Two decaf coffees and two extra-large chocolate doughnuts

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  • Published: 8 Aug 2012
  • Updated: 17 Aug 2012
  • Status: Complete
*Winner of the Beatgirl fan fiction competition!*
Everyone loves coffee and extra-large chocolate doughnuts and Amy is no exception to this. From money problems to bonding over decaf coffees, this is one unique story to show how determination and love can change everything. How will Amy cope with the pressure?

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2. Dunnington Road

“Is that you Amy?” A voice echoed through the small cramped studio as I slammed the door behind me.

“Yup.” I said through clenched teeth, still seething from my conversation with Leo. Like I hadn’t got enough to worry about than having to worry about all the carefully planned insults I’d have to make up to throw at him tomorrow. I threw my satchel onto the wooden floorboards and then I tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear listening to the floorboards groan. Gently placing the cups of coffee and bags of doughnuts onto the side, I let my hands smooth down the wrinkles on my tee-shirt which had formed while I was running. Why did I even bother running? It wasn’t like he was going to run after me.

 My eyes darted around the studio. The studio was about the size of my parent’s lounge and for a studio, that wasn’t very big. We had rolls and rolls of material stacked up on tables and propped up against anything big enough to not fall over because of the sheer weight of those things. At one side we had a small white counter and a cupboard filled to the brim with ribbons, buttons and any other bits and bats that didn’t have a proper home. The walls of the studio were painted a light beige colour, which wasn’t very exciting but was the cheapest paint we could find. Besides we had tons and tons of noticeboards covering the walls of our studio so you couldn’t even see the beige paint even if you had wanted to. The noticeboards were covered with our designs and stuck onto the designs were samples of material and then finished off with dozens of yellow sticky notes. Dotted around the room were several mannequins, some with finished designs on them and others with bits of material hanging half on them, half off them. Our studio was on the 5th floor of a little block of offices on the dreaded Dunnington Road. Dunnington Road was well known for its reckless vandalism and so well hidden that if you had never been to the Soho in London before, you had no chance in hell of ever finding it, hence our money problems.

 I half smiled as I spotted Steve sketching out a design for one of our deconstructionist fashion pieces at the only table not covered with rolls of material. He added a few more strokes of pencil into the design and glanced up at me, squinting in the light. Once his eyes had grown accustom to the light and finally focused on me he gave me his 100 watt smile which as always gave me this funny knotted feeling in the pit of my stomach. Today was no exception to this. His smile was my favourite thing about him, that and his great taste in clothes. I smiled half-heartedly back at him.

 He frowned when he saw my half-hearted smile, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” I said sticking my hands into the pockets of my denim mini-skirt.

He propped himself up onto his elbows and raised his eyebrows. He could always tell when I was lying. “I do like to think that I know you pretty well Amy, and in my personal opinion, judging by the way your jaw is set and the way your eyes are ever so slightly narrowed something is wrong; so go on spill.”

“No honestly I’m fine.” I said grinding my teeth together.

Steve stood up and crossed the distance between us, ignoring the groans of the floor threatening to give way and dodging the obstacles that were in his way.

 When he finally got to me we just stood there for several moments staring at each other, analysing each other expressions trying to guess what the other was thinking and listening to each other’s light breathing. Then I couldn’t stand it anymore. I threw my arms around his neck and inhaled the deep smell of his ‘Eau de Lacoste’ perfume which still lingered on his clothes even though a few months ago he suddenly decided he didn’t like the smell of it anymore and changed to ‘Acqua Di Gio’. I don’t know why I even remember these little things about him. A smile faltered on the edge of my mouth.

 He tried to untangle my arms from around his neck and but I clung onto him for another second not wanting our moment to finish, before releasing him and letting my arms fall back by my sides. He placed his hands then on my shoulders. “Now what’s really the matter?” He said seriously, looking into my eyes. I took a deep breath and rocked back onto my heels, looking at the floor trying desperately not to look into his deep set blue eyes. He lifted his hand up to my chin, pulling my chin up till I was looking directly into his eyes. I can’t lie when I look directly into someone else’s eyes, it’s one of my weaknesses and Steve knew that. He’s always knew that. His smile was infectious and I couldn’t help but smile back at him. Steve was different than any guy I have ever known, so I guess that’s what brought us together when we first started London’s design college and four months ago when we had finished college, we teamed up to run our own studio. Ok, so maybe it isn’t the best studio in the world, but hey, it’s our studio and that’s what counts. It’s ours alone and nobody can change that.

“I just feel that the world is against us.” I mumbled pushing his hands off my shoulders and taking a step back. “People judge us and I’m not surprised at all! I’m wearing a Winnie the Poo tee-shirt for Christ’s sake!” I gestured to my tee-shirt with my left hand.

Steve raised his eyebrows at this. “I was meaning to ask you about that.” He replied jokily.

 I ignored his comment and took a deep breath, “We are a grand in debt Steve, that’s one thousand pounds in debt, and we need a plan otherwise we are not going to be able to save this sinking ship.” I motioned around us with my hands. “This tiny cramped studio is my oasis and I don’t know whether or not it’s yours or not but we have to do something.”

 Steve let out a deep breath and ran his hand through his neatly styled hair messing it up slightly; which was unusual for Steve, normally he goes mental if anyone (including himself) dares to touch his hair. Believe me I know this from experience.

“Ok.” He laughed half-heartedly, “We’ll go to The Pulse tonight…”

“How the hell will that help solve anything? Going to an nightclub? Seriously?” I interrupted him.

Steve sighed and leaned back against a nearby table. “Will you let me finish?”

 I gritted my teeth and nodded, crossing my arms tightly in front of me.

“Right, where was I? Yes… we’ll go to The Pulse tonight, Christian is being the DJ down there tonight and we can ring Heather and invite her and we’ll all pitch in our ideas for how to raise the money.”

“We’ll barely be able to hear each other, nevermind have a big brainstorm on how to raise the money!” I practically yelled at him.

“Well it’s your fault we’re in this mess! You’re the one who does the books and checks our account and stuff.”

“Only because you won’t help, you know I can’t do maths!”

Steve sighed and stood up from his leaning position, “You’re right; I should have helped you with managing our funds.” He took a step back towards me. “I’m sorry. Ok? I. Am. Sorry.” 

“I forgive you.”

“Well you better phone Heather quick then and make sure she’s free for tonight.” Steve grinned back at me.

My face crinkled back into a frown, “I told you a nightclub is unsuitable! Can’t we just go to a cheap restaurant or somethin?”

Steve’s grin got even wider, “Nope.”

“Not even Pizza-hut?”

“Nope.” He said confidently, striding out of the door, his phone already glued to his ear.

“What about your coffee and doughnut? It’s an extra-large chocolate doughnut, your favourite!” I yelled after him trying to get him to come back so we could talk properly about this. But it was too late; he was already out the door and down the stairs out of reach.

 I guess Steve’s never been much of a logical thinker like me, that’s what difference is between me and him. I’ve always liked to keep things organised to an extent, and I’ve never liked to jump into things. Opening this studio was probably the biggest leap of faith I’ve ever taken and it came as the greatest surprise ever to my friends and family, who’d always known me to be the girl who’d ever since she was eight years old plot out countless careful plans with big colourful felt-tip pens on A3 paper causing the paper to turn muddy brown with all the strokes of pen I’d use. They’d always known me to take ages researching things in books in the library and on Google before agreeing to them and exploring all the possibilities on big blotchy spider diagrams. Ironically, even though my dad was in fact a maths teacher and I liked to carefully plan things, I still couldn’t do maths and that had been the downfall of this operation. My incapability of being able to do maths had destroyed our studio and led us into debt. Great.

 I picked up my coffee from the side and tipped the contents of it down my throat in one big glug and quickly tided my hair back into a neat pony tail then started doing what I was best at doing. Organising.

 

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