Wish Upon a Star (34 page)

‘The people in the Witch Craft Gallery next door to Honey’s seem friendly, so perhaps you could ask them if you could fix a sign on their side wall, so people don’t walk by without seeing you’re there?’

‘Good idea, and I wondered if I could have some tubs of flowers and maybe a stone bench outside the shop too.’

‘I don’t see why not, and it would look very enticing,’ I said.

‘Well, until I move in I’ll be dividing my time between earning a living at David’s and overseeing the renovation,’ he said. ‘This could be a very busy summer!’

Stella and I took another picnic down to Honey’s for everyone on Sunday while the garden clearance was going on and, with three gardeners plus Jago’s inexpert help, they soon had it all cleared and dug ready for turf to be laid over most of it, though they left flowerbeds down the sides, where the quince bushes were, and an area for the herb garden near the house.

Eventually, when the space between the kitchen and annexe was glazed over and turned into a conservatory, there would be a small patio in front of it, but Jago said that could be done when he had the gravelled parking area made later.

We sat under the old apple tree and after a while Stella fell asleep on the rug, looking quite rosy. I felt her forehead in case it was a fever: but no, it was just a healthy glow.

On the way home later, I thought what a lovely day we’d had – a lovely weekend, in fact.

Although the recollection of Adam’s making contact had impinged from time to time, it had been immediately banished – as, apparently was Aimee from Jago’s mind, because he’d never mentioned her once.

Jago began packing ready to move to the Falling Star, but he couldn’t take all his things with him so I’d suggested he store a few boxes in Ma’s garage temporarily, since now all my smart clothes had gone there was a bit of space.

So on Thursday, after we’d been to the hospital, we parked right behind the Happy Macaroon, squeezing into the leftover space in their yard between the Saab and the van, so Jago could load up the boot with boxes for us to take back.

We had a peep at the flat, too – and Jago hadn’t been exaggerating about all that grey and mustard! It was immaculate, but not my cup of tea in the least.

There were only a few boxes, so once he’d loaded the car we left it there and had lunch in the Blue Dog, to Stella’s delight. This was tempered somewhat by discovering that her friends were not there, though luckily they soon came in and sunshine was restored.

Then on the Friday Sarah moved into the flat for good and Jago moved out to the Falling Star. It felt odd but nice having him only a few minutes’ walk away in the village, though Ma said he was around so much she didn’t see that it would make a lot of difference. She didn’t seem to mind, though. Really, I was only surprised she’d noticed.

But I’ll tell you something that
I
noticed very early on Saturday morning, just as I was about to switch on the kitchen light: a Hal-shaped figure moving rapidly past the window followed by the squeak of the garden gate …

Have we been cramping Ma’s style all this time?

After breakfast, while Ma was smoking a sneaky Sobranie in the garden, I asked her if there was anything she’d like to tell me.

She regarded me thoughtfully over the rings of smoke. ‘No, actually, I don’t think so. Is there anything
you’d
like to tell
me
?’

‘Like what?’ I asked, puzzled.

‘Well, I don’t know – you started this conversation!’ she said crossly, then ground the stub of her Sobranie out under her heel and went off up to the studio.

We had a change of scene this Sunday when Jago and I took Stella to picnic on the Lido field, which was on the outskirts of the village where a safe bathing area had been created by cordoning off a bit of the river Ches with a half-circle of huge stones.

We read the information board, which said the field was the site of a plague pit, where the unfortunate villagers who succumbed to the Black Death had been buried in mass graves. This felt sort of odd as you sat on it eating your sandwiches.

‘It must have been scary, not knowing who’d get the Black Death next when it popped up mysteriously everywhere,’ Jago said.

‘A bit like Aimee and Adam,’ I said tartly, ‘only without the buboes.’

He grinned. ‘We do seem to be plagued by our pasts, though as with the Black Death I hope the worst has now passed. Aimee still texts me a lot, but hasn’t rung again and you haven’t heard from Adam again at all, have you?’

‘No, I’m happy to say.’

‘What’s a bubo?’ asked Stella, looking up from her egg sandwich.

‘A big spot,’ I said. ‘But if you sing “Ring a Ring o’ Roses”, you won’t get one.’

‘You too then, Mummy,’ she urged, so we had to do the song with actions, watched with amusement by all the other families picnicking on the field.

It was the hottest day of the year and I let Stella paddle, though kept a careful eye on her since she had a tendency to turn blue even in warm water. But she was fine, splashing about with one or two of the toddlers from the playgroup. Then an ice-cream van arrived, heralded by a jangling rendition of ‘Greensleeves’ and we all ate cones with chocolate flakes in them.

Stella went to sleep on the picnic rug under the shade of an elderberry tree and I asked Jago what it was like living at the Falling Star.

He said the coffee was excellent, breakfast was a limp microwaved bacon bap, and if he wanted an evening meal he had a choice of microwaved sausage rolls, meat pies, or scampi and chips served in a plastic wicker-effect basket lined with a paper napkin.

‘You can come and eat with us whenever you like, because I always make too much. Ma won’t mind.’

Ma probably wouldn’t even notice.

On our way back, Jago carried a sleepy Stella and I had the picnic bag. In a blissful moment of unalloyed happiness I thought what a lovely day we’d had … and wondered at what point we’d started holding hands while we were out? I couldn’t remember, but it seemed
very
natural.

I quickly got used to having Jago actually living in the village and, even though we were both very busy, it was lovely to be able to compare notes at the end of each day, if he came round to Ma’s, which he usually did.

Apart from being occupied with Stella, I was cooking up a positive storm of recipe articles which, with the Christmas ones I’d already filed, I hoped would last from autumn to late the following year when, please God, Stella would be fully recovered and leading a normal life. Then I could work a few months in advance of publication, instead of stockpiling what seems like several years’ worth.

Given that Stella’s operation hovered on the distant horizon like a pewter-dark cloud that we all hoped would prove to have a Sterling silver lining, the summer days passed in a sort of sunny idyll, strangely unaffected by the changeable weather.

Hebe continued her tireless fundraising scheduling and twice I was called on to be photographed receiving a cheque for a local paper article. Raffy dropped in to tell me about some of the promised lots for the auction, which was coming up later in July: the first of the biggest fundraising events. Ma has promised a painting, of course, and Ottie has already given him a framed sketch for a sculpture. I suggested I could offer to make a Swedish celebration cake for any occasion and when I told Jago about it, he generously said he’d do the same with a croquembouche.

The renovations at Honey’s were in full swing and Jago was dashing about between overseeing them, helping out David with cake and macaroon orders at the Happy Macaroon and making and delivering his own croquembouche, orders for which seemed to be steadily coming in, despite his not having advertised them other than in David’s shop window. I thought this boded well for when he did have his own premises and publicised Honey’s Croquembouche Cakes.

By now he was popping in and out of Ma’s cottage as easily as if he was a member of the family, largely unnoticed by Ma.

The hospital have been quite pleased with Stella, although she had to have another going-over at Alder Hey Children’s Hospital, which she hated until they assured her they were not going to stick big needles into her arm. Jago had made time to come with us and I was glad he had because he seemed to have such a calming influence on both of us that I wished he was coming to America!

But on the whole, everything in the garden was rosy … apart from the odd aphid, like Abominable Aimee. She was back in the area and called in to see him one day, though he only had time for a quick cup of coffee with her in the Blue Dog. From the sound of it she was being as sweet as pie and he said she was very contrite about having accidentally let fall to Adam’s parents about Stella – not that I thought it was innocent and nor, I’m sure, did Jago really.

Aimee had also professed great interest in the interior of Honey’s and offered her help with the décor. ‘She wanted to have another look round, but I said even if I had time, it was unsafe because there were workmen in,’ he told me.

‘Quick thinking,’ I said admiringly.

‘She was still wearing her ring, but on the other hand, and she didn’t say anything else about getting together, so it was all right, really. I think she’s finally accepted that it’s not going to happen.’

I thought she was probably just regrouping before her next major move, but I hoped I was wrong!

‘At least I’ve heard no more from Adam,’ I said. ‘Maybe he just emailed on impulse when Aimee told him about Stella and now he’s had second thoughts and lost interest again.’

I could but hope.

Stella had obviously been a big hit with Miss Honey, for we were summoned again, the invitation expressly including her.

We took cake and sherry, these seeming to have been very acceptable, and Stella had some more animals in her pocket to show to her new and interestingly ancient friend.

When the goodies had been handed over and the niceties observed, Miss Honey wanted a full description of what was being done to the shop and the house, so Jago got his camera out and showed her some pictures of the new ‘Honey’s Croquembouche Cakes’ sign over the window, and some shots of the garden at the back, where the Winter’s End gardeners had unrolled new turf like so much green carpet, and it was all so neat and tidy it looked like a minor diversion in
Homes & Gardens
.

‘I’ve had “Honey’s Croquembouche Cakes” painted in the same green and gold as the shop sign on the sides of my delivery van, too,’ he told her, ‘and it’s on my leaflets and business cards. I’ll bring you some when they arrive; they’re being printed.’

‘You seem to be getting organised,’ Miss Honey approved, and then switched her attention to me and started to quiz me about Stella’s health and the operation in America. Luckily Stella was on the other side of the room, engrossed by a table covered in snow globes all featuring Blackpool Tower.

‘She’s fine, and the fundraising is going amazingly well. The surgeon in Boston, Dr Beems, kindly waived his fee, but we still have huge medical expenses to cover and we’re not sure how long afterwards we’ll need to stay before we can fly back.’

‘You can come to America with me if you want to,’ Stella told her, coming back and catching the last bit. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Eh, I’m not flying at my time of life!’ she said. ‘In fact, I don’t get out much at all now and that Tim Wesley needs to get a shift on and finish the shop at the mill if he wants me to open it.’

‘He rang me the other day and said it was coming along quickly,’ Jago told her, but didn’t mention all the cleaning, restoration and moth treatment that had been going on!

‘Those students came back and did another recording,’ she said. ‘I assumed they’d finished, but they said they thought I needed a break before they did the final one.’

It sounded more to me as if
they
were the ones who’d been tired and needed a break!

‘They were nice young things and that interested in what I had to tell them, I could have gone on for hours. I’ve loaned them my family photos so they can copy them to display in the house near the furniture. I expect I’ll see it all, if the Lord spares me long enough.’

‘And the new Honey’s, if you’d like to,’ Jago suggested.

We’ll see …’ she said non-committally, and I thought perhaps she realised she’d find it difficult to see it so transformed.

‘With the mill, it’s just a question of being wheeled into the van and wheeled out at the other end,’ she said. ‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t go, because if my time’s up, then it’s up and it doesn’t matter where I am, does it?’

Then she said she was about to start a whole new series of recordings for the Middlemoss Living History Archive and that seemed to perk her up no end. She could live for ever!

Stella asked Miss Honey suddenly if she was called Grace, seemingly now assuming that every elderly lady she met might be called by the same name.

‘No, I’m Queenie.’

‘Are you the queen, then?’ Stella asked, impressed.

‘I’m only queen of this nursing home,’ Miss Honey said.

‘In your dreams,’ said Charlene cheerfully as she wheeled in the tea trolley.

‘Take no notice,’ Miss Honey told us. ‘The peasants are revolting.’

Then she cackled with laughter and I thought whatever they were paying good-natured Charlene, it should be doubled.

After that visit, life rolled along merrily until one Thursday after lunch, when the phone rang just as Stella had gone down for a nap.

When I answered, a once-familiar voice said, ‘Cally? Is that you? It’s Adam.’

‘How did you get this number?’ I demanded.

‘I’ve got a flat in Pimlico and I was unpacking my stuff when I remembered I still had your mother’s number in an old address book.’

‘Well done, Sherlock,’ I said sarcastically. ‘What do you want?’

‘To see you, like I said in my emails. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’

‘Haven’t you left it a little late for that?’

‘I hope not: I thought about you a lot while I was out near the Falklands and as soon as I got back, I tried to find you, only there was someone else in the flat. It was a lucky break when an old friend told me you were living up there with your mother.’