The Garden of Stars (9 page)

 As I approached the town the rain became much heavier, it felt like it was pounding on my back. I'd come too far now to turn back. I reached Mr Shaw's house and, glancing around me to check no one was watching, I ducked under the police cordon signs and tiptoed into what was left of the scorched property. The roof was half missing, which was in some ways a blessing as it meant that although I got wet, I could see what I was doing by the light of the moon. It was a creepy, harrowing, lonely place. An overturned, singed chair sat next to a blown-out television. The remains of what looked like a photograph album were scattered on the floor, the pictures presumably the ashes I was wading through. A door was lying flat on the ground, hooks on the back of it still holding Jake's leads. It sent a chill down my spine. I wished I'd put on some warmer clothing.

I scanned the room, searching for something, anything of any value to my desperate, abandoned campaign.

 The floorboards were up, exposing raw muddy ground underneath what had once been a comfortable living room.

 I started to dig, carefully at first, not wanting to disturb the solemn gloom of the place too much, then frantically. I felt something must lie under those floorboards, under this hallowed ground. I was there for around an hour but I found nothing. I collapsed, exhausted, next to the big hole I'd created. Perhaps I was going mad after all. Dispirited, I began to return all the earth to its rightful place. Once everything looked as dismal as it had when I arrived, I made my way out of the house and up the path until something nearly tripped me over. I looked down to see a bone. It must have been one of Jake's he'd buried in the garden. That was the secret. I'd been searching and it was right in front of me all the time. Clutching it in my pocket I ran back up the hill, making it through the front door just as the birds were starting to salute sun up.

All day in the shop, I tried to keep myself occupied so I didn't give anything away to Barbara. I remained unsure as to whether she was a sneak but, either way, I knew what I was about to do was going to cause trouble and I didn't want anyone else responsible for it. Even Rosie had commented on how happy and smiley I'd been that morning but I hadn't let on about my secret.

 That night, after I'd tucked Rosie into bed, reading her favourite
Melissa the Amazing Pink Princess
story to her first and later checking she was fast asleep, I once again threw my coat, scarf, and gloves on and ventured into my own back garden. The skeleton I'd tried to bury and forget was going to be resurrected. Luckily I knew exactly where she was hidden; it was hard not to. It took me a good hour to remove the tiny bones from the shallow grave. I tried not to think too much about what I was doing. I knew it was wrong to tamper with bones that had been laid to rest, but I felt they had been calling out to us from the start. This baby's life was not over yet, she could not rest until her existence, however short, had been worthwhile. I liked to think I was helping her to heaven, to a place where she could finally rest peacefully. I carefully placed the miniature skeleton into a huge bag and, heaving it over my shoulder, I walked like Robin Hood, into the town in the darkness once more, back to Mr Shaw's house. It was clear nobody had visited since the night before and my freshly dug earth was easy enough to lift once more. I buried the bones as deeply as I could then packed down the earth to make it look untouched.

 Wearily, I climbed the hill and eventually the stairs back up to my bed. I was exhausted.

Early the next morning, before work, I sent two anonymous letters. One was to a historian's guild saying old documents had been found, which showed evidence of a plague that had hit the area hundreds of years before. Maureen had shown me research on this, but we had ruled it out as irrelevant to our campaign, apart from perhaps a display in the library, but now I saw its significance. Nothing would be wasted in our endeavour to save our town; there were too few of us for that. The second letter was to the local newspaper office, claiming that I had spotted a man acting suspiciously around Mr Shaw's house who, when questioned, said he was a keen archaeologist who believed the house had been built over a series of unmarked graves possibly relevant to his ancestors. Could one of their reporters, I asked the editor, make some enquiries at the local historian's guild to find out whether there was any truth in these claims? With each letter, I drew a map to show the spot. I even stained the map to the historian's guild with coffee and singed it round the edges for added authenticity. Now all I had to do was wait.

Sure enough, a local reporter arrived in no time, along with a member of the local historian's guild. They began asking lots of questions. I knew I was taking a risk with what I was doing but I could see no other option. I kept my head down and didn't get involved. There was no way I wanted my face in the newspaper. I think Maureen quite liked being the centre of attention, proudly showing them the display boards she'd been working on for the library. At work, Barbara said Maureen had told her the man from the historian's guild was seeking permission from Mr Shaw and the police to begin digging. I was suddenly struck with guilt that I would be unintentionally causing extra upset to the poor old man. When I asked Barbara how he was coping, she said he was just as intrigued as the rest of us and had happily given them the green light to go ahead. Good old Mr Shaw. I could have rushed round and hugged him, would it not have blown my cover. I quickly changed the subject with Barbara, quietly smiling to myself as I went to make us both a cup of tea.

It seemed to take forever for the police to give their blessing to the dig, although really it was only a matter of days. But when the historian's guild discovered the tiny skeleton, it was as if the circus had come to town.

 Suddenly the focus had changed. The national press was tantalised by a sniff of intrigue and it hit the headlines. Ivory Meadows was back in the papers again, and although the reporters made reference to the previous incidents to remind their readers where this tiny town was based, those events were old news now and seemed insignificant.
The Times
did an entire feature on the value of retaining history in small towns, with Ivory Meadows as the main town, with pictures of the church, the bridge, Bill, Barbara, and the vicar.

 It was a glorious article and everyone was delighted.

 And, within no time, we received a piece of news that was better than we could have dreamed of: a top historian had taken great interest in the article in
The Times
, done his own investigations, and found further historical interest, which was, of course, a great relief to me. He held a meeting with the town council and there it was declared that parts of Ivory Meadows were of national historical interest and therefore nothing could be touched there until further research was carried out and the appropriate listings made. We rejoiced that no building work could commence. I knew at some point I would have to come clean about the skeleton in my garden but that was something I would worry about at a later stage. All that mattered now was that we'd temporarily halted the ticking time bomb over our town.

 We decided to celebrate and for once Rosie and I actually joined everyone in The Mason Arms for a drink. It was nice to be welcomed again. Bill made a slightly drunken speech about how pleased he was, both for the town and that he had been let off the hook with just community service. He went onto say he'd do it all again until Ian, the landlord, abruptly quietened him down.

 Once everyone was chatting away in their little groups again, I made my way over to Barbara, Dennis, and Bill, who were sitting at a small, round table together.

 ‘Come on over, love,' said Barbara, eagerly.

 I grabbed my opportunity, took a deep breath and whispered that, in light of what had happened, perhaps we ought to use the lovely posters we had created to revive the campaign again. There was just over a week to go until the start of advent.

 Bill whistled between his lips; Dennis scowled. I thought I'd gone too far again. Then Barbara tutted at the two men next to her.

 ‘Don't pay them any attention, Vivian, love.' She smiled. ‘We were just saying the exact same thing but we were concerned you might not want to have anything to do with it, what with everything that's gone on. And the way everyone has acted, too,' she sighed, glumly.

 ‘Not at all.' I laughed. ‘Leave it with me.'

Chapter Nine

Everyone was cheerful and happy on the way into work the following morning, each smugly bidding each other good day, knowing we were soon to release our campaign to try to put the final seal on Ivory Meadows' salvation. We'd heard that Mr Johnson had made a full recovery and was back in town again. I, for one, was glad he was well but not especially looking forward to seeing him.

 Barbara was particularly chirpy. By all accounts she'd celebrated with a few too many sherries in the pub the night before and Dennis had had to carry her home and put her to bed. Although her head was a little sore, she looked youthful and mischievous; she was doing things she'd not done in years.

 Each customer who came into the shop was full of news. They had plans of how they proposed to refurbish their homes, discussions as to whether we should see about bringing a cinema back to Ivory Meadows, whether it would be possible to continue yoga classes in, perhaps, a more exercise-based manner. There was a buzz about the place I had never witnessed before.

 Even Dennis was pleased. He said the town's new-found vigour was obviously making people hungry as we'd sold far more than usual. I heard Barbara singing softly to herself, and I even caught a glimpse of the couple stealing a kiss in the storeroom.

 Suddenly a huge gong was heard in the town. It rang again, this time quieter and more muffled than before. The eerie sound it gave off stopped everyone in their tracks. It was an awful toll, like a doomsday signal.

 It took a few, long painful seconds for the dreadful reality of what was happening to sink in. I'd been so engrossed with trying to fit all the potatoes into one basket on the shelf, I hadn't realised straight away there's only one set of bells in the town. The church! I screamed out to Barbara and we ran together out onto the street. We had to get there before the vicar, pretty impossible really when we realised he was inside, having his usual Friday meeting with potential wedding couples. This couple had obviously asked about the wedding bells.

 The bells had never been used in all the time I'd been there – apart from the vicar's return from honeymoon, which had signalled their end as it had seemed he didn't want to hear them again after his so-called welcome-home party.

 Turning the corner, I could see the mighty church that stood, foreboding, in the middle of the town. In the dim autumn light, it seemed to loom larger than life. It was no wonder the people of Ivory Meadows were so guided by everything the vicar told them, their place of worship threatened them every time they came into town. I shuddered just looking at the doorway. It brought back memories, feelings I'd banished to the very depths of my soul.

 The bells continued to ring, muffled and hollow, seeming to turn everything into slow motion. I ran there as fast as I could with Barbara in tow. Bill brought up the rear as he had guessed what was about to happen too: if the bells were muffled something was hidden in the bell tower. It didn't take much to work that out. The mayor arrived just as we did. He and Bill eyed each other up suspiciously, like two terriers about to be let off their leashes. We were at stalemate, neither party wanting to move to give away the game. Mr Johnson looked just as he always had done, if anything he looked healthier and refreshed. I wondered if he'd eked out his time in hospital just to make matters worse for Bill.

 Then the vicar came walking out of the church with great armfuls of our leaflets and posters. As he lifted one to read it, I tried to snatch it out of his hand, and in doing so I forced him to drop the lot. Just then an almighty gust of wind lifted the pile off the street and into the air. Suddenly there were papers everywhere, like a huge kaleidoscope of colour, swishing and swirling gracefully in front of our faces. First, we were all too stunned to move then, coming to our senses, we tried desperately to grab them. But it was too late, the wind had already taken possession of them and was carrying them away. The mayor managed to grab a leaflet and took great delight in reading out its contents.

 ‘Come to Ivory Meadows,' he scoffed, ‘to get ready for Christmas the good old-fashioned way. We have steam train rides, Santa special riverboat cruises, arts and crafts, gift-making workshops for children in the museum, gastro festive cookery classes for adults. This pretty Georgian town is a must-see, come join the fun.'

 There was even a little map on the bottom to show people exactly where we were on the River Forsayth.

 Mr Johnson cackled with delight: ‘What a shame these leaflets won't reach any of the people they were intended for. Never mind, it's probably saved everyone a lot of time and effort because none of this will be here by the time you'd have got these out.'

 The vicar butted in, ‘I do actually think it's a tremendous shame really, Mayor. I think these leaflets are rather nice, don't you?'

 ‘Shut up, you bumbling fool.'

 This clearly enraged Mr Baker. His face turned quite red. ‘You've felt that way about me for too long now,' he stuttered. ‘This whole situation has gone too far.

 ‘Someone almost died as a result of your scheming,' he added, glancing nervously over at me. ‘I may have my faults but a man of the cloth never causes human suffering or loss of life. I'm truly sorry, Vivian, I feel wholly responsible for what happened to you.'

 He bent his head in shame.

 I could hardly believe my ears, and I didn't know what to say.

 ‘You had nothing to do with what happened to Vivian, Vicar,' ranted Mr Johnson. ‘It was all her own doing. Had I been here things would never have got to this stage in any case.'

 The vicar's head shot up again. He caught the mayor's gaze and fixed it with his own eyes. His red, flustered face had disappeared. He looked strong and resolute.

 ‘You being away in hospital gave me time to think,' he said. ‘Ivory Meadows was a much nicer place without you here, and I think if you were to leave, it would be for the best. You scared me with your blackmail, Mr Johnson, but people know about the enormous financial debt I owe you and that I shall pay it back, too. I have talked it through with my wife and she understands. There's no need for me to be blackmailed over it anymore.'

 Barbara clasped her hands together in joy then ran over to hug him. We were all thrilled that he, of all people, had at last seen the light.

 Mr Johnson piped up: ‘Yes, yes, that's all very nice. Have a little kiss and cuddle, pay off your debts and make up. You don't think it'll be that simple, do you? I didn't come here to make friends. I came here to make money. And for the amount of time and personal injury I've endured here,' he glared at Bill, ‘I'm certainly going to get everything I deserve.

 ‘You didn't think a few old bones would save the town, did you?' he cackled to everyone, relishing the attention and ignoring Bill as he made to step forward but was stopped by Dennis.

‘A couple of decrepit historians are hardly going to stand in my way. My family has money, you know, and money equals power. As we speak, the planning officers at the council are already setting dates to overrule the temporary halt in work so that we can get started on what will actually, for once, be of benefit to the people of Ivory Meadows. I have, of course, always had your interests at heart. I bid you all, and your little leaflets, good day.'

 With that he strolled off pompously, over the bridge and out of town.

 My mind was racing, everyone was asking what should be done, even the vicar, which seemed strangely out of character. I was pleased he'd changed his mind, I'd always felt in my heart he was a good man.

 ‘Leave it with me,' I said. ‘Collect Rosie from school and give her some tea for me, would you please, Barbara? I don't know now whether our tourism campaign will make any difference but it's all we've got so I'll see to it personally that the carnival still goes ahead a week tomorrow.'
 Clutching what remained of the posters and leaflets, I ran up the hill back home as fast as my legs would carry me.