Wish Upon a Star

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘Yes, quite sure. Her message actually says “you both”.’

  ‘Well, I hoped she’d relent and let you buy Honey’s when she’d read my letter, but I can’t see why she wants to see me again, especially now I’ve found out from Ma why she hates the Almond family.’

  I told him what Ma had said about my wicked great-uncle (or great-cousin, or whatever he was) Esau. ‘It was very cruel of him to let his family and his fiancée think he was dead, wasn’t it? I wonder what got into him.’

  ‘Some people do just vanish and start again, and who knows what kind of war he’d had? Didn’t you say he’d been evacuated from Dunkirk and then been sent back for the D-Day landings?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, he might well have been so traumatised by that that he just wanted to get away and make a new start, and when the opportunity arose, seized it.’

  ‘I suppose he can’t have been that keen on his fiancée, though,’ Jago said. ‘So you can understand why Miss Honey was upset. Seeing you must have brought it all back.’

  ‘Yes – so I really don’t know why she wants to see me again. I explained in the letter that your business would be nothing to do with me and even promised never to set foot over the threshold if she sold it to you, though actually it would be hard to resist the temptation. Just as well I didn’t tell her I’ve already been there.’

  ‘I’d hate to think if I bought Honey’s that you’d never visit me,’ Jago said seriously, just as I was lifting Stella, who’d returned, back onto her chair.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Stella asked worriedly, catching the end of this.

  ‘Jago hopes to come and live near Grandma’s house soon, Stella,’ I explained. ‘That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Can we come and live with you then, Daddy-Jago?’ she asked, in her high, clear voice.

  ‘Now, Stella, you know Jago isn’t your daddy,’ I said, feeling myself blushing.

  ‘He is Daddy-Jago,’ she insisted, sticking out her bottom lip, a bit like Ma when she was determined on some course of action.

  Jago laughed. ‘I don’t mind being Daddy-Jago.’

  ‘Good, because my other daddy is a penguin and he lives at the North Pole,’ she told him seriously. ‘He doesn’t count.’

  Jago and I exchanged looks.

  ‘So, Miss Honey definitely wants us both to see her again: did she say when?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, the royal summons is for Saturday afternoon – this Saturday. I can do it, because Sarah will be up for the weekend, and now Dorrie’s working full time in the shop they can manage perfectly well without me. But I hate to ask you if you could come with me again at such short notice.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do, but I should be able to make it, because on Saturdays Hal is around and will help keep an eye on Stella. Miss Honey probably just wants me to swear a solemn oath that I really won’t ever cross the Honey threshold,’ I suggested. ‘You’d better sweeten her up by taking her some iced buns, since she said those were her favourite, and I’ll make her a rich fruitcake.’

  ‘Good thinking.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve got an alternative baby-sitter now, too,’ I said, and told him about Jenny’s visit.

  ‘That couldn’t be better, could it?’ he said. ‘I remember Florrie suggesting that her daughter went with you to America.’

  ‘You liked Jenny, didn’t you?’ I asked Stella, and she nodded.

  ‘She said she loves to read stories and when I showed her all my families she was mazed. She said so.’

  ‘I don’t think she’d ever seen them before, and you do have an awful lot.’

  ‘She’s coming on the plane to America with us,’ Stella confided. ‘She says you can sleep on it, and when you wake up, you’re there. Then I’ll have another little sleep in the hospital while they mend my heart, so when I come back, I’ll be just like new.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ Jago said. ‘And by the time you do come home it’ll be nearly Christmas, won’t it? You’ll have to write your list for Santa early, so he can be getting on with it.’

  ‘I need a hotel, a campervan, a greenhouse, a little boat …’ she began.

  ‘Sylvanian ones?’ he guessed, and she nodded.

  ‘And a pink castle.’

  ‘Santa’s probably got sacks full of those,’ Jago said, straight-faced.

  ‘My birthday’s first, isn’t it, Mummy?’ Stella said. ‘I’ll get presents from you and Grandma and Auntie Celia and Uncle Will.’

  ‘She’s four at the end of July,’ I told Jago. ‘Perhaps you should wait and see what you get for your birthday, Stella, before you send Santa your list.’

  ‘That seems like a good plan to me,’ Jago said.

  ‘Mummy will make me a pink princess cake again for my birthday: that’s my favourite,’ Stella said.

  ‘I have to make and deliver a croquembouche wedding cake on Saturday, but early and it’s a local venue, so I’ll pick you up afterwards, Cally.’

  ‘I’d like to watch you create a croquembouche one day, so I can describe it in my “Cake Diaries” page.’

  ‘You’d be welcome to watch, though you’ve probably made choux buns often enough yourself.’

  ‘Yes, it’s the putting together bit that really interests me. But not on Saturday, since I’m already going out with you later in the day. I expect that once Miss Honey’s satisfied herself that we really are only friends, I’ll have to go and wait in the car while you persuade her to sell you the place – and at a reasonable price, so you can afford to do it up. How are you going to do that? Any master plan?’

  ‘Yes, actually,’ he said to my surprise. ‘I spent yesterday working on it out at Hemlock Mill.’

  ‘Hemlock Mill?’ I echoed.

  ‘Yes, I suddenly remembered that when we looked round the mill manager’s house they were appealing for donations of Victorian furniture and furnishings, so I thought they might like the heavy pieces from Miss Honey’s house. I rang up the manager and ran the idea past him and he invited me up to discuss it.’

  ‘Aren’t you jumping the gun a bit?’ I suggested. ‘It isn’t yours yet to dispose of!’

  ‘I’m just sounding things out – and there’s more. Honey’s shop is full of stock, it’s a time capsule of old haberdashery, so I thought it might be just what they were looking for when they start to recreate a couple of old shops in the courtyard behind the house.’

  ‘What a brainwave!’ I exclaimed, staring admiringly at him.

  ‘That’s what the manager, Tim Wesley, thought, too. I’m a genius,’ he added modestly. ‘They’ve lots of student volunteers who could move it all, lock, stock and barrel. So now there’s just the matter of the old lady to talk round. Do you think she’ll like the idea?’

  ‘I suspect she’ll love it, Jago. In fact, it may just clinch the deal,’ I assured him.

  ‘Well, we’ll see the proof of the pudding on Saturday, won’t we?’

  ‘Afterwards you could come back to Ma’s for early dinner with us?’ I suggested. ‘Then maybe watch a DVD.’

  ‘Won’t your mother mind?’

  ‘No, she likes you.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘She didn’t say you were a waste of space, which is how she describes most men.’

  ‘I like you too,’ Stella assured him drowsily. By now she was sitting on my lap, thumb in mouth. ‘Mummy, can we watch Mamma Mia!?’

  ‘That’s one of my favourites,’ Jago admitted.

  ‘Who said we’d be watching the film before you went to bed?’ I asked her. ‘And speaking of bed, it’s time we went home so you can have a little snooze,’ I added, though I thought she’d be fast asleep the moment she got in the car.

  Later, Jago sent me a text saying he’d find a pink castle for Stella’s birthday as his gift, though I warned him that if it was the Barbie one they probably cost a fortune.

  It got me thinking about what I was going to buy her and since she’s taking more interest in the garden now she
has Hal as a role model, I went online and ordered the toy greenhouse, vegetable plot and beehive sets for her birthday.

  I asked Ma if she wanted me to order her anything while I was at it, but she told me that she and Hal already had it covered …

  Jago

  When Aimee finally managed to get Jago on his mobile, she immediately complained that he’d given her the wrong number. ‘But I know what you’re like, so I tried switching the last two numbers over and that worked.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he apologised. ‘And I kept meaning to ring you back when I got your message on the shop answer phone, but I’ve been pretty busy.’

  ‘Messages,’ she snapped. ‘I’d begun to think David was wiping them, since you never replied.’

  ‘Oh, he wouldn’t do that,’ he protested, thinking she was so impatient that she probably hadn’t even waited for the bleep before ordering him to ring her back.

  ‘Well, at least I can get you now,’ she said, and Jago’s heart sank slightly.

  ‘How is the new job?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘Loathsome. Organising events for corporate businessmen is so tedious. But maybe I won’t have to do it for long, because now I’ve told Daddy that we’re back together again, he’s so pleased he’s invited me down there for the weekend, so—’

  ‘But we’re not together, Aimee,’ Jago interrupted hastily. ‘Why on earth did you tell him that?’

  ‘You’ve forgiven me, haven’t you, Jago darling? You said you had,’ she said in a little-girl voice.

  ‘Of course I’ve forgiven you, but—’

  ‘David’s been trying to wind me up by dropping hints you’d met someone else, but I knew you’d still be too heartbroken over naughty little me to even think of it.’

  ‘Actually, it’s been over a year, Aimee, and—’

  ‘Sorry, I’ll have to go, darling,’ she broke in. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll ring you on Monday and tell you how the weekend with Daddy and the gold-digger went. I’m going to have to be so nice to their ghastly infant. I’ve even bought it a present.’

  ‘It?’ he questioned, only to discover he was speaking to empty air.

  Chapter 21: Is There Honey Still for Tea?

  Ever since the fundraising meeting, Hebe Winter had kept the Stella’s Stars supporters in tight constellation by way of calls, printed leaflets pushed through doors (delivered by Effie Yatton on her bike – I saw her doing it), and emails efficiently filtered through her right-hand man, Laurence Yatton. These updated everyone on progress and with the arrangements for the fête which, despite the short notice, was being arranged with almost military efficiency for 7 August, with an auction pencilled in for mid-July.

  A whole string of other events, both large and small, soon dotted my calendar for the coming weeks, ranging from Celia’s Knitathon to sponsored anything-you-could-think-of. For instance, the local Scout pack were going to walk to Southport and back, which is quite a hike, the Middlemoss Infants’ and Junior School were having a sponsored hop-on-the-spot, and for one week only, a pound from every admission ticket to Gregory Lyon’s Museum of Witchcraft would be donated to the fund.

  The events were to taper off in the autumn and I’d marked nothing at all on the calendar after we flew out to Boston in October. To all intents and purposes I might as well be going over Niagara in a barrel then, which come to think of it, would be much preferable to putting Stella through such a long and difficult operation …

  When I ran into Sophy Winter in the Spar and told her how grateful I was that her great-aunt was organising all the fundraising, she said there was nothing Hebe liked better and her stillroom up at Winter’s End now looked like a communications centre, with calendars, maps and flip charts.

  Sophy had Alys, her little girl, with her, also in a buggy, but she was bigger than Stella even though quite a bit younger, being a robust child with dark curls and a look of her father, Seth Greenwood. She and Stella eyed each other silently and gravely, without speaking, though Stella did give her a sneaky peek at the Mummy Cat she had in her pocket.

  Stella’s Stars collection boxes have appeared in all the Sticklepond shops and, I’m told, in the villages of the Mosses and beyond. Jago and David had one in the Happy Macaroon, too, as if they weren’t already doing enough. There was a growing buzz of activity around the village, as if someone had stirred up a hive of bees, and whenever we were out, everyone stopped to ask me how Stella was, or to exclaim over her pretty silvery curls and harebell-blue eyes, or tell me what they are making/doing/planning to raise their bit towards the fund.

  It’s all very touching … I was really starting to feel myself become slowly woven into the tapestry of the community, and my London life had begun to fade into a fuzzy memory.

  When I’d asked Ma if she could mind Stella while I went with Jago to visit Miss Honey again, she’d said she couldn’t because she was going to the Gardening Club with Hal. Then she said it didn’t matter really and she’d cancel it, but since it was so nice to see her leave the house during daylight hours, I wouldn’t let her. So now Jenny was going to do her first baby-sitting stint instead.

  And actually, that was quite handy, because Celia and Will were coming over late on Sunday afternoon and we were going to book the plane tickets to America, so Jenny could bring her passport details with her.

  Later, I made a rich, all-butter fruitcake for Miss Honey, and one for us at the same time, as well as some little cheese tartlets and a big chicken pie that could just be reheated for tomorrow’s dinner.

  When I rang Jago to say I’d definitely go with him to see Miss Honey and I’d already baked the cake, he said he’d made iced buns.

  ‘Iced buns might be quite nice for “The Cake Diaries”,’ I said. ‘But really, I ought to try and think up a few new twists on traditional Christmas recipes and file those, before I do anything else.’

  ‘I’ll give it some thought too, then, and see if I can suggest anything,’ he said.

  ‘I can repeat myself to a certain extent each year, but there has to be some new stuff. I mean, in every Christmas issue of “The Cake Diaries” there’s the same recipe for home-made mincemeat and a potted history of how it came about, but I do need a new twist on a recipe using it.’

  ‘I see what you mean …’ he said thoughtfully. ‘How about ice cream? I’ve seen recipes for Christmas pudding ice cream, so mincemeat ice cream should be possible. It’s not cake, of course, strictly speaking.’

  ‘Great thinking!’ I exclaimed. ‘I do wander off the cake making into other recipes from time to time and I’ve got a little ice-cream maker. I’ll experiment.’

  ‘I’m utterly brilliant,’ he said with mock modesty.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ I assured him sincerely, but he just laughed.

  I was ready on Saturday when Jago’s red Saab pulled up in the lane.

  Jenny had arrived in good time so I’d already shown her where everything she might need was, and the cheese tartlets, little sandwiches and fruitcake for tea.

  Then Stella had woken up from her afternoon nap, grumpy as usual, and Jenny had quickly settled her with a drink and her favourite book, so I knew she’d be OK … It didn’t stop me from fussing, though. I must have asked Jenny three times if she had my mobile number before I finally got myself out of the door.

  ‘How did the cake delivery go?’ I asked Jago, sliding into the car next to him.

  ‘Fine – once I found the place where the reception was, that is. It was out the other side of Prescot and I’d never been there before. I think I’d better get sat nav.’

  ‘Good idea. And that van,’ I reminded him.

  ‘Yes, assuming Miss Honey lets me have the shop and with enough money left over for the renovations and everything else.’

  When we arrived a cheery care assistant, who introduced herself as Charlene, went up in the lift with us and chatted all the way, but trepidation rendered Jago and me almost silent. I was clutching a biscuit tin containing the fruitcake and Jago carried a large si
lver Happy Macaroon box full of iced buns.

  Miss Honey was sitting in the same high, wing-backed tapestry chair, looking like a malevolent pixie, her small sheepskin booties placed on the embroidered hassock. She had her glasses on and regarded us severely through them as Charlene announced unnecessarily, ‘Here are your visitors, dear. Shall I bring the tea now?’

  ‘I am not your dear,’ Miss Honey told her acidly, but her eyes were on the biscuit tin I was clutching rather desperately to my more than ample bosom.

  ‘Humph – what have you got there?’

  ‘It’s a rich fruitcake, to my own recipe. And Jago’s made you some iced finger buns.’

  ‘Trying to sweeten me up, eh?’ she said. ‘Well, Charlene, you can fetch up the tea now, but you’d better bring extra plates for the fruitcake and leave cook’s rubbishy one downstairs.’

  Charlene seemed be made of a less easily dented material than the assistant we’d met last time because she giggled, said Miss Honey was an old toot, and went to do her bidding.

  ‘I suppose you’d better both sit down, hadn’t you, unless you’re going again?’

  ‘I thought you might want me to wait in the car,’ I suggested.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ she snapped, and we both sat hastily down on the nearest chairs.

  Miss Honey gave me a glare and then to my surprise said, ‘When I found you were an Almond, I was that overset I might have been a little hasty. Then when I got your letter, I could see how much you wanted your young man to get the shop.’

  ‘Yes, but he’s not—’ I began to protest, but she ignored me.

  ‘I suppose you’ve asked your mother about the Almonds and Honeys by now?’ Her mouth worked a little and her expression became even more forbidding. ‘My sister, Gladdie, said when she got engaged to Esau that Honey and Almonds went together …’

  ‘Mum did tell me what she knew, and I totally understand how you feel. I’m so sorry about what happened to your sister.’

  ‘Well, now I’ve thought it over, I don’t see what you’ve got to feel sorry about. Your ma’s father was only a cousin, wasn’t he? So the Almond blood is well diluted when it gets to you, and in any case, I’ve never been one to think the sins of the fathers should be visited on the children.’