Taking the Plunge and other stories

By Stone de Rouffignac

‘Coffee,’ said Lacey. ‘Black. No sugar.’
‘Ummm, how did I get here?’ I asked, not sure quite how to phrase the question.
‘The stork brought you.’
‘No, I mean, last night.’

Rebecca is eighteen and she’s just started at university. But which university? Has she made the right choice? Has she really got over the disaster that was revealed in the last story?

It’s a time to make new friends and see new places, but to continue to have adventures every bit as crazy as the ones she had during the previous three years.

This is the fourth book in the Rebecca series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paperweight Press
• Release date: Oct 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781903477205

Stone de Rouffignac

Stone de Rouffignac is a pseudonym.The real Stone de Rouffignac taught physics for more than thirty years, variously in a coeducational boarding school, an international school, and two girls’ day schools.

Book preview

TAKING THE PLUNGE

and other stories

Rebecca is eighteen and she’s just started at university. But which university? Has she made the right choice? Has she really got over the disaster that was revealed in the last story?

It’s a time to make new friends and see new places, but to continue to have adventures every bit as crazy as the ones she had during the previous three years.

This is the fourth book in the Rebecca series.

Now read on…

By the same author

Over the Top and other stories

(Rebecca Series book 1)

Painting the Tank and other stories

(Rebecca Series book 2)

Sinking the Ship and other stories

(Rebecca Series book 3)

Taking the Plunge and other stories

(Rebecca Series book 4)

8 is Three Twos—Complicated

The Text—A short school story

TAKING THE PLUNGE

and other stories

Stone de Rouffignac

Copyright © Stone de Rouffignac, 2004

First published in 2004 by

Paperweight Press

Springfield House, 5 Spring Hill Terrace, Whitby, North Yorkshire, YO21 1EG

This edition published in 2015 by Paperweight Press

The moral right of the author, writing under the name of Stone de Rouffignac, is asserted according to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

Stone de Rouffignac is a pseudonym

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Conditions of sale:

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-903477-20-5

Table of Contents

Author’s Note

Prologue

Going Up

Fitting In

Ups and Downs

Somewhere New

Missing Steps

A Cup of Tea

Creatures of the Night

Crossing the Line

A Pile of Scrap

The Long Road Home

Epilogue

Thank You!

About the Author

Author’s Note

All these stories are fiction, and so are the characters, but each story is based on events which actually happened.

The stories are all set in the 1990s, when there were no mobile phones (you had to find a phone box) and Year 11 was called Fifth-form.

Each story is self-contained, but they make a lot more sense if they are read in the order in which they appear in the book.

Remember this is the fourth book in the series.

Prologue

August, 1st year…

---

‘NO!’

‘Becky?’

‘How many more times do I have to tell you?’ I cried, slamming my fist down on the table. ‘I am not going to Oxford. Oxford does not feature in my future plans. At all. Ever. Do you understand that, Nic?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Becky!’ she exploded. ‘What on earth has got into you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know perfectly well what I mean! You’ve been hell to live with these past couple of weeks, waiting for your A level results, and now it turns out you’ve got straight ‘A’s you decide to turn down your first choice and go somewhere else entirely.’

‘York. I’m going to York. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing, I suppose. But I would have given my right arm to get grades like you’ve got…’

‘Perhaps you should have worked harder then, and not spent all your time watching football!’

‘That’s not fair! And in any case, I’m not saying you didn’t work hard. I know you did—you deserve to get good grades—and you could go to Oxford!’

‘Could do, but I’m not.’

‘But they want you! They’ve just written asking you to confirm your acceptance of their offer.’

‘Which I’m not going to do. Anyway, York wants me too. And I liked the guy who interviewed me.’

‘It must feel nice to be wanted. Becky! Not that many people get the chance to go to Oxford. You can’t just turn it down and go to somewhere like York!’

‘Not somewhere like York. York. University. I hope you’re not suggesting it’s on a par with that so-called university you go to.’

‘Becky! That’s so not fair! And mean. I accept you got better grades than me—you always have done and I don’t begrudge you getting them. That’s the whole point! I could never have got to Oxford, not if I’d stayed at school until I was twenty-five, but you can. I just can’t believe you’re really going to throw away an opportunity like that.’

‘Like what? What makes you think York isn’t an even better opportunity? They don’t let just anyone in, you know. They expect good grades too. And, I can do the course I want. And, it’s a very attractive campus. And, I know my way around. I have lived in Yorkshire for the last five years, don’t forget.’

‘Then it’s about time you had a change.’

‘Really? I happen to like Yorkshire.’

‘But, Oxford…’

‘Nic! I’m not going!’

I slammed out of the kitchen, stormed upstairs to my room, shut the door and lay down on my bed. And cried.

Nic was rubbing salt into my wounds. Not that I was cross with my sister—I would have done the same thing in her place—but why did she have to be so right?

I did want to go to Oxford. I’d just spent two years dreaming about it and although I’d had fun too, after April Fool at Easter I’d worked my socks off. Two days ago I’d found out for sure that it had paid off.

But I couldn’t go. Not now. There was just no way I could go there. Not after what had happened. No, I was going to turn down the offer and accept the one from York. Which is a highly-regarded university. I was very lucky to get in. Lots of people don’t. But…

There was a tap at the door.

‘Go away!’

‘Becky? It’s Mum.’

‘Oh! Sorry, I thought it was Nic. But I’d rather be left alone for a bit, if you don’t mind.’

‘I understand. But this won’t take long. May I come in for a moment?’

I got up and opened the door. I’d always got on OK with Mum, and I thought I might as well listen to what she’d come to say. In fact, the way I felt just now, all the growing up I’d done over the last few years seemed to have melted away and I probably needed to listen to her. It would be so much easier to be told what to do…

‘Becky, your dad and I do have some idea of what you’re going through…’

‘Do you?’ I said, and then bit my lip. That was rude of me. Fortunately, Mum ignored my interruption.

‘…and we want you to know that whatever you decide to do, we’ll support you. Don’t feel under any pressure to do what you think we want. It’s what you want that matters.’

Ohhhh! That just made it worse. I wanted to go to Oxford. And it was obvious that they wanted me to go to Oxford as well, whatever they said. They were the ones who had paid for me to go away to school—they were proud of me for getting good grades—I couldn’t let them down…

But I couldn’t go.

There was another tap at the door.

‘Come in,’ I called, resignedly.

It was Nic.

‘Come with me,’ she commanded.

‘Where to? I want to be alone!’

‘You need to practise your German conversation.’

She dragged me into town. We went on the bus, and she made me buy the tickets. Then we went to the pub.

‘I need a beer,’ she said, ‘and so do you.’

I tried to argue, but not very hard. After all, Nic was paying. All I had to do was order it and drink it. And she was right—I did need a beer!

‘Right,’ she went on, once we’d finished a second round and ordered a third, ‘we can talk in English in a German pub. You need to go to Oxford.’

‘I can’t!’ The words came out slurred, but she knew what I meant.

‘Because of Damien?’

I nodded. If it hadn’t been for the beer I would have shouted at her and stormed out. I’d been trying hard not to mention his name—not to even think his name—and it wasn’t very nice of her to bring it into the open. But I didn’t care any more.

It hadn’t been very nice of him, come to that. But I was over him now. Really I was. There would be plenty of blokes at uni. At York.

‘Becky. There are thousands of undergraduates at Oxford! You’re the one who’s good at maths—what are the chances of bumping into someone if you don’t want to?’

‘Not much,’ I admitted.

‘He isn’t even at the same college as you.’

Or the same university, I thought.

‘So what’s to stop you going to Oxford?’

I sighed. ‘I’m going to York,’ I said.

Going Up

October, 1st year…

---

I glanced at my watch as the coach began, at last, to pick up speed. There had been a ridiculous amount of traffic on the motorway—so much that it had taken us the best part of an hour to do less than ten miles—and it was already half past three. Never mind. Better late than never, and there was no set time for arriving anyway. Even so, I could feel the butterflies in my tummy as I realized that my final destination was now only about another hour away.

And I was tired. I don’t usually have any problem with travelling but this journey had been a nightmare from the word go. Nic hadn’t helped.

+ + +

‘Becky!’

‘What?’

‘You can’t take all this stuff!’

‘Yes I can,’ I retorted. ‘I’ve taken this much before.’

‘On a plane? When?’

‘When I’ve gone back to school after the holidays, of course!’ When did she think I meant?

‘I’ve never seen you.’

‘Because you haven’t been at school this last year! You’ve been at uni. Which is where I am now trying to get, if you would just stop arguing for a moment and actually help me finish my packing.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to do,’ she replied, starting to raise her voice. ‘I’m trying to stop you taking so much stuff they won’t let you on the plane. How are you going to carry it, anyway?’

I counted to ten. ‘Nic,’ I said, trying very hard to remain calm, ‘You are not my mother, nor are you my keeper. I am eighteen years old, and I am not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of air travel.’

‘So…’ she began, but before she had a chance to finish I played my trump card.

‘I have also got three grade ‘A’s at A level, so will you please let me make my own decisions!’

It worked! Sort of.

‘That’s not fair!’ she moaned. ‘You know I can’t compete when you start talking about grades, and I was trying to help. Really.’

‘Sorry.’ I had to apologize, because Nic’s actually not that bad, as sisters go, and my comment had been a bit below the belt. We called a truce, and she stopped trying to organize me and actually started to help pack both my rucksack and my flight bag. But then I began to get worried. When I found out I needed Nic’s help to physically lift the rucksack and put it on I went and stood on the bathroom scales.

‘Sixteen kilograms.’

‘And what’s your allowance?’ asked Nic.

‘Twenty.’

‘How much does the flight bag weigh?’

I lugged it through and tried it. Fifteen kilograms. So between the two of them I was eleven over the limit. I’ll give Nic some credit, because she could easily have said, I told you so, but she didn’t.

‘Check the flight bag in, and carry the rucksack on as cabin baggage,’ she suggested.

That actually made a lot of sense, and since I was now running a bit late I didn’t have time to think of anything else so I grabbed a quick cup of coffee, gave Dad a big hug, and I was on my way!

Dad had to work and couldn’t come to the airport to see me off, but after five years at boarding school I was used to that. Fortunately Mum was able to drive me, and Nic came along to say goodbye. Just as well really—I might have struggled a bit if I’d had to go on the bus. On the other hand, the bus might have been a bit quicker…

‘Damn!’

‘Mum?’ I queried, as the car spluttered, slowed, and finally ground to a halt.

‘Damn!’ she said again. ‘We can’t have run out of petrol—I only filled it up on Thursday.’

But we had.

‘Have either of you borrowed the car recently? Nic?’

But it was me. I’d needed to do some last-minute shopping the day before, and a bit of mental arithmetic told me I’d done about fifty kilometres!

‘Sorry.’ This was obviously my day for apologies.

‘I should think so! Lucky for you there’s a five litre can in the boot. You can get it out and pour it in.’

But it was empty.

‘Er, I think that may have been me,’ admitted Nic. ‘It was getting a bit low when I was using the car earlier in the week, and I didn’t have much money with me so I put that in to make sure I didn’t run out.’

‘And you didn’t bother to fill it up again?’ Mum asked in amazement. ‘Or even think to mention it?’

‘I forgot. Sorry.’ Now it was Nic’s turn to apologize.

‘Just let me get this clear in my mind,’ said Mum. ‘I have two ostensibly grown-up daughters, both of whom are supposed to be well-educated—assuming the school fees we’ve been paying for the last few years weren’t a complete waste of money—and neither of you can manage a simple task like putting petrol in the car!’

‘Ummm…’ I mumbled.

‘Er…’ muttered Nic.

We left Mum listening to the radio. It seemed more prudent if we both went to get the petrol, and we split the cost between us, since neither of us fancied the idea of asking Mum for the money!

I was supposed to check in ninety minutes before the flight. I actually arrived at the check-in desk exactly thirty minutes before the flight and I was fully expecting to be bounced off. But it was OK.

Except that they wanted me to check the rucksack in as well.

‘But, it’s got fragile things in it!’ I cried, standing as upright as I could so as to make it look really light.

‘It is too big to go in the cabin.’

‘It’ll fit in the overhead locker, surely,’ I pleaded. How I was going to lift it that high I had no idea, but I didn’t let on.

‘It is forbidden to take such large items on board.’

‘I’m going to miss my flight!’ I cried. ‘Please let me go through. It’s my first day at university!’

But it’s no use arguing with German bureaucracy. I had to wait while the clerk went to fetch a tape measure!

Much to my amazement—and hers—it was just within the size limit.

‘Go,’ she said. ‘Here is your boarding card. You have fifteen minutes.’

By the time I’d got through passport control and security it was down to five minutes and my flight was shown as closing. Then they actually called me by name over the public-address system, informing me that if I didn’t present myself at the departure gate immediately my luggage would be taken off. I broke into a run. If you can call it running, with sixteen kgs on your back. And of course, the plane was at the very furthest gate from where I’d come in. Breathless, I lurched to a stop and handed over my boarding card.

‘You are very late, Fraulein. Go straight on board, please. If the aircraft is late departing it will miss its landing slot when it reaches London.’

As I stumbled along the boarding jetty I heard them speaking to the cabin crew by radio. My German isn’t that good, as I expect you know—not as good as Nic’s, certainly—but it was good enough to tell me that what they were saying about me wasn’t very complimentary!

I’d never actually seen the cabin crew shut the door before, because I’d always been in my seat, but this time they hardly gave me time to get through before it was slammed shut and I hadn’t even sat down when I heard the engines starting. Being last to check in I had been given a seat next to