Wish Upon a Star

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘Right …’ David said thoughtfully. ‘Then I hope your ex isn’t trying to weasel back into your life, because it looks like Aimee’s not letting Jago go that easily.’

  ‘He did mention she’d been back in contact,’ I said. I’d really have loved to have pumped David for all the details, but I didn’t want to seem nosy … even if I was. And anyway, at that moment Stella spotted Jago coming in from the back room, carrying a tray of green macaroons.

  She let out a squeal of delight. ‘Jago!’ she cried, as if she’d known him for ever, and his thin, dark face, which had worn an abstracted and slightly sad look, suddenly lit up in a grin.

  ‘She practically dragged me in here so she could get a gingerbread pig,’ I told him, even though there hadn’t been any need to drag me. ‘And I can’t thank you enough for raising money with the gingerbread stars. Stella, look – Jago’s selling these stars to raise money to get your heart mended in America.’

  Stella looked at them, then up at Jago and nodded. ‘I’m going in a big plane and when I come back, I’ll be all better.’

  ‘That will be great, won’t it?’ he said encouragingly. ‘And it’ll be exciting going in a plane to America.’

  ‘Yes, but I have to go into hospital again when I get there,’ Stella said gloomily. Then she perked up. ‘But Mummy says when I get back it’ll be nearly Christmas and Santa might bring me a big pink castle and a riverboat and a tree house and maybe even a hotel!’

  Jago blinked. ‘I’m sure he’ll do his best.’

  ‘The pink castle is the Barbie one she saw at the playgroup,’ I explained. ‘But the rest are for those little animal toys she collects. I made the mistake of showing her the range on the internet and her Santa list suddenly grew by several feet.’

  ‘Here’s Mummy Penguin,’ Stella said, waving the toy at him. ‘Say hello to Mummy Penguin.’

  ‘Hello, Mummy Penguin, I’m very pleased to meet you,’ he said gravely.

  ‘Me too,’ David said. ‘It’s not every day you meet a penguin. Look, Jago, it’s gone quiet,’ he added ‘Why don’t you all go for a coffee next door and see if you can think of any more good fundraising ideas? I can ring if it suddenly gets busy again.’

  ‘Good idea, and I can snatch a quick lunch before things hot up again,’ Jago agreed, then said slightly diffidently to me, ‘That is, if you and Stella have time to join me?’

  ‘That would be lovely.’

  ‘Gingerbread piggy,’ Stella said pointedly.

  ‘Of course! Here we are: you choose one. I don’t suppose the café will mind if you eat it while your mum and I have a cup of coffee.’ Jago held the tray within reach. ‘I have lunch there every day; I must have regular customer status by now.’

  It was busy in the café, as always, which I suppose showed how good the food was. But we found a table, next to one occupied by three very elderly ladies who all smiled at Stella and commented on how pretty she was.

  ‘I’m nearly four and I can read books,’ she told them gravely, though the first was a lie since she’s only three and a half. She eyed the enormous cream meringues in front of them and added, impressed, ‘Are you going to eat all that?’

  When they said they were, she was so taken by her new admirers that she decided to join them, climbing onto the empty chair at the table and putting her gingerbread pig down on a clean plate.

  I was going to remove her, until they assured me they were delighted, so I left them to it. She was hauling Mummy Penguin out of her pocket ready for introductions, but if she started asking them difficult questions, like whether they minded being really old and if they would die soon, I would whisk her away.

  Jago glanced at Stella. ‘How did the hospital visit go?’

  ‘Quite well. She’s put on another tiny bit of weight so they said unless there were any problems, she could next go in a fortnight.’

  ‘That’s great!’

  ‘We’ll probably still come into Ormskirk next Thursday anyway, though, because it seems to be becoming a habit and we both like a mooch round the market.’

  We drank our coffee and chatted and I asked him, ‘How did you get into baking? Didn’t you tell me your parents were academics and your brother is some kind of biochemist?’

  ‘Yes … they thought I was a bit of a dunce at school and I never quite fitted in – my brother was so clever, but my parents didn’t understand me at all. My granny – the Cornish one – came to live with us when I was five and I spent most of my time in the kitchen with her. I’m sure that’s how I came to love cooking, and especially cake making, so much.’

  ‘You don’t seem at all stupid to me!’

  ‘It turned out I was dyslexic,’ he explained. ‘I don’t know why no one thought of testing me for it sooner, but once they did and I got some help, I learned to cope with it. Though my spelling is a bit random and anything longer than a recipe can take me a while to get through. But I do. How did you get into the cookery journalism?’

  ‘A bit like you. I wasn’t academic or arty, and although Ma loved me, she was never very maternal and her painting engrossed her. “Ma” isn’t even a version of “Mum” – she always called herself Martha, and Ma was all I could get my tongue around when I was tiny. Dad adored Ma, but he was clever and remote, so not very good with children. So I had foreign au pair girls, and the last one, Anna, was a really keen cook and taught me all kinds of things. I came to the cookery writing through journalism, though.’

  ‘We have such a lot in common,’ he said. ‘Baffled parents, early cookery influences and jilting fiancés.’

  I laughed and agreed. ‘And cake, don’t forget! We’ve turned out all right in the end, haven’t we?’

  ‘Or we’re heading that way, at least,’ he said.

  ‘Does the dyslexia still make things really difficult?’

  ‘It’s OK now that I’ve found ways to manage it, though when I have my own business I’ll have to get some help with the paperwork, I expect. But my dyslexia is a minor hurdle compared to what Stella’s been going through.’

  ‘Did I tell you how grateful I am about the gingerbread stars?’

  ‘About a million times – it’s getting embarrassing,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘OK, I’ll stop now,’ I said laughing.

  He hadn’t mentioned his fiancée again, so I’d no idea what was going on with that … but now we were friends I really hoped they wouldn’t get back together, even if that was selfish of me, because I was certain she’d whip him straight back to London again.

  When I got home with a tired but cheerful Stella, she awarded Ma the chewed remains of the gingerbread pig as usual, and told her she’d met three ladies much older even than Ma was.

  ‘Nearly three hundred years old!’ she elaborated. ‘And they’re all called Grace.’

  ‘I think they meant their combined ages, and they were exaggerating slightly,’ I explained.

  ‘That’s a relief and I’m glad I don’t look three hundred years old,’ Ma said. ‘What do you mean, they’re all called Grace, Stella?’

  ‘They’re the three Graces, they said so.’

  Stella went off for a nap as usual after lunch and the vicar arrived soon afterwards. Luckily there was a freshly baked fruit loaf, so I buttered that and made a pot of tea, and while we had it I told him about Jago and the gingerbread stars and how it had given me hope that the rest of the money could be raised in time.

  ‘I mean, we’ve barely met and he’s done so much for Stella already.’

  ‘He makes me ashamed I’ve only just got started on helping,’ Raffy said ruefully.

  ‘Not at all, I understand you must have other calls on your time.’

  ‘I do, but Stella’s fundraising is urgent and I’ve popped in today because I’ve had some ideas – and first of all, I’ve called a meeting in the village hall on Saturday to get things rolling, with a fundraising committee in charge. The posters are going up all over the village today; Hebe Winter is organising all that. I ho
pe you’ll come?’

  ‘What, this Saturday – the day after tomorrow? Is that possible at such short notice?’

  ‘Oh, yes, the Sticklepond grapevine works almost instantly. I suspect some of my parishioners of telepathy,’ he said gravely.

  ‘Of course I’ll come, but I won’t have to speak, will I?’ I asked, alarmed by the idea.

  ‘Not if you don’t want to. I’ll outline why we need to fundraise and introduce you to everyone, but you’ll know most of them by sight at least by now, I should think and they’ll already know all about you and Stella.’

  ‘I suppose that’s living in a village for you. But since we don’t really belong in Sticklepond, I still don’t think we count as a local cause.’ Ma did, of course, but she could hardly be said to be a part of village life.

  ‘That doesn’t matter, you’re all part of the fabric of this village now, and in any case, they’d unite to support a sick child wherever it came from. I’m a father myself, so I can imagine what you’re going through and I’ll do everything in my power to help you. God will provide – so get on and finalise the arrangements to take Stella to America and leave the rest to us.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ I told him gratefully, and then we discussed all the arrangements I’d have to make.

  ‘Will, my friend Celia’s husband, is very good at sorting out details and he’ll make all the bookings for me. The costs keep going up all the time, though, so I think twenty thousand is the minimum extra I need,’ I said ruefully. ‘I mean, I’d really like to take a nurse with me on the plane, but that would be an extra expense, so it’s out of the question.’

  ‘Let’s see what we come up with at the meeting, and go from there,’ Raffy suggested. ‘Chloe said you went to the Mother and Toddler group meeting and you took some wonderful Eccles cakes – though actually, they couldn’t have been nicer than this tea loaf,’ he added, taking about the tenth slice. ‘She’s expecting again, though she wants to keep it quiet until she’s past the three-month stage.’

  ‘Congratulations!’ I said, though I felt a pang of jealousy, because I’d have loved a big family … though of course, not a big single-parent one. But I knew I was lucky to have Stella, and getting her fit and well, then resuming my career so that we could have our own place again and leave my poor mother in peace as soon as possible, had to be my current priorities in life.

  When he got up to go, Raffy said again, ‘So, you will come to the meeting on Saturday?’

  ‘Yes, if Ma will baby-sit … and I really don’t have to make a speech?’

  ‘Absolutely not, if you don’t want to.’

  ‘I could manage to thank everyone for coming and say I would be grateful for any help, because I don’t want to seem churlish or ungrateful.’

  ‘Great, that’s really all it needs.’

  ‘Can I invite my friends Celia and Will? You’ll remember I told you they’re already fundraising.’

  ‘They really should be there, then, and the more the merrier,’ he said.

  I rang Celia up later and told her that Jago’s friend David had said Jago’s ex was trying to get him back. I don’t know why that nugget of information slipped out first, but it just did. Celia had never met him, so she wasn’t likely to be that riveted by the news.

  ‘And I think he’s still carrying a torch for her, because he didn’t mention her while we had coffee in the café next to the shop, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he ends up getting back with her and then going to London to start his business up.’

  ‘That would be a pity,’ she said. ‘You’d think he’d be once bitten, twice shy.’

  ‘Yes … but actually that’s not why I phoned you up. The vicar came and he’s already called a meeting in the village hall for Saturday.’

  ‘What, this Saturday?’

  ‘Yes, that’s just what I said! When he gets the bit between his teeth, he certainly doesn’t hang about. When I took Stella up to feed the ducks after he’d gone, there were already posters up everywhere and two people stopped and said they were going to be there. You know, everyone’s suddenly much friendlier now I’m doing lots of shopping in the village, and I already know the dog walking crowd and some of the local mums.’

  ‘That’s the good side of living in a small place,’ she agreed. ‘Of course, the downside is that sometimes you don’t actually want everyone to know your entire business.’

  ‘I suppose there is that,’ I said. ‘I’m sure they know everything there is to know about me and Ma – and maybe even more about how Esau Almond blotted his copybook than either of us!’

  ‘You really ought to investigate the family mystery sometime. It’s intriguing,’ she said.

  ‘I suppose so, but I don’t suppose it’s really anything that terrible – or nothing that we would consider terrible these days. So, will you both come to the meeting?’

  ‘I’ll certainly come and I’ll see what Will’s doing,’ she assured me.

  When Jago emailed me later I was tempted to tell him about the meeting, too. But then I thought he was already doing more than enough and he might feel obliged to come, when he would rather be doing something else. He’d have been busy in the shop anyway, it being a Saturday, so he’d probably also be tired. Bakers have such long days! He told me he starts work at four or five if he has a croquembouche to make, because he creates the whole thing on the day it is required.

  If he’d let me, one day I’d like to go and watch the whole process … and then get a stupendous ‘Cake Diaries’ piece out of it!

  Jago

  On Friday, when trade was going quiet just before lunch, a very tall, dark-haired man wearing a black T-shirt with a white clerical collar walked into the Happy Macaroon.

  ‘Aren’t you Raffy Sinclair, the front man of Mortal Ruin?’ David said, staring at him hard.

  ‘I was, but now I’m the vicar of Sticklepond,’ he said, and Jago recalled reading about Sticklepond’s vicar’s ex-rock star past somewhere, though he didn’t remember Cally mentioning it, or how good-looking he was …

  ‘I came in to see Jago.’

  David indicated his friend. ‘There’s your man.’

  Raffy shook Jago’s hand and smiled warmly. ‘I’m really pleased to meet you. Cally told me how much money you’d already raised by selling gingerbread stars and I wanted to invite you – both of you – to come to a fundraising meeting at the village hall in Sticklepond tomorrow night.’

  ‘Not me,’ David said hastily, ‘it’s all Jago’s idea, and though I’m more than happy to help, my fiancée’s coming up for the weekend and we don’t get much time together.’

  ‘I understand. Then I’d really like it if you could come, Jago? I’m hoping for a good turnout and lots of ideas, and your good start will inspire everyone.’

  ‘I’ll be glad to come,’ Jago said, though he still felt strangely jealous of the tall and charismatic vicar, until he bought a gingerbread star for his little girl, Grace.

  ‘My wife would probably love some macaroons, because she’s got quite a sweet tooth. Those pale pink ones look wonderful,’ he added, and Jago warmed to him.

  ‘I’ll give you some for her to try, a free sample.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you!’

  ‘It’s how we lure new customers in,’ Jago said, putting some into a silver box, then asked, ‘Do you really think we can raise the money in time?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m quite sure the whole village will unite to help us,’ Raffy assured him. ‘Now they know it’s the life of a child hanging in the balance, there’ll be no stopping them.’

  When he put it like that, Jago couldn’t see how they could fail, either.

  Aimee walked into the Happy Macaroon, then did a double take and stared after the tall, dark and stunningly handsome man who’d just passed her on the way out.

  Then she got a grip on herself and, refocusing on the mission in hand, looked round for Jago, but only David was to be seen.

  She waited until he’d served two
students, and then said, ‘Hi, David. Where’s Jago?’

  ‘This is a surprise, Aimee,’ he said, though not as if it was a good one. ‘He didn’t tell me you were coming.’

  ‘He didn’t know, but since I was on my way up to the Lake District to organise a weekend party, I thought I’d pop in and take him to lunch.’

  ‘You just missed him. You’re looking … tanned,’ he added.

  ‘Why, thank you.’ She batted her mascara-lagged eyelashes at him.

  ‘Like leather. The last dewy bloom of youth must have got burned off in the desert.’ David thought that was pretty poetic: he must have watched too many of his friend’s rom com films!

  A look of fury crossed Aimee’s face, swiftly transformed to one of melting delight when Jago suddenly appeared from the back room, pulling on his jacket. He stopped dead at the sight of her, feeling his heart leap and then start to thump.

  ‘There you are, darling! David just told me you’d gone out.’ She gave his friend a dirty look.

  ‘I was on my way out …’ he stammered, still thrown off balance by her sudden appearance.

  ‘Come on – I’ll take you to lunch, that’s why I’m here. You have to come,’ she wheedled, ‘to show you forgive me.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ David put in helpfully, ‘if you buy him a sandwich and pout a few times, he’s bound to completely forget you jilted him just before the wedding.’

  ‘Butt out, David!’ Aimee snapped with a face like a Fury, then did another quick change to her sweetest expression and said to Jago, ‘Do come!’

  But by now Jago had recovered from his initial shock at seeing her and he wasn’t sure quite how he felt about it or her assumption that he’d forgive her for what she clearly considered some trifling little misjudgement.

  ‘I’m only going next door to the café for a quick bite to eat. Half an hour at most.’

  She pouted. ‘I’m sure David could manage without you for a bit longer than that. We’ve got so much to catch up on.’