Homing Bird

I’m not entirely sure why I chose to spend my summer in Holmes Chapel. I would have much preferred somewhere closer to the shore, or even in London. Granted, the city was much too big and my last experience there was none too pleasant. Ultimately my uncle’s offer to let me stay in his home while he was away was the real draw to the rural countryside, and it offered me some peace as I finished some online work for university. Butters, my lazy corgi, certainly seemed to enjoy the peace of the house. With three bedrooms he could have a new bed each night if he so chose, and he often did. Having Butters with me was only one way I made this place feel more like home. My uncle wasn’t one for interior design, and that’s not to say that I have the most keen eye, but I can do better than taxidermied fish hanging off the walls. I made sure to find a floral bedspread when I first got here, and I’ve been adding more candles and flowers to the house in order to distract from the dinosaur bones and various artifacts my uncle has taken from archaeological digs throughout the years. I’ve taken refuge in one of the guest bedrooms, and it’s starting to look more home.

When my uncle first invited me to watch over his house in Holmes Chapel for the summer, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider the fact that this is Harry Styles’ hometown. Sure, he’s a superstar that’s been traveling the world without a stop at home in years, but I think every girl that lives here has had fantasies of jogging down the street and meeting up with Harry when he visits home. He’d see me in my joggers, working up a sparkle (obviously I’m not sweating in this fantasy) with his music blasting in my ears as I run faster than any girl he’s ever seen before, like a fucking gazelle or something. He’s instantly drawn to my devilishly good looks; long, blonde hair flowing behind my toned body (neither of which I have). He’d drop whatever he’s doing and run to catch up with me. He’s running beside me now, staring at me with those bright green eyes of his. He’s pushing his hair back, easily keeping up with me. He’d ask for my name and that’s all he needs. He’s in love. Now we’re running into the sunset. We get married and have eight kids.

A girl can dream. Anyways, we all know that running is terrible and should not be an accepted form of fitness.

But this is the fantasy I imagine as I walk to my favorite bakery just down the street from my house. Sun is shining down on the kids running about with their friends in the park across the street. It’s warm enough for shorts, but the book bag slung across my shoulders makes the heat just plain uncomfortable. I can’t say that I love hauling around books and a laptop to the bakery every day, but putting in some extra work towards my degree now will certainly pay off later.
A bell rings as I swing open the front door to the bakery. It’s a small corner store with pale bricks and bright red trim. The interior is bigger than it looks from the outside, but it’s still small enough to feel cozy. The floor is checkered with beige and brown and paves the way to a display case filled with cheese, biscuits, and sweets. The smell of baking bread and gingerbread washes over me as I stand in line to get a snack before I dive into my political theory texts. I grew up in the States, so I’ve always preferred coffee over tea, but I’ve grown accustomed to the English culture and now find myself ordering a “cuppa” for my study sessions. The couple in front of me finishes ordering and I move up to face Mary, one of the women that works here.

“Kath! How lovely it is to see you. You look radiant today, my dear. What’ll it be? The usual?” She winks at me. I’ve only been here for three weeks, but Mary has become a good friend. She’s really my only friend here, actually. I’ve been in her bakery almost every day and we have a good chat when business is slow. She’s helped show me around town and been a bit of a mother figure to me.

“I don’t think I’ve even looked at the rest of the menu!” I say as she pinches my cheek with wrinkled fingers. Turning her back to me, I watch her rummage through a wooden box of tea packets.

As she gets it ready I turn and head to the table I’ve christened as mine. Removing my laptop from my leather bag, I look out the window to the right of me. Cars slow to a stop at the busiest intersection in Holmes Chapel as joggers make their way across the street. A middle-aged woman is amongst the crowd and approaches the bakery with her ear to her phone. Her dark hair is splayed across her shoulders, and her face is pulled into a frown. I obviously can’t hear what she’s saying, but it seems to be a tense conversation. Even though it’s rather hot today, she walks with a hoodie and jeans. She nears the bakery, so I quickly turn back to my study space and finish retrieving my books and pencils before she notices I’ve been eyeing her. The door behind me swings open and sneakers pad across the floor. I watch the woman walk past me and go up to the counter where Mary is just placing my order. Mary’s face lights up while she walks out from behind the counter to embrace the woman who looks to be an old friend, placing my order on the wooden counter next to her. They animatedly talk about how they’ve been and how the store is doing. Not wanting to interrupt, I quietly walk up beside them and slide the mug Mary’s prepared for me across the counter towards me. Neither woman seems to take notice as they happily chat. I sit back down and flip open my laptop to an email from my professor. I absentmindedly take a sip of my tea, noticing that it’s not as sweet as the way Mary normally makes it. I slide out from the table and turn to go to the counter for some sugar. I’m just getting out of my seat when I collide with another person.

I do my best to maintain my composure as hot tea runs down the front of my white tee shirt and spills over my stomach. The blue mug lays in broken pieces at my feet.

“I’m so sorry, love! I should have been watching where I was going!” gasps the woman kneeling before me in a jumbled slew of apologies. She frantically places shards of broken mug into her hand as she struggles to stay crouched. I kneel beside her and start picking up pieces myself.

“Oh, it’s okay. It was just an unfortunate day to wear a white shirt!” I say with a laugh, indicating that it’s not a big deal.

“I’m so clumsy. My kids always tell me that I need to be more careful when it comes to these things.”
“It’s okay, miss. Things happen.” I shrug and offer a smile.

The two of us stand and walk over to the trash to discard the remains of my study fuel. Brushing off my jeans, I turn to the woman and finally get a good look at her. The same woman that I had seen from the window suddenly looks much older beside me. She has crows feet around her eyes, and there are several strands of gray hair poking through her hair. She gives me a smile and extends her hand.

“I’m Anne, nice to meet you. Sorry about the circumstances of our meeting.”

“It’s totally fine. I’m Kath.” We shake hands as Anne calls for Mary to make me another tea.
“It’s on me. Why don’t you come and sit down with me?” Anne takes my hand and guides me to a table just behind my normal spot. She shrugs off her hoodie and wraps it around me to hide the tea stain. The other customers have started to settle down after the commotion and return to their own conversations. Anne sits opposite of me and slouches into her chair.

“So Kath, do you live around here?” Anne questions as Mary places a new cup of tea on the table.
“Just for the summer”, I reply. “My uncle is having me watch his home while he’s away on an archaeology dig, so I’m taking advantage of the house to myself to finish some online classes for university."

“What University?”

“University of Michigan. Both of my parents grew up in Michigan and they have a phenomenal political science program."

“Very nice! Poltical science. That’s quite the field, given the present day circumstances!” She chuckles and brushes a piece of hair from her face.

“Yeah, it can be frustrating sometimes, but I manage." I watch her lips pull into a smile. “What about your family?” I ask, noting that she’s come into the bakery all alone on a Saturday. She looks old enough to be my mom.

She hesitates before answering. “Well, it’s actually just me. My husband isn’t with me anymore and my children are both grown. My son is about your age, actually”, she sighs as she looks down at her hands.

“I’m sorry about your husband. How many children have you got?”

“I’ve got two. My daughter is the eldest. She’s a writer. My son,” she hesitates, “travels around quite a bit.” Her eyes grow darker as she gazes out the window.

As we chat Anne slips her phone from her purse. She fiddles with it for a while and flips it so the screen faces down. On her case is a picture of a boy with green eyes and chestnut hair that’s swept to the side. He’s got on a low cut shirt that reveals a menagerie of tattoos and several necklaces. His plump lips and dimples give him a look of innocence that works in contrast to his rockstar ensemble. Instantly he’s recognizable as none other than Harry Styles.

I don’t really get what it is about the people of Holmes Chapel. It’s an absolute craze here! Harry is definitely the most famous person to come out of this rural town, but I had no idea that he was such a treasure that grown women were walking around with him on their cell phone cases.

Anne notices that I’ve become distracted, so she picks the phone up from the table and flips it in her hand. She looks down towards the green eyed boy, smiles, and directs her attention towards me again.

“So you’re a fan of One Direction then, eh?” Anne asks.

“I don’t know anyone that isn’t a fan.” I try to guage her reaction, but I can’t get a read on her. “Are you?”

“Well, it might be a little weird for a grown woman to be carrying around a Harry Styles phone case for no apparent reason, now wouldn’t it?”, she replies with a knowing smirk on her face. Anne sets her phone down on the table again and looks up at me.

“Actually, Harry’s my son."

Notes