Wish Upon a Star (31 page)

‘It’s hard to see what else is in here without the electricity on, but I suppose I’d better give everything a quick dust before Tim comes back again or it might put him off.’

‘Oh, I don’t think it would. He’s already seen it at its worst and you might find treasure trove when the lights are back on. These hatpins are pretty, aren’t they?’ I said, though I discovered that they were also firmly rusted into the pincushion. ‘But if I can get away, I’ll come and help you clean.’

‘Despite the spiders?’

‘Yes – if you brush the cobwebs down first!’

He stood in the middle of the shop and looked around him. ‘I think I’ll have a little office and reception area for customers at the front of the shop here, with an inner door and a glass window onto the preparation room.’

‘There’s something like that at one of the swish London hotels,’ I said. ‘You can see them making patisserie. Even with the front bit missing, you’d still have a huge kitchen-preparation area.’

We went through the rotting baize curtain at the back into the living room.

‘The fireplace is nice, isn’t it?’ Jago said. ‘I love those old turquoise and lilacy-pink tiles round the edge.’

‘Yes, you could pick those shades up in some of the soft furnishings, later.’

We went and had a good poke round the rest of the house and he told me his plans for throwing it all back into one big family home, though he didn’t mention who he hoped to start the big family with …

‘The annexe cottage would make a great guest suite eventually,’ he said. ‘And I think it would be easy to turn the bit of paving between the kitchen and the annexe into a conservatory, to link them.’

‘That’s a good idea, because if it had a glass roof and front, then you wouldn’t lose any light in the living room. In fact, you could put a glazed door from the living room into the conservatory,’ I suggested, and he thought that was a great idea.

Upstairs he intended upgrading the large but Spartan Victorian bathroom with modern fittings and a walk in shower. ‘I might squeeze an en suite shower room into the main bedroom too, so this could be the family one.’

‘What are you going to do with the flat upstairs?’

‘Eventually turn it into two more en suite bedrooms.’

‘Gosh, a three bathroom home – how posh!’ I said, impressed.

‘It’ll be four; you’ve forgotten the one in the annexe,’ he said, grinning.

‘Oh, yes – there may even be an outside one at the bottom of the garden, you never know. If there is, you’ll go down in local history as Five-Loos Tremayne.’

‘I think five might be a toilet too far,’ he said. ‘Do you think I should go all out for a Victorian look through the house?’

‘No, I think I’d just give a nod to Victorian. Maybe have light, warm shades on the walls, but William Morris curtains, and make a feature of the lovely fireplaces in every room.’

‘That upstairs little front bedroom over the shop is pure seventeenth century,’ he said.

‘Yes, it could be lovely if the panelling and wooden floorboards were polished, and it’s got a window seat and that cute little stone fireplace, too. I’m not sure how you would double-glaze that old diamond-paned window, though.’

‘I’ll have to find out, but it might have to be just secondary glazing in there. Most of the rest are sash windows, and I’m pretty sure you can get double-glazed versions of those.’

We were back downstairs now and he asked, ‘What sort of a kitchen do you think I should have?’

The quarry-tiled room was bare, apart from some painted wall shelves and a deep, chipped sink set in a wooden draining board.

‘I don’t know. It’s a bit of a blank slate, so you can start from scratch. Maybe you should get some brochures, or we could go and look at kitchen showrooms and get some ideas?’

‘That would be fun.’

‘The redecoration and furnishing bit will
all
be great fun,’ I promised him, ‘you just have to get the basic renovation done first.’

‘Just,’ he repeated.

‘I know there’s a lot to do, but I can imagine how it’s going to look in the end – amazing.’

‘That’s more than Aimee could when she had a look round,’ he said. ‘I knew she’d hate it because she likes everything modern, minimal and open plan.’

He paused, then added awkwardly, ‘She finally left a message on my phone yesterday, apologising for being bitchy to you and for getting hold of the wrong side of the stick. She sounded really sorry and said she understood I just want to be friends now.’

‘How nice,’ I said, and he grinned.

‘Well, it had been so long that I was sort of hoping she’d found someone else and forgotten about me.’ The smile suddenly vanished. ‘I’m afraid she remembered where she’d seen you before – at your engagement party to your ex. Apparently his parents and her father live in the same village in the Cotswolds, so she’s known him all her life.’

‘Oh, right! She did look vaguely familiar and a lot of his posh crowd of friends were at the party, though they only talked to each other, not to me.’

‘Polite!’ he commented. ‘Aimee’s friends were always like that too, when I was out with her.’

I had to go back and relieve Ma then, but we bounced ideas around by text later and then Jago relayed yet another summons to tea from Miss Honey – this time with Stella.

‘It’s for Friday, but I can tell her it’s not convenient if you like?’ he suggested.

‘No, I expect she doesn’t get a lot of visitors and she’d be disappointed if we didn’t go. I only hope Stella doesn’t finish her off, though.’

Jago hoped to have the electricity and water reconnected to Honey’s the following week, so our fingers were crossed it didn’t all go up in a blue light before it was rewired. He kept bringing round brochures for kitchens and wallpaper brochures, and paint charts.

‘I think I’m turning into Sarah,’ he said ruefully, one evening.

‘But with better taste, from the sound of it. Have they finished putting carpets in the flat now?’

‘Yes – and guess what,
they’re
grey too.’

‘I think we can safely say there won’t be any hint of grey at Honey’s.’

He told me that the people from the mill were coming the following Saturday to measure, photograph and then pack the contents of the shop up, but since Jago had a cake to make and deliver to somewhere the other side of Bolton that morning, I said I’d go and let them in.

‘Celia and Will are having Stella for most of the day anyway, did I tell you? It’s the first time I’ve ever left her with them for so long, but she really wanted to go when they suggested it. They’re having a picnic in the garden if it’s fine, in the middle of that giant stone mushroom circle. Stella thinks it’s enchanted.’

‘She’ll love that and I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ he said reassuringly. ‘And anyway, she’s only fifteen or twenty minutes away there, isn’t she?’ His eyes met mine and we both smiled. His crinkled up endearingly at the corners.

Jago did a bit of sneaky enquiring and discovered that Miss Honey’s favourite tipple was Harveys medium dry sherry, so we took a bottle of that with us when we went to visit her on Friday, along with an assortment of sticky iced buns that Jago made specially, and my contribution of fairy cakes and mini meringues.

Stella, excited by the prospect of meeting yet another old lady, brought Bun and the mummy from her ginger cat family.

‘Be very polite to Miss Honey,’ I warned her.

‘Yes, Mummy.’

‘She’s very old, so she gets tired easily. She might even just fall asleep in her chair in the middle of talking to us.’

‘Awesome!’ she said, and Jago laughed.

The assistant we’d seen last time, Charlene, took us up in the lift and ushered us into Miss Honey’s suite.

‘Here are your visitors, love, and one of them’s a sweet little girl – pretty as an angel, she is.’

‘I’m a big girl, nearly four,’ Stella told her gravely. ‘And I’m not an angel, because I’m not dead.’

Then she let go of my hand and went to stare closely at Miss Honey’s netted skin and knotted, blue-veined hands. ‘You’re very, very old – even older than the Graces,’ she remarked admiringly.

‘Which graces?’ demanded Miss Honey.

‘My three Graces and they’re three hundred years old.’

‘No, darling,’ I broke in, ‘they said
between
them they were that old, but actually, I think they were exaggerating and it’s more like two hundred and fifty. Miss Honey is only a hundred and two.’

‘Hah!
Only
,’ said Miss Honey tartly.

‘Your neck looks just like the tortoise’s neck at the Botanical Gardens,’ Stella observed.

Instead of taking umbrage at Stella’s frankness, Miss Honey seemed to relish it. ‘And you’re so skinny it’s a wonder you don’t blow away.’

‘I know, but when my heart’s all better I’ll suddenly grow and grow.’

‘Well, that’ll be good, so long as you don’t sprout like Alice and fill the whole house.’

‘Alys isn’t very big yet,’ Stella said, puzzled.

‘She means her friend, Alys – Sophy Winter’s little girl. We haven’t got as far as reading
Alice in Wonderland
yet.’

‘
I
can read,’ Stella said.

‘Can you indeed?’ Miss Honey said, and then added, ‘I don’t know Sophy. Hebe and Ottie, now, I know them …’

‘Ottie’s a friend of my mum’s.’

‘It’s a funny old world … and what’s that you’re both holding?’

‘Sherry,’ I said. ‘I thought we should celebrate Jago buying Honey’s.’

‘And cakes,’ Jago added, just as Charlene came back with the tea trolley, to which she’d thoughtfully added a jug of rather synthetic-looking squash for Stella: clearly no oranges were harmed in the making of the product.

‘Good: you can take that moth-eaten jam sponge away then, Charlene, but leave the plates.’

She watched Jago set out the goodies on the chintz-patterned china, which Stella admired.

‘It’s my own tea set. I’ll leave it to you when I pop my clogs,’ she told her.

‘Thank you,’ said Stella, and I think, though the expression was unknown to her, she still got the meaning because she asked, ‘Are you going to die soon?’

‘I expect so, but it depends when my Maker wants me. Sometimes I wonder if he’s forgotten me and that’s why I’m still here. I get tired.’

‘So do I,’ Stella said.

‘After your operation you’ll be full of beans, don’t you worry,’ Miss Honey said.

‘Boston beans,’ Jago suggested. ‘That’s where the hospital in America is.’

Stella nodded, though her thumb was back in her mouth and she had to remove it to speak. ‘I’m glad you’re still here,’ she told Miss Honey, then showed her the ginger mummy cat in her pocket, and Bun, which Miss Honey kindly admired, though a more threadbare object you never saw in your life. Then she came and sat on my knee.

We toasted Jago’s purchase of Honey’s in sherry, though I hate the stuff and I was pretty sure from his heroic expression as he sipped that Jago felt the same.

Then I said, cautiously, ‘You
did
understand that Jago and I aren’t engaged, didn’t you, Miss Honey?’

She nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I understood all right, though I don’t condone modern manners and having children out of wedlock. Still, there have always been little mistakes …’

She brooded for a few moments and then went on, ‘It’s sensible of your young man to get his bakery up and running before you think of anything more than walking out.’

We seemed to have hit an insurmountable barrier and Jago and I exchanged glances. Luckily Stella seemed to be too drowsy to be taking in what we were saying now, especially when Miss Honey added her clincher.

‘When the time is right, I hope you’ll invite me to the wedding. Though if you do, I wouldn’t leave it too long, because at my age you never know when your number’s up.’

‘If we do get married, you’ll be our guest of honour,’ Jago assured her, straight-faced, then started enthusiastically describing his plans for the shop and house.

‘The people from the mill are going to photograph the interior of the shop tomorrow and measure it up before they pack everything, so they can recreate it exactly up there. Everything will be just as it was, right down to the original shop sign, because I’ll have a new one made that says “Honey’s Croquembouche Cakes”.’

‘That’s a mouthful,’ she observed.

‘So are the cakes,’ I said.

‘They’ll be taking most of the furniture straight up to the mill house, though the organ’s now going to a restorer first, because Hebe Winter offered to pay for it. Apparently one of the people who volunteers to help up at the mill plays, and is looking forward to striking up a hymn or two for the visitors.’

Miss Honey was very keen on that idea. ‘I always liked “Nearer, my God, to Thee”,’ she said. ‘Apt, given my age, nowadays. When will it all be open?’

‘The mill owner’s house is already open, though it’s only partly furnished. I’m not sure how long the shop will take to set up, but there are lots of student volunteers to help so it could be quite quick.’

‘I might live to see it yet, then,’ she said. ‘And even if I don’t, the visitors will hear my voice, because they sent some of those students up here to start recording my memories.’

‘Yes, the visitors will love that,’ Jago said.

‘There’s some woman from the Middlemoss Living History Archive wanting to come and record me, too,’ she said. ‘I’m a living fossil. Or maybe,’ she added, her eyes softening as they rested on Stella, ‘the oldest tortoise in the world.’

From the way Miss Honey had perked up again and was wolfing iced buns, washed down with another glass of sherry, I didn’t think she’d be going anywhere fast.

‘Now, Jago,’ Miss Honey said, sitting upright. ‘Fetch some more glasses from that little corner cupboard, because I’ve invited a few friends round to celebrate and I can hear Annie’s walking frame thumping.’

On Saturday Stella woke up very excited about her day with Celia and Will, and they arrived early to collect her, since part of the treat was going to be a McDonald’s breakfast, a prospect that she found very exciting, since it wasn’t something she’d ever had before. I tried my best not to fuss and Celia assured me they’d ring my mobile at the least sign that Stella wasn’t feeling well, or wanted to come home.