a boy that I didn't know what I was doing and ignored every bad hair day, make-up mistake and outfit disaster the other girls had..."
"You look pretty passable to me Poppy."
"I guess I wasn't that unpassable then but yeah... I had Mum and Ellie to help me through a steep learning curve. Mostly Ellie... she knew how a girl my age was supposed to look and helped me find her style."
"Surely you mean 'your' style?"
"No, Ellie was fairly opinionated on the issue of what was the best look for me and since she felt her look was best she replicated it with me. We were fairly similar in skin tone, hair colour and the like so mostly it worked."
"You started blockers just after you turned fifteen according to your medical history, right?"
"Yeah, the month after my fifteenth birthday... and hormones the following summer..."
"And the Exhibition was... May last year?" she asked, counting off the months with her fingers.
"First week in May last year."
"And you'll be eighteen this August according to my notes?"
"Yes... the 14th. Why?"
"I was looking to establish the timeline. So, Ellie was murdered what? About two months after the Exhibition give or take?"
"Yes, she was murdered on 10th July."
"So how is the Exhibition linked to Ellie's murder?"
"The local newspaper," I said with a sigh. "They felt the need to make repeated references to my transition in the story on the Exhibition. That story was posted on the newspapers website and Hallis and Carey saw the article and well, the kids at school were also making a thing of it on social media. Ellie said that as long as people were talking about us it was good for our art but..."
"But?"
"She never really got the whole thing about why I just wanted to blend in and disappear. Ellie was a shout it from the rooftop kinda girl and thought I should be proud of being trans. She genuinely believed that diversity was a good thing and should be celebrated, though sometimes I think it was because her life was so vanilla. She never understood that I didn't want to be different, that all I wanted was to live the normal life of a teenage girl. I couldn't give a damn about the rainbow flag an' all that gender theory crap. I'm a girl. I'm not a boy. That's all the gender theory I need to know."
I gave up fighting the chair and sank back into it with the sound of creaking leather filling the room momentarily.
"You... sound a little angry there Poppy..."
"I'm sorry... it's just... if they hadn't made a big deal of my difference in the newspaper Ellie might still be alive. Why does it matter what I was and how I was born? How is it relevant to my art?"
"It's not but then newspapers are less about reporting truths than they are about reporting facts, I guess. To them your gender dysphoria was a fact that they felt needed reporting. The truth was two talented teenagers had a successful art exhibition. The fact was one of them was transsexual."
"Well in that case, I hate facts," I said, sniffling slightly.
"Do you feel up to telling me what happened on the night Ellie was murdered?" asked the Professor, putting her tablet down on the desk. "Just you and me, no notes."
Closing my eyes, I let out a breath I hadn't realised I had been holding.
"I'd prefer not to," I replied.
"Okay."
"O-okay? I stammered, looking up at her warily. Was that all I needed to do to get out of here I wondered. There had to be a catch.
"So how are you finding New Hampshire?" she asked.
"It's... different. Not like the movies."
"Oh? How so?"
"You don't all look like movie stars..." I said, favouring her with an apologetic smile.
"Very few people look like movie stars Poppy and that includes some movie stars without their make-up," she laughed.
"Fair point I guess."
"So how does it feel to find out your dad was a football star?"
"Weird. I mean, I knew he liked the game. He got ESPN back home just to watch it and he insisted on teaching us the rules and how to play. Heath's actually not bad with throwing the ball but then he's really into sport full stop. Football, rugby, cricket... he excels at it all."
"You get on well with your brothers?" asked the Professor.
"Yeah. Mostly, I guess."
"Mostly?"
"Heath had some problems with my transition initially but he's mostly good with it. I think he got some flak at school because when we're out he can be a little... distant. Like he's embarrassed."
"How old is he?"
"Fifteen."
"Fifteen can be a difficult age for a young man trying to find his way in the world at the best of times. I'm sure he'll be fine as he gets older and more confident Poppy. How about your sisters? Any problems with them?"
"No. I get on great with them. Fleur is just... well, don't tell her I said this but she's like the best sister ever."
"And Daisy?"
"Life's never boring with Daisy," I said with a giggle. "You wouldn't be interested in buying a non-sea worthy canoe by any chance?"
"Uh... no," replied the professor looking at me like I had two heads.
"Oh well, looks like dad's going to get his wish to mount it on one of the walls then," I sighed.
"Well, it's been nice meeting you Poppy," she said, rising to her feet.
"Oh... OH! Yeah, um... likewise," I replied, a little stunned. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time."
"No problem. Need a hand there?" she asked, noticing my difficulties in rising from the chair.
"Thanks."
"I do have one last question though Poppy," she said as she grasped my hand.
"Oh... okay?"
"Why didn't you tell Hallis and Carey that you weren't Ellie?"
"I... sorry?"
"The court reporting indicated that Ellie spoke to the two of them for about thirty minutes before they killed... sorry, murdered... her. All the while she was pretending to be you, you were sitting at the same table. You had ample opportunity."
"..."
"Poppy?"
"Because... I didn't want..."
"To be different?" she finished.
I nodded my head, letting my hand slip free from hers.
"What happened that night Poppy," she asked in a quiet voice as she knelt down beside my chair. "Tell me, please."
"It... it was Ellie's idea," I said, finding myself unable to meet the Professor's gaze and instead studying a scuff mark on the side of one of my suede boots. "Hallis had contacted Ellie via her an art website, pretending to be a girl named Halley. He... she... claimed to be also trans and an artist and said how inspiring she found us to be and praised Ellie's and my work. Ellie of course lapped up the adoration."
"And Hallis was able to convince you he was a teenage transgirl artist?" she said with a frown.
"Sort of. 'Halley' claimed to be in her early twenties and at art school. Hallis had taken art at 'A' level and evidently had some promise before whatever it was that makes a person a good person broke in him, so he could talk the art talk. He was also able to fake being trans because... well, I think he was transgender. In serious denial and self-loathing I don't doubt but... well, the stuff he wrote on his 'Halley' art account had me convinced. If nobody ever really talks about those of us who lose our way in transition then even fewer people talk about those of us that become so overwhelmed by anger and grief and loss about our situations that something breaks in them. Hallis was one of those lost souls. If he wouldn't or couldn't transition, then I think in his mind nobody should be allowed to."
"And Carey?"
"Carey was a bully boy pure a simple, not an artistic bone in his body but a fair amount of hops and other less legal substances. He scrubbed up okay though, sort of skater cool. He just about fitted into the art crowd look."
"So how did you all find yourself in that bar together?"
"Ellie had been contacted by the gallery about another exhibition and had persuaded the owner to take a look at some of Halley's work that was on-line. She had some modest talent. The owner had agreed to exhibit one piece by Halley. Ellie was like that... she was a very generous person. She liked to see other people do well and believed that if she could help someone she should. That always confused people... she could be self-absorbed and selfless in alternate breaths."
"She sounds an interesting person."
"Interesting doesn't do her justice."
"So... the bar?" asked the Professor.
"Our work was selected to form the backbone of the exhibition and to celebrate Ellie suggested we paint the town pink to celebrate with a few drinks and a celebratory meal..."
"And Ellie invited Hallis... 'Halley' along?"
"God no, even Ellie wasn't that naive. She'd told Halley we'd meet up at the gallery during the exhibition. Problem was Ellie posted her whole damn life on social media... and Ellie had given Halley access to it," I sighed, my bitterness at the memory palpable. "I'd told her to be more careful... I should have made her adjust her privacy settings. She even posted when we were leaving for the pub. Everyone who followed her account could see it."
"We can't run other people's life for them Poppy," said the Professor squeezing my hand gently. "As much as we might wish we could."
"That's a nice thought but it's not true. I could have made her change the settings if I insisted..."
"So, I'm guessing Hallis and Carey knowing where you were turned up at the bar?" she said, though it was phrased more as a statement than a question. "So what happened that evening Poppy?"
"Pete's not going to be there Poppy," laughed Ellie as opened the car door. "He's rehearsing with that band of his for a few more weeks."
"And what about Steve? Or George? They keep trying to talk to me about sports like I'm one of them or something..."
"The big bad boys won't be there Poppy so try and chill eh?" said Ellie. "You need to take a break from being so uptight or you're going to have a heart attack or something."
"Don't worry, they're part of Peter's band Poppy. I hear they've got a gig at the Royal Oak next month," said our driver, Sharon. At least that's what her parents and the school called her. To everyone that matter she was 'Shaznay', as she thought it boosted her musical aspirations by having a more 'interesting' name. Plus it was better than being known as 'Shazza', which was definitely on the wrong side of being chavvy.
"It'll be their first and last gig," laughed the final member of our quartet, Allison. "I got dragged along to listen to a practice the other week and they were truly awful."
"I'm not surprised with Pete on lead vocals. The only note he can hold is the one in his wallet when his round is due," added Shaznay.
"Ohhhh... meow!" giggled Ellie. "Still bitter about the break up? Don't be, you're better off without him."
"Besides, it's Saturday night. We're young, single and carefree... well Poppy apart on the last one... so let's see what other fish we can find in the sea for you," added Allison.
"Hey!" I squealed.
"Leave Poppy alone Allie," admonished Ellie. "She can't help being uptight."
"Hey!"
"Don't take it the wrong way Poppy," laughed Allison putting an arm around my shoulder. "We love you even as uptight as you are."
"What-ev-er," I muttered under my breath as we entered through the main doors of the White Hart.
"I like that dress Ellie," cooed Shaznay. "You've got to let me borrow it sometime. I've got just the shoes for it."
"Then you'll have to ask Poppy," replied Ellie. "I'm borrowing it from her."
"It's only borrowing if you intend to return it," I grumbled. "Your concept of clothing ownership is positively communist."
"Absolutely Comradetteski Poppy. Down with private property and up with communal ownership!" laughed Ellie. "Freedom from material possessions is good for your soul!"
"Is 'comradetteski' even a word?"
"Y'know your problem Poppy? You're never satisfied," said Ellie. "Take that beautiful skirt I picked out for you. Did you ever thank me? Nooooooooooo, it's all 'my legs are cold' or 'it's too short'..."
"Which it is!" I added, tugging at the hem. "You don't have to worry about covering things up the same way I do."
"Oh shush, Poppy. It's fine and really shows off those legs of yours which you're always trying to hide," said Ellie with a dismissive wave of the hand. "If I had legs like yours I'd always be wearing the shortest skirt I could find!"
"By the way, I like the way you've both had your hair done," said Shaznay, taking a moment to admire our new hair styles. Well, my new hair style.
"Ellie talked me into having her style," I said, teasing at some of the end strands of my hair. "I was a little sceptical at first but I kind of like it."
"It's nice. Definitely suits you," added Shaznay.
"Was that the dress you wore to the exhibition Poppy?" asked Allie.
"Yup!" replied Ellie for me. "I was looking at some of the photos we had taken at the Exhibition and I was struck by how great this dress looked."
"On me," I added under my breath.
"That's where I've seen it!" said Allie. "It was the photo they used in the newspaper wasn't it?"
"And on the gallery website, though it's not a good quality picture," added Ellie. "They used a fairly average digital camera at the gallery for their own photos. I've offered to help them with some of their publicity materials this time. You still can't beat a real camera for publicity shots."
"I'll get the first round in if someone grabs us a table?" asked Allie. "Usuals?"
"Yeah, we'll be over there," said Shaznay waving to an empty table by the window. "Have we decided yet whether we're going to the Indian or the Chinese afterwards?"
"Not yet," said Ellie. "I could really go for a curry though..."
"I'm going to the little girls room," I said, tugging again at my skirt hem.
"You look fine Poppy," said Ellie with a sigh. "You don't need to keep checking how you look every five minutes."
"I need to pee."
"What-ev-er... it looks fine Poppy."
The White Hart was the typical maze of a late 19th century public house with poor lines of sight and nothing quite where you expected it. Weaving my way towards the ladies I was already out of sight of the others when someone grabbed my arm and ignoring my squeal of protest slammed me against the wall of the entrance corridor to the toilets.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" hissed Fleur as she brought her flawless made up face close to mine as she pressed me into the wall. "Do mum and dad know you are here? You said you were going round to Allie's..."
If I wasn't struggling to breathe I'd have probably giggled at the incongruous image of my sister in her sexiest tight dress and made up like some sex kitten grasping me in the sort of choke hold that would make a professional wrestler proud. Behind Fleur stood her best friend Martha, who was fidgeting uncomfortably at my sisters behaviour and gave the air of a woman wanting to be elsewhere in a hurry.
"Hey sis," I replied weakly, my eyes watering from the pressure she was applying to my neck.
"Don't 'hey sis' me Poppy," she growled. "Do mum and dad know you are here? And don't even think about lying to me..."
"No," I gasped. "But then they think you're going back to Martha's tonight. What would they say if they knew that rather than being snuggled up on her spare bed that you'd be spending the night in some random stranger's bed?"
"Are you threatening me little brother?" whispered Fleur with real venom as she leaned close to my ear. "Because you so don't want to go there..."
"Fine. If you want me to go home then you can take me," I replied.
"You can get a taxi."
"Nope. You don't take me I don't go ho--"
Any further words were cut off by Fleur applying more pressure to my neck.
"Poppy... shut up. I'm doing this for your safety you little fool. It's dangerous for you to be here. What if someone from school recognises you for fuck's sake? Do you seriously want to be outed to pub full of drunk arseholes?"
"No one will recognise me..."
"Yeah right, that's not what mum said happened at the mall the other week is it? Those kids calling you names..."
"That crowd doesn't hang out here they go to the Royal Oak," I replied, struggling for breath.
"Fleur..." said Martha, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Poppy's with Ellie right?"
Unable to speak I tried to nod as best I could from Fleur's choke hold, grey spots were starting to dance at the edge of my vision.
"It's not like they are here to get hammered or get picked up by a guy is it?"
"You better not be," hissed Fleur with renewed anger.
"It's just a couple of drinks..."
"You're not having anything alcoholic, you're not even seventeen yet."
"Like you never drank at sixteen," I replied, meeting Fleur's gaze as best I could. "I heard what some of the girls at school were saying about you, y'know."
"A lot of that was exaggerated to make me sound cool," said Fleur, her anger deflating a little. "Besides, this isn't about me..."
"No, it's about me," I said, gulping in a deep breath of air as Fleur's choke hold lessened.
"I... I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did... particularly as some of those mistakes could be fatal for you Poppy..."
"I get that Fleur but you need to remember I'm not you," I said softly.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
I let out a strangled cry as Fleur pressed me back into the wall. Hard.
"It means I rarely drink and unlike some I could mention I'm still a virgin," I wheezed, gasping for air.
"You ever say that in front of mum," hissed Fleur. "And I will end you little brother. Maybe I should stay with you while you are here."
"What? No!"
"Yeah... maybe you can stay but we can sit at the next table or something... that way I'll be able to keep any eye on what you and your mates are up too..."
"No, Fleur! I'm not a child!"
"Fleur, c'mon let her go," said Martha, gently tugging at Fleur's arm. "She'll have a few drinks with her friends and they will all be gone by the time this place turns into a meat market... right?"
"Yeah, just a couple of drinks to celebrate the new exhibition and then we'll go for an Indian or something, okay?" I offered.
"Just a couple and then you'll go?" asked Fleur, the uncertainty evident in her voice.
"Yeah... anyway, I promised dad I'd be home by eleven thirty anyway. He thinks we're getting something to eat and then going back to Allie's to watch a DVD. I'll be with Ellie the whole time and we're getting a lift back with Shaznay. Her dad's like super strict about her curfew anyway..."
"See? C'mon, she'll be fine. She's with Ellie, neither of them are stupid enough to go anywhere with any guys... and frankly your brother makes a better looking girl than I do... let her have some fun and let us have some fun without dragging your little bro-- sister along behind us... besides, there is this hawt guy you need me to introduce you too..."
I sagged against the wall as Fleur let herself be pulled away from me by Martha.
"You do as you promised little sister, okay?" shouted Fleur over her shoulder as Martha pulled her towards the stairs for the upper floor of the pub. "And you call me if you get into trouble. My mobile's switched on and in my purse."
I nodded to Fleur, gingerly feeling my neck as I watched her disappear around a corner from view. If that was a product of the self-defence training Fleur took last summer, I needed to get on that course myself I thought ruefully.
The first was sort of skater boy arty grunge. A couple of tribal tattoos around his muscular biceps poking out from his short sleeve shirt. His fair hair was tipped in black at the fringe and he wore a skin tight t-shirt displaying a picture of Rossetti's 'Proserpine', a painting Ellie had always admired. He was currently showing off his physique to Shaznay who was getting grabby with his biceps.
The second guy was much more slightly built, dressed more casually in jeans and a college sweatshirt emblazoned with the logo of The Ruskin. He was involved in an animated conversation with Ellie that from the way she was gesturing was clearly about art. I tried not to roll my eyes knowing that if this guy knew anything about art then we wouldn't have time to go for that curry after all. Once that girl started on her subject there was no stopping her.
"Ellie! This is Joe and Billy," called out Ellie to me as I approached the table.
"Umm... hi?"
I frowned at Ellie canting by head at her to indicate my confusion as to why she'd called me by her name.
"Billy recognised my picture from the gallery website," she said gesturing at her dress before nodding towards the smaller of the two men. "He thinks I look very sexy in this dress. Even better in person than in the photo on the gallery website."
Ellie stuck her tongue out at me briefly as I took a seat next to her. I found my eyes involuntarily narrowing as I scowled at Ellie.
"You look beautiful too Ellie," offered Billy, lightly clasping my hand in his in greeting. "I'm sure you'd look even more beautiful if you tried smiling more as well."
"Sorry," I replied, ducking my head a little sheepishly.
"That's better," he said smiling.
"Billy is in his second year at The Ruskin and we were talking about our upcoming Exhibition."
"I saw some of the works you exhibited on the gallery's website and was just saying to Poppy how impressed I was by your work."
"Well, Ellie's the real talent," said the 'new' Poppy. "I thought her London skyline in mixed media was truly inspired. Possibly the signature piece of the whole Exhibition."
I tried to avoid rolling my eyes at Ellie's self-promotion. It was at times like this she reminded me of the Zaphod Beeblebrox quote from HHGTTG - 'if there's anything more important than my ego around, I want it caught and shot now.'
"It was an excellent piece. The way she used different materials related to each building was very inspired," he said raising his glass in salutation. "Ellie is very talented."
"Ellie's something all right," I muttered under my breath, raising my own glass in acknowledgement.
"However, and no offence intended here Ellie, for me I think that Poppy's piece entitled 'Hope' was my personal favourite," said Billy.
"Oh, there is absolutely no offence taken," I replied, trying (and failing) not to sound too smug. "I've always said that 'Poppy' needs to be less modest about how talented she is. Tell me more about what you liked about her work..."
"Cow!" laughed Ellie, slapping my arm as she rocked back in her chair. "I can't believe you said that."
"What about 'you' being the real talent?" I giggled. "And me, Ellie, being a mere scribbler in comparison."
"I'm so going to get you back for that," she laughed. "So how has your holiday from being uptight, stressed Poppy been?"
"You... you did this deliberately?"
"Guilty as charged," said Ellie. "And you didn't answer my question."
"It's been... nice," I said smiling. "It was really odd when he talked about trans stuff and he was looking at you. No one has ever not looked at me when trans stuff has been discussed, even when it wasn't about me. It felt... nice... to be normal."
"You are normal, silly," said Ellie, reaching out to hug me. "Look, I know it feels to you like you're always going to be different but you so aren't Poppy. I can see how you could get lost in the maelstrom of transition but trust me, just you wait until we finish school and head off to college and get away from the locals. New part of town, new people... a clean slate."
"That would be nice," I said leaning into the hug. "Though surely you mean a 'new town', The Ruskin is in Oxford."
"We're going to The Slade. We both know you're going to give in sooner or later, so just admit it. We're going to be part of the Bloomsbury set," replied Ellie.
"What-ev-er," I muttered, rolling my eyes even though she couldn't see it. We both knew Ellie was right though. I would give in and agree to The Slade sooner or later.
"Right, well I'm going to go powder my nose. We'll finish the next drink and then ditch the boys and go get a curry, okay?"
"Sounds like a plan."
"Try and stay out of trouble while I'm gone 'Ellie'," she laughed, kissing my cheek as she slid out of my arms.
"You too 'Poppy'," I replied.
"How many people have you told the full story to Poppy?" she asked.
"You. The police got everything material to the crime. Mum and dad got the summary version. My last shrink was so into talking about my feelings we never even got around to discussing what actually happened."
"And how do you feel Poppy?"
"Lost," I said in a quiet voice. "Like a piece of me is missing. The best piece of me."
"Your father said that you had an emotional moment while in the new house discussing repairs with your sister?"
"Yes. The fireplace needs some work to the surrounding ornamentation."
"How long has it been since you produced any new art Poppy?"
"I've fulfilled all my coursework deadlines," I said with a shrug.
"That wasn't the question, was it Poppy?"
I stared at a print hanging on the wall of Edward Steichen's 'Flatiron Building', which felt a little incongruous with the rural setting of the Therapy Cabin. I'd always wanted to duplicate the feel the photograph had on a more contemporary scene.
"Poppy?"
"Completed works?" I asked turning my attention to the professor again.
"Yes."
"I've started a few sketches but completed works... none. I've been using work that I had done previously for my coursework. I've got a bedroom and part of the garage full of works I've done that the school hasn't seen before so it's not a problem in terms of quantity. I just can't seem to finish anything new..."
"Then that's going to be our goal. I want you to produce a new piece of artwork on a subject of your choosing before you leave for home, okay?" said the professor rising to her feet.
I shrugged, grunting noncommittally.
"What happens if I can't?" I asked quietly.
"I have faith in your Poppy."
"I'll try," I said blushing slightly.
"No, try not. Do. Or do not. There is no try."
"You're quoting Yoda now? What comes next in this session? You'll offer to train me in the ways of the force?" I laughed in disbelief.
"Nope. This is what comes next," said the professor, before slapping me upside the back of the head. "It's not your fault Ellie died. Get over it."
"Hey!" I shouted, rubbing the back of my head.
"Stop whining, your father signed a waiver when you registered allowing me to conduct a range of unorthodox treatments. It's what I'm famous for," she said with a smirk.
"Just think yourself lucky your case doesn't warrant water boarding..."
"You wouldn't..." I replied, my eyes widening as I pushed myself back into the chair.
"You've wallowed in self-pity, bottling all your emotions up for far too long now Poppy. You can't keep blaming yourself for Ellie's death," she said, picking up her tablet again. "You're going to learn how to express all that pent up guilt in a more constructive way before your head explodes. Which by the way if it does during a session I'm billing your father for the cleaning costs. No, given your artistic strengths, that constructive expression will be in the form of an original new piece of artwork."
"I'm fairly certain therapy shouldn't involve a homework component," I grumbled. "Or slapping."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," laughed the professor pulling me to my feet. "Unless you've got anything else to say we'll call it a day. My secretary will arrange a date for your next meeting with me. I'll want you to bring whatever you've done so far with you to that meeting. Okay?"
"Uh... as long as it doesn't involved being slapped again I guess I'm okay with it," I said, cringing slightly.
"Great. Well it's been a useful first session Poppy," said the professor reaching into a glass jar on her desk. "Here's a lollipop for the ride home."
Gingerly accepting the lollipop I let myself be led out to the reception where my dad was waiting and I quickly found myself enveloped in a comforting hug.
"How are you pumpkin?" he asked.
"I'm... I honestly don't know," I said letting out a sigh as I closed my eyes.
"That's the most truthful thing you've said to me since Ellie died," replied my father, tightening his grip. "I'm guessing the session helped?"
"Yes... no... maybe?" I replied. "I got homework and a lollipop. You know that woman is certifiable?"
"I know she's a board certified psychiatrist."
"That's not what I meant."
"She gets good results."
"She's like House if he was a psychiatrist. And a woman."
"Well, he solves his cases in under an hour. Should I be cancelling the second session?" asked dad with a chuckle.
"You know she slapped me?"
"Um... yeah about that. Full disclosure... she said she might."
"What?" I shrieked, pulling back slightly from my father. "You knew?"
"Yeah..."
"I'm seeing that waiver form that you signed and I'm soooooooo telling mom tonight."
"That's fair," said my father. "And I spoke to your mother on my cell phone while you were in the session so she knows."
"And?"
"She says I should do this," replied my father, leaning forward to kiss the top of my head. "I'm sorry pumpkin."
"Well, I guess that makes things okay," I mumbled into his chest as he pulled me into another hug. I loved my father's hugs, they were like the best medicine in the world. That slap might need a few of them before I was recovered.
"According to my lawyer, I'm also authorised to make an offer to buy you pancakes and one item of clothing up to the value of $50 from the mall on the way home as compensation for the slap."
"There could be permanent damage from the slap, y'know?" I said, an unseen sly smile forming.
"Counter offer?" asked my father, trying hard not to smile.
"Pancakes and clothing up to the total value of $100?"
"Poppy..." warned my father. I could feel his chest shake as he tried hard not to laugh.
"There could be bruising and everything..."
"Okay, okay," laughed my father. "Pancakes and a total of $75 on new clothes?"
"Deal!" I said stepping back to extend a hand.
"Deal," replied my father shaking my hand lightly to seal the deal. "Now let's get out of here and go home."
Home.
Happy Springs was full of so many new things I'd forgotten that it also contained something I'd always taken for granted. They say home is where the heart is and my heart never strayed far from my father. I was a daddy's girl and damned proud of it. So right here, right now I guess our house in New Hampshire was home.
"Yes, let's go home," I said, smiling at my dad.
End of Chapter 5
Authors Note: Firstly, as always, apologies for the delay in getting a new chapter out. I was full of good intentions before becoming full of flu over Christmas, which I've struggled until recently to properly shake. Still helps cement my reputation as the white rabbit of authors (I'm always late)! :-) Secondly, I've never tried to do something quite so emotive, so it took a lot of rewriting to get the scene with Professor Marx how I wanted, particularly given I had decided when plotting that she would be very much in the maverick doctor vein popular with tv. Hopefully it worked. And finally, thank you for taking the time to read this chapter and hopefully you've enjoyed it. If you enjoyed this chapter, then your comments are always welcome. No reproduction without permission, etc.
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...
Chapter 6 -"Living in America"
*Rosenberg’s View*
I hate fucking mathletes.
Back when I joined the Bureau if you wanted to be a Special Agent all you needed to have was a solid college degree, aptitude and the ability to go all ‘Gang Busters’ on the bad guys when required. Sure, we had the nerds who would do the paperwork and forensic stuff but in the field it wasn’t book smarts that won the day it was street smarts. A Special Agent needed… well I was going to be all pc there an’ say ‘grit’ but let’s be blunt, what a Special Agent needed was balls.
So you can imagine my joy that after 27 years on the job when I should be the Special Agent-in-Charge, I’m being told to pick up the coffee and doughnuts. Me, an experienced field agent, was told to get the coffee and doughnuts instead of that wet behind the ears Johnny Utah wannabe, Augustine. Un-fucking-believable. At least I can live in hope he’ll jump out of a plane without a parachute sometime soon.
I nod to Agent Atkins to buzz me through into the industrial unit we’re renting. I like Atkins, he’s a good kid. He’s an old style agent; he played some college ball while getting a degree in criminology and in his five years since Quantico had built up a good reputation as a stand-up guy. Plus he drinks his coffee as God and J Edgar intended a Bureau man too — black, no sugar. Unlike that mochafrappamacchiachino fruity shit the mathlete drinks. Hell, you could stick a little paper umbrella in one of those and it wouldn’t be out of place it’s that not coffee.
Passing through the reception façade full of posters for our cover operation and the books we’re supposedly wholesaling, I dump the doughnuts and coffees on a shrink wrapped pallet of J Edgar Hoover biographys that we’ve been using as an impromptu snack counter. At least having to get the snacks meant I got the doughnuts that I wanted, though that was only a tiny consolation. Grabbing my own doughnut and coffee I take a seat at my desk facing the operations board while the others grab their own stuff and get seated. Like any good SAIC, Special Agent Soto likes us to have regular updates though this morning is a special one given we have the full team in, including the two junior G-Men.
Yeah, junior G-Men, technically New Agent Trainees as they haven’t graduated Quantico. They aren’t even 23, the minimum age for entering the Bureau. Some pen pushing moron in Washington thought it would be good to establish a ‘Future Agent’ programme to fast track the so-called best and brightest through the system at an earlier age. All they had to be was over 18 and have a college degree. Williamson is 20 and got her first degree while still in a training bra, while the mathlete is 19 and got his first degree before he started shaving. Knowing my luck they’ll probably both make SAIC before I retire.
I’m honestly not sure which of the two I hate most, the hacker mathlete Augustine or the preppy co-ed Williamson. Scratch that, I do know which one I hate the most. I have to put up with Augustine’s pretty boy face every day where as I only get to see Williamson a couple of times a week. Hell, all the time she wears that tight skirt we’re copacetic. *Huh* What do ya know? Absence does make the heart grow fonder.
Logging onto the network I try and tune out the incessant prattle from Williamson and Augustine about MTV or Jersey Shore or whatever the fuck it is that those kids talk about. In background I see SAIC Soto starting to write up today’s updates on the board but what has most of my attention is the email from the London police with the background information I asked for on the Haas’s. Most of it is the usual inconsequential crap but attached to it is a folder marked ‘Poppy Ashley Haas (Jacob Willem Haas III)’. Opening it up, there’s a case report also attached relating to the murder of some kid called ‘Arundel, E’ but that’s largely incidental compared to the biographical information on the Haas girl. Well, I say girl but this file says a whole something different. I can feel a laugh building in my belly that I fight to keep down. So this is the kid we’re trying to get the mathlete into the panties of eh?
Leaning back in my chair, I take a sip from my coffee before tipping a nod to a confused looking Augustine. If only he knew why I’m grinning at him. If only…
I try to stifle a yawn as I grab my morning coffee and doughnut and take my seat at my workstation. I’d been up until late last night, well early hours of the morning really, trying to access some of the accounts of the byzantine web of company holdings that the late Jacob Haas set up. Sadly, with little luck as whoever set up their security was very good. Scratch that, they were not just good, they were very, very good. I wasn’t ready to give up yet but this was going to take a lot longer than I’d expected unless I could somehow get my hands on computer inside the corporate firewall.
I took a drink of my caramel macchiato, letting out a contended sigh and slip back in my seat. Oh sweet caramel coffee goodness how you can make my problems go away…
“Howdy thar pard’ner!”
Groaning, I looked up to see Agent Williamson perch herself on the corner of my desk.
“Not you too Anne.”
I resisted the urge to hide my face in my hands. It had become something of a running joke amongst the team to mock my fake Texan accent. No one said hello to me now other than SAIC Soto, it was all ‘howdy’. Still with Anne, I didn’t mind too much. Anne Williamson was drop dead gorgeous, smart and had a fantastic sense of humour. Is it any wonder that I found myself subconsciously sitting up straighter in her presence? When she smiled at you… well, when she smiled at you all those stories you heard about Greek nations going to war over Helen of Troy suddenly started making sense.
“My last boyfriend pulled a face like that during sex,” she said nodding towards my coffee.
I tried not to blush too much at her comment and the mental image it conjured up. I knew I was developing a serious crush on her that wasn’t professionally appropriate but that didn’t stop my heart racing at the thought of being intimate with her. Agents don’t date agents I mentally chided myself.
“Trust me, you should try the caramel macchiato. It’s just the perfect morning pick me up after being up all night.”
“Any luck?”
“No… it’s getting frustrating. I’m beginning to wonder why I’m here.”
“Well, it’s clearly not for your acting skills nerd boy.”
From anyone else that might have felt like a rebuke but with the hint of sparkling laughter in her voice I took it for the good natured teasing it was.
“Ha… ha… ha.”
“C’mon… it’s kind of funny,” she said nudging me with an elbow. “Only you would accidentally end up hitting on someone connected to the case and then panic and build yourself the worst legend ever.”
“I was only there to drop off that memory stick to you! I’m not a field agent!”
It was a stupid, stupid moment of insanity. I was waiting for the chance to meet with Anne when I’d seen two pretty English girls talking. When the cute younger one had made a joke about protecting their towels from ‘gun totting cowboys’ it struck me as funny to play to the stereotype. I’d intended to clown around a bit before coming clean and maybe try getting a date with the older girl, because trust me spending you don’t want to spend too many evenings staring at Rosenberg’s ugly mug while trying not to scream as the older agents keep telling you how much tougher it was in their day.
*sigh* It was all going well until I learnt that I was speaking to a girl called Poppy Haas, niece of Representative Haas. The same Representative Haas who just happened to be one of the principal targets. How the hell was I supposed to know she had English relatives? It wasn’t in the case notes. And it all went south quickly from there. Much like my embryonic career as an Agent would be if I screwed this up. And possibly the whole ‘Future Agent’ project.
No pressure there then.
“Hey, stop the pity party,” chided Anne, tapping my nose with her finger. “You can still spin this to your advantage. If you can get in with the Haas family you have just as good a chance as I do of finding that second set of accounts.”
“If they exist…”
“They better because no way are we getting a warrant for what we need against a sitting member of the House and a well-connected local business family otherwise. We need to find proof of the link to the Albrecht crime family and we need to find it soon. The Bureau isn’t going to fund all this for long otherwise,” said Anne, gesturing the equipment and people around us. “Besides, whether you intended to or not you’ve doubled our chances now. That’s something right?”
“I guess…”
“So buck up little buckaroo!” said Anne, lightly punching my arm. “It could be a lot worse!”
I rolled my eyes in response as I rubbed my arm. I’m fairly sure the hardest material known to man is located in the knuckles of the most petite women.
“Rosenberg seems in an oddly good mood. Someone spike his Wheaties with something this morning?”
I turned to look in Rosenberg’s direction at Anne’s comment, an impromptu shiver running down my spine as he nodded towards me with a slightly unhinged looking grin on his face.
“Yeah, worries the crap out of me.”
“Is that clear?” repeated Soto in a firmer voice, eliciting a louder chorus of assent than her previous question had received. “Agent Muller, perhaps you would like to update the team on the latest information that you have?”
“Of course. Thank you Agent Soto,” he said, clearing his throat as he stepped forward out of Soto’s shadow. “And please everyone, call me George. As you may know, as part of a deal offered by a former Albrecht family employee the Bureau was provided with anecdotal information linking the Haas and de Ville families in a money laundering and bribery operation to Albrecht. Further investigation into these allegations by the Treasury Department suggest that this primarily relates to the Jacob Haas Memorial Dam public works project which employed several companies which we suspect to be fronts for the Albrecht family.”
“A project in which Representative Kathy Haas and her husband were key figures in bringing into being,” added Special Agent Soto.
“Indeed. In addition, Representative Haas has received a large number of small scale individual donations from some first time donors which has attracted the attention of the Treasury Department. We believe, though at this point cannot prove, that these payments are being made by the Albrecht family through third parties. As you may know, Representative Haas came under strong pressure during her primary from a Tea Party backed candidate and only narrowly defeated him. Since her former challenger’s announcement that he will run as an independent candidate in November for her 2nd District seat, we’ve seen a significant upswing in activity from her as she tries to build an early lead and set the tone of the campaign before any of her rivals start their campaigns in earnest. All this and preparing to fight an expected strong challenge from the Democrats has seen a significant drain on her campaign funds. A campaign that to put it bluntly, she doesn’t have the finances for without these additional donations given the impact of the recession on to her husband’s business interests.”
“If we can get traction on any of these we can build a case and get the necessary warrants to start investigating the wider Albrecht link more proactively,” said Soto. “I want you all to co-ordinate any information you have on financials through Agent Muller. It may be that he can spot something we’ve missed. Is that clear?”
I added my voice to the quiet murmur of agreement around the room.
“Good. Now, Rosenberg any joy on the background check on the latest branch of the Haas family to appear?”
“Yeah. I’ve received an update from the London police which I will compile into a briefing note for distribution through the usual channels. In brief, Jacob Willem Haas II, aged 45. He has a Batchelor’s in Agronomy from Dartmouth and a Masters and PhD from Oxford University in England. He is an internationally renowned agronomist and university lecturer in addition to being a former high school football star quarterback. He has no red flags against him from either the British or Homeland. He’s married to Alice Haas, nee Mortimer. British, aged 43 and a law graduate from Oxford. She’s a corporate lawyer but does a lot of charity and consumer protection work. Again, no red flags from Homeland or the Brits. Between them Jacob and Alice have six kids, three of which — Fleur, Poppy and Daisy are present here. The remaining three - Heath, River and Oakley — are in the UK still with their mother. The mother and sons have reservations on a British Airways flight to New York with onward connection to Manchester, NH on August 3rd.”
“Anything in there that can help you play Cyrano to Augustine’s Christian de Neuvillette?”
“Oh come on,” said Soto throwing her hands heavenwards at the sea of blank faces starring at her from around the room. “Not one liberal arts major amongst the lot of you?”
“One,” said Anne raising her hand. “Guys… like in the movie Roxanne with Steve Martin. The Haas girl is Daryl Hannah.”
“Oh, well yeah in that case. I guess there is,” replied Rosenberg, his professional face dissolving into that maddening grin again. “I can build a profile of the girl that can help him target his charms, such as they are, successfully.”
“Great. I want you, me and Augustine to sit down at the end of the day and plan our next step. Everyone else, you have your assigned duties.”
The best cookery is like dancing… it takes practice, it is best done in a relaxing setting and it is more fun if you do it with others. At least that’s what mum always says to us. Fleur says mum says to dad when they think we aren’t listening that the best cookery is like sex… and you can fill the rest in. I had to resort to the brain bleach to get that image of my parents out of my mind.
I guess that’s why our kitchen always felt so welcoming. Mum would create an atmosphere where it was okay if what you tried to make didn’t turn out right rather than go all Gordon Ramsey on us. I still maintain to this very day that my rhubarb muffins are an overlooked delicacy. A key part of setting that atmosphere was that whenever mum was in the kitchen she would always have music playing, whether from a battered old CD player when we were small kids or from her iPod in more recent times. I have priceless memories from when I was really young of helping mum in the kitchen along with Fleur and Heath, covered in flour and icing sugar and enjoying every moment. It’s not the same here without mum but it is still fun kicking back and clowning around with Fleur, Daisy and dad.
Fleur’s got control of the music at the moment, so we’ve got BNL’s ‘Some Fantastic’ blaring out of the small booster speakers to her iPhone. I’m not much of a BNL fan to the same degree as Fleur and mum anyway but I’m enjoying the beat to it and find myself nodding along it and the silly lyrics. In contrast Fleur, ever the exhibitionist, is dancing around the kitchen to it like she doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s good to see her just let go like this, being the old Fleur I used to know. She used to do this all the time until she turned about fifteen and then almost overnight, it stopped. I think she got so caught up in being a grown-up that she forgot that it’s okay to have fun. I missed that Fleur. The Fleur who didn’t give a crap what anyone else thought. Of course, then she started to fill out as the puberty fairy worked its magic and she became one of the pretty popular girls and started to give a crap about what everyone else said. The Fleur who was embarrassed by me… by my transition.
“Hey! No internal monologues allowed!” cried Fleur, giggling as she passed me a bowl full of mixture. “You can help dad by mixing the batter for the pancakes if you’re just going to stand there!”
“C’mon Daisy, let’s show these two how it’s done,” said Fleur, swaying over to our younger sister.
One day I’m going to work out how she manages to roll out of bed and look so good in gingham check pyjama bottoms and a simple red cami-vest. I’m wearing the same thing in green, thanks to mom’s bulk buying, and I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. I can’t help but laugh at Daisy’s little girl version of dancing which seems to involve bouncing up and down as much as anything.
“So how you doing pumpkin?” asked dad, pouring some of the first bowl of mixture into a pan.
“Okay.”
“A good okay or a bad okay?”
“Just an okay, okay.”
“Well that’s better than we’ve had for a while I guess.”
“Actually… it kinda is. It feels like forever when things were just… things. If it makes sense?”
“It does,” said dad, leaning over to kiss me on top of my head. “Small steps pumpkin, small steps.”
“It would be nice to be… normal again,” I replied, passing dad the spatula.
“Like anyone in this family is normal,” said dad with a wink.
I marvelled as with practiced art, he slid the spatula clean under the pancake and flipped it over with a flick of the wrist. Most of my attempts to make pancakes ended up in it splitting into pieces at that point or landing all curled up.
“So what plans do you have for your art given the homework that Professor Marx set you? Sculpture? Still life? Portraits? Some sort of mixed media piece?”
“Not sure,” I replied with a shrug. “Maybe try some portrait sketching? I can do a family piece maybe?”
“Ooooooooooh… you could offer to show Sexy Rexy your etchings!” squealed Fleur.
The room went silent for a moment, save for the noise of a pancake falling to the floor.
“Fleur…” I hissed between clenched teeth.
“Sexy… Rexy? Lucy you got some ‘splaining to do…” said dad, fixing me with the parental interrogation face.
“Well firstly… I don’t call him ‘Sexy Rexy’ that’s a name Fleur made up for him…”
“No she just sighs heartfeltly in the presence of prime Texan beefcake.”
“Not helping Fleur…” I hissed.
“Secondly, I’ve only met him twice and both times were with Fleur…”
“Okay… you said he’s Texan?” asked dad.
“Yeah.”
“So I won’t know his family then?”
“Well, he did say he was staying with relatives while he was here.”
“Maybe I know them then,” replied dad, scooping up the dropped pancake from the floor. “What’s his last name?”
“Stetson.”
“Let me get this straight… his name is Rex Stetson?”
“Yeah, poor kid,” added Fleur opening the pedal bin for dad to dispose of the dropped pancake. No five second rule in our kitchen. “It’s no wonder he’s so buff with that name. Prolly needed to be to stay alive at school!”
“I don’t remember any Stetson’s growing up and my father knew just about everybody in town. Maybe they moved here later?”
“Could be?” I said with a shrug.
“Okay, I’ll allow it… with conditions.”
“Allow what?”
“You seeing this Rex kid.”
“I-I-I… no, you’ve got th-“
“What conditions?” interrupted Fleur.
“One, I want to meet him before you see him again. Two, if he wins my approval no unchaperoned dates until I say so.”
“But it’s not li-“
“She agrees!” added Fleur, interrupting again.
“I… What?!?”
“Good it’s all agreed then.”
“No, wait. Dad it’s no-“
“No arguments pumpkin, we’ve agreed it and I’m not changing my mind. Now please get me some more mixture would you?”
Grabbing another bowl of mixture, I stomped over to Fleur.
“What the hell was that about?” I whisper yelled.
“It’s okay Poppy,” said Fleur, placing a hand on my arm. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“THANK YOU?!?”
“You my girl need to get out and about and have some safe fun while we’re here. A few supervised meet ups with Rex sound perfect. All with the added security of the fact that your Uncle is the local police chief. He’ll probably get tasered if he tries to cop a feel in the cinema!”
“This…THIS… is your idea of helping me?!?! I don’t know where. I don’t know when. But you are soooooo going to pay for this,” I growled.
“Bring it on little sister,” giggled Fleur. “You’re talking to a fully-fledged mistress of bitchcraft.”
I passed the bowl of mixture over to dad as the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” I announced, eager to get out of the room.
Walking back to the front door, trying to regain my temper I glanced at the outlines of old pictures still on the wall. Where we had been focussed on bringing the bedrooms up to standard for our own use, we hadn’t done much to the hallway yet. I tried to picture rows of family pictures of dad, Aunt Libby and Aunt Kathy with their parents in different sorts of family poses. Would they be shots of them clowning around or formally posed portraits? Would there be newspaper clippings from dad’s football games? If our own hallway back home was any indication it would be a mixture of all three, substituting Heath’s martial arts for dad’s football. And of course, examples of my art. Some of the smaller, personal pieces that were gifts to my parents for birthdays or various Hallmark Holidays.
I don’t know who I was expecting but on opening the door, it certainly wasn’t the visage of Lycra and spray tan before me.
“Hi sweetie,” she said, flashing her Hollywood smile as she shifted a heavily laden wicker basket in her hands. “Is your daddy home? I’m his special friend Jane. I remembered how much your daddy enjoyed my cooking when we were younger so I brought over some for him.”
Daddy? Do I look twelve? And what’s with the ‘special friend’ stuff? Talking of misjudging things, leopard skin pattern lycra tops… who in their right mind thinks they can carry that look off and not look like Peg Bundy from ‘Married with Children’?
I seriously thought about slamming the door in her face and was very close to doing so before I heard a metaphorical ‘bamf!’ over each shoulder.
“You know you want to do it,” purred sexy devil me, surprisingly rocking the red leather look. I’d have to try and remember how well I looked in a red leather corset. “And they both deserve it…”
“You know it says terrible things about you that I don’t have a rebuttal argument,” said angel me with a shrug before picking at her dress. “And next time could we try and be a bit more imaginative than this white sackcloth of a dress?”
“What can I say? The devil doesn’t just have the best tunes, he has the best clothing designers,” giggled devil me.
“You okay sweetie?” asked Jane, leaning forward to look at me and flashing a view of her buoyancy aids while doing so. “Only you seem to have the oddest look on your face.”
“I’m good thanks.”
“Atta girl!” purred devil me before disappearing in a metaphorical ‘bamf!’
“Whatever,” sighed angel me, disappearing in a similar ‘bamf!’
“Let me go get dad-dy,” I said, flashing my full set of pearly whites in a smile that would have sent most sane people running. “He’ll be right back.”
Closing the door, I found myself skipping to the kitchen.
“Fleur… there’s someone at the door for you,” I virtually sang. “Here, let me help you daddy.”
Taking the mixture bowl from Fleur, I passed it over to dad as he poured another future pancake onto the pan.
“Daddy?” asked dad, reaching out to touch my forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Never better.”
“Ooo-kay,” replied dad returning his attention to the pan.
“Daddy… do we have a garden hose?”
“Uh… yeah. It’s in the garage. Why?”
“Oh… just thinking it’s a good way to end a cat fight.”
“Wait… is Fluffy in a fight?”
“Fluffy? No.”
“Then who?”
Anything further that dad might have said was drowned out by an outraged shriek from the front door. A shriek that was followed shortly by another, slightly higher pitched shriek that evoked more fear than anger.
“Poppy… what have you done?” asked dad, as he killed the heat to the pan and hurried towards the front door, closely followed by Daisy.
“Heh. It seems the pupil is now the master,” I giggled to the empty room. “I’ll get the hose.”
End of Chapter 6
Author's Note: Firstly, If you enjoyed this chapter, then your comments are always welcome and gratefully received more than you probably know. No reproduction without permission, etc. Secondly, well, it's fair to admit that a regular posting schedule is unlikely but I'm going to keep going to the end and hope that you the reader stay with me on this journey. The next chapter is very clearly formed in my mind so hopefully it will be a quicker turnaround... that being said if wishes were fishes... anyway, thanks for taking the time to read this story. Best wishes!