Wish Upon a Star

by Trisha Ashley

  Then, suddenly weary, I closed down the laptop and ate the other dessert. Toto and Moses had lost interest and were curled up together in front of the unlit stove, and Toto didn’t even twitch when I asked him if he wanted to go out.

  I opened the back door anyway and looked up at the velvety ultramarine sky, jewelled with sparkling stars, while nearby owls hooted.

  When I could see the stars, I somehow felt comforted, as if they were a kind of sign from the heavens that I’d set the right course for Stella, my own little star.

  The Three Wise Men, setting off to goodness-knew-where guided by their own particular star, must have felt very much the same.

  The sky had changed to a delicious pale blueberry streaked with raspberry and vanilla when I got up on Sunday morning, and since I’d forgotten to put the used dessert tumblers in the dishwasher the night before, Moses had sneakily been up on the table and licked them out, knocking one over in the process, though luckily it hadn’t broken.

  ‘I know what you did last night,’ I told him, but he turned his back on me and began washing Toto’s face.

  I needed a cup of strong coffee to get me going after my late night, but then I dug out my ice-cream recipe book and started trying to work out how I could make some Christmassy variations – mincemeat again, obviously, but also perhaps Christmas pudding or even brandy butter.

  Having a big jar of mincemeat opened and partly used, I started with that, though first I put enough aside for tonight’s desserts. I wished I had a separate ice-cream maker, not just the sort where you have to put the bowl into the freezer, but they’re so expensive that I couldn’t possibly justify one.

  Stella slept quite late, but woke up surprisingly frisky, considering her busy day yesterday, and excited because Jago was coming out with us again. Or rather, we were going out with him, because when he arrived he told me he’d been to Halfords on the way and had a child seat fitted in the back of the Saab, so he could safely drive us out to places instead of always having to use my car.

  ‘You’re so kind and thoughtful,’ I told him, and he looked embarrassed.

  ‘I have ulterior motives. I enjoyed yesterday so much that I’m hoping you and Stella will take lots more trips with me.’

  ‘Yes, we will,’ Stella told him. ‘Won’t we, Mummy?’

  ‘That would be fun, though there are plenty of free things we can do as well as look at old houses,’ I suggested, ‘like take a picnic to Hemlock Mill, Ashurst Beacon or some other beauty spot, go to the Botanical Gardens or the beach …’

  ‘They all sound fun and we can mix a few treats like Chester Zoo or a run to North Wales to see a real castle, among the inexpensive days out,’ he suggested. ‘Come on then, Princess Stella: your carriage awaits.’

  Stella was wearing a cardboard crown and was dressed in a Cinderella-style lilac net princess dress, while I held a clipboard.

  ‘When we get there, we’re going to check whether Rufford Old Hall is a suitable palace for Princess Stella,’ I explained as we got in. ‘It’s a game. We tick off all the vital things as we go around, like it having at least one Rapunzel tower, for instance, and then if it has more than eight out of ten points, it goes on our Possible Palace list.’

  ‘Right – I’d like to help with that.’

  ‘Are we going to see a pink castle today, Mummy?’ asked Stella.

  ‘No, it’s a princess house. I’m not sure there are any real pink castles – certainly not in Lancashire.’

  ‘I saw a photo of Conwy Castle in Wales at sunset, and that was pink,’ Jago said helpfully. ‘But I don’t think it’s pink all the time. We’ll have to go and see.’

  As he headed out beyond the village I was still checking off a mental list of juice, little snacks, the all-important Bun (how many times had I had to turn back to fetch that blessed rabbit!) and other vital odds and ends.

  Then, satisfied that nothing had been overlooked, I said, ‘I didn’t feel sleepy after you left last night, so I tried out a mincemeat Eton mess and it was really good. You’ll see, because we’re having it for dessert later.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep either: I switched my phone on again when I got home and Aimee got me.’ He sighed. ‘She had some mad idea that I’d like to buy a country house hotel down in the Cotswolds, which would have been way out of my financial league even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. So I told her I’d had an offer accepted on a property up here.’

  ‘How did she take that?’ I asked curiously.

  ‘She suggested she come up next weekend and see it, but I told her I was too busy.’

  ‘Are you busy?’

  ‘I have another cake to make on Saturday morning and then I certainly hope I’ll be busy going somewhere new with you and Stella on Sunday.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about us, if you’d rather see Aimee,’ I suggested, still uncertain about his real feelings.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he said, slanting an unreadable sideways glance at me.

  ‘I want Jago always to come with us,’ Stella piped up. ‘Who’s Aimee?’

  ‘Just an old friend,’ Jago told her. ‘I’d much rather be with Princess Stella and Queen Cally.’

  Stella giggled. ‘Mummy’s a queen bee. A big, fat, fuzzy bumble bee!’

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ I said, and Jago grinned.

  ‘Before I went to bed last night I emailed my parents to tell them about Honey’s. I told you they were in New Zealand, living near my brother and his family, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes. What did they think?’

  ‘They couldn’t understand why I wanted to set up some kind of bakery business in the first place and suggested I relocate to New Zealand. I’m not sure that New Zealand would want me, though, because I expect they have enough bakers already.’

  ‘Go to New Zealand?’ My heart sank at the thought. ‘Well, I suppose that would be logical, what with all your family living over there.’

  ‘Perhaps, but though I loved visiting them, after spending two weeks with my family we’d bored each other rigid. I think I’m a changeling.’

  ‘Dad always said the same thing about me,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t academic like him or even arty like Ma.’

  ‘I’m glad they’re happy in New Zealand, but I’m not emigrating, because everything I want is right here in West Lancashire.’

  ‘Did you email them the online link to the shop and tell them how much potential it had?’

  ‘Yes, though it doesn’t show much of it. They liked the seventeenth-century overhanging quarry-glazed window, but they thought it all looked run down. They don’t understand why I want to stay in Lancashire either, since they seem to think it’s entirely covered in back-to-back houses with outside toilets and peopled by characters from Coronation Street and Cotton Common.’

  ‘A lot of people in the south do, don’t they? It’s odd how these stereotypes linger on. But I suppose it would have seemed more natural to them if you’d gone back to your ancestral roots in Cornwall?’

  ‘It’s another lovely place, but when I’ve visited it I’ve never felt that connection that I do here. It’s very odd.’

  ‘I feel just the same about Sticklepond – but then, I do vaguely remember coming here when I was little to see my grandmother, so I’ve always been familiar with the village and the area. And now, I feel even more part of the community, because I can’t even walk through the village without people stopping me to ask how Stella is, or how the fund is going, or just to pass the time of day.’

  ‘Let’s hope they accept me into the community, too, when I move in,’ he said.

  ‘How quickly do you think you’ll be able to take possession of Honey’s?’

  ‘Since I’m a cash buyer and there’s no chain involved either end, theoretically it could go through in only a couple of weeks. I’d like to take Tim Wesley from the nature reserve round the place soon, to have a look at the shop and the pieces of Victorian furniture, so they can start planning out where everything’s going, but I’ll
have to get Miss Honey’s agreement first.’

  ‘I suppose Miss Honey could sign the contents over to them right now? Or perhaps if the sale is going to be that quick you might just as well wait until it’s gone through.’

  ‘I’ll see what my solicitor says tomorrow – there’ll be searches and other legal stuff to sort out. I’d like to have an electrician and a builder in to get estimates as soon as possible, too, and one from a specialist firm who can make the sort of kitchen-preparation area I need for the croquembouche.’

  ‘I expect you’d like another good look round the place anyway, because it’s surprising how much you forget. Do you have any furniture from your last house?’

  ‘Not a huge amount, because David and I were sharing a furnished flat with a couple of other friends in London, and my parents shipped all the family stuff out with them to New Zealand, so none of that’s in storage. I think I’d like to furnish the house in Victorian style,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘though not with such huge, heavy pieces. With vintage and antique furniture, anyway.’

  ‘Cottage-sized stuff, shabby-chic,’ I suggested. ‘We could start looking in second-hand and antique shops, which would be fun.’

  ‘My mouse family want a tree house,’ Stella remarked conversationally. ‘But the penguins want a house boat.’

  ‘Your little friends have expensive tastes,’ I said. ‘Didn’t your rabbit family want a greenhouse, a vegetable bed and some beehives?’

  ‘Yes, they need them.’

  ‘Do the manufacturers make all those?’ asked Jago, surprised.

  ‘Oh, yes, there’s a huge range – they’ve been going for years, after all. Stella, your list for Santa is going to be pages long.’

  ‘I think all my families will have their own lists,’ she said.

  ‘Oh … right,’ Jago said. ‘But Santa won’t be able to bring everything, or he wouldn’t have enough presents left for all the other children.’

  ‘He’ll just have to do his very best,’ she said seriously. ‘Are we there yet?’

  We were indeed, and since Rufford Old Hall was a lovely place with a wealth of history, we had a great time looking round it. Jago carried Stella and joined in the game of Palace for a Princess, while I wrote down the scores: it came out moderately well, though the lack of a moat and drawbridge marked it down.

  I told Jago all about Rufford Old Hall and Winter’s End having rival Shakespeare connections.

  ‘Apparently the jury’s still out on the authenticity of the document said to have been written by Shakespeare that they found there recently, partly because the family won’t let it leave the premises and the experts have to go there – they won’t even let them take a tiny sample of the parchment to analyse.’

  ‘It’s all very fascinating,’ Jago said.

  ‘We’ll have to go there, too, but not a Sunday when they’re closed, obviously. But Bank Holiday Monday is coming up and they’ll be open for that.’

  ‘Let’s call it a date – if you don’t mind seeing it again, that is?’

  ‘I want to go with Jago,’ declared Stella, though I’m sure she had no idea where he meant.

  ‘If it’s true about Shakespeare having written the poem and all the rest of it, it means all the Winters are descended from Shakespeare – Ottie and everyone, which is an odd thought, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘I think there are descendants of Shakespeare’s family down south, so they could compare DNA … though all of that would take away the magic a bit, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose it would. I’m looking forward to seeing these famous knot gardens too – now I know what a knot garden is.’

  ‘The rest of the gardens are also lovely and there’s an amazing yew maze.’

  ‘Amazing maze,’ repeated Stella, and then giggled.

  ‘Ottie made a statue for the new rose garden and it’s weird, but sort of fits in. She told Ma last night that she would donate one of her sketches to the auction.’

  ‘That could possibly pay for the trip on its own,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t her stuff sell for a fortune?’

  ‘She’s very well known, but it’s not like she’s donating a sculpture. It’s very kind, though.’

  Stella had a sleep in the car on the way back and was so zonked that when we got home she didn’t wake. Jago carried her in and I put her straight to bed to finish her nap.

  Then I left him listening out for her while I popped up to the studio with a plate of sandwiches and cake, because I was pretty sure from the state of the kitchen that Ma hadn’t been near it for lunch. But Hal, who was potting up some seedlings with the shed door open to the sunshine, said he’d gone halves on his Cornish pasty.

  ‘There’s enough here for two, Hal, and dinner will be early, about five. I’ll call you both if you don’t appear!’

  I put the plates on the table in the studio and left them to it. Ma was too absorbed in her painting even to glance up. And what a painting! I’m sure her pictures are getting odder and odder!

  Chapter 23: Mincemeat Mess

  Jago helped me to start dinner while Stella snoozed. Luckily she was still fathoms deep when Celia and Will arrived, because it made it easier to get down to a good fundraising discussion.

  I gave Will Jenny’s passport details and since he’d already checked out the best option, he booked our plane seats online then and there. We knew what date we wanted to fly out, but our return tickets needed to be open-ended, because of not knowing how long Stella would need to convalesce.

  ‘I’ve been reading the literature they sent me and it says some children recover really quickly after major heart surgery,’ I told them, ‘but others take longer … even if the operation is a total success.’

  ‘Stella’s will be a total success,’ Celia assured me, as if she had the power of second sight. ‘But you’re right, she may need extra time before she’s fit to fly back.’

  ‘You can stay on at the Great Western afterwards, or we could find you a hotel in a more central location,’ Will suggested.

  ‘I’m inclined to think we should just stay put. I’d certainly like to be near the hospital in the early days, at least. But Jenny’s son’s family, who live near Salem, have kindly given us an open-ended invitation to stay with them once Stella’s recovered enough, so we might go there for a few days.’

  ‘Salem? Is that where the witch trials were?’ Celia asked interestedly.

  ‘That’s the one. I think I’ll give their tourist trail a miss, though: Stella has such a vivid imagination!’

  ‘No, perhaps that’s not exactly the soothing kind of day trip she’ll need while convalescing,’ Jago agreed.

  Jago fitted in so well with my friends that it was as though he, Celia, Will and I had known each other for ever and I left the three of them chatting while I went to finish off the dinner. I make a good Yorkshire pudding, but it needs concentration.

  Stella woke while I was still busy, but Celia got her up and she seemed revived by her long nap, so she must have needed it. She helped Celia and Will to lay the table while Jago went to the studio to fetch Ma and Hal.

  No one needed to fetch Moses and Toto: the smell of the roasting beef had done that.

  By an unspoken consensus over dinner we talked about everything but Stella’s operation and the conversation was free ranging and interesting. I do love to look down a dinner table packed with family and friends!

  Everyone voted the mincemeat Eton mess a huge hit but I didn’t try them with the first batch of Christmas ice cream, because I’d tasted it and I didn’t think I’d got it quite right yet.

  Will and Celia left after coffee, because they wanted to get back to let the dogs out, but Will said he’d work on finalising our travel insurance and tying up all the other loose ends within the next few days.

  Hal went earlier, right after his pudding: he’d thanked me and said it had been a grand dinner, but he was off home, because there was something on the box he wanted to watch. Ma must have felt the same, because she took her cup of cof
fee and vanished without a word into the garden room, from which faintly issued the theme music heralding the start of the Cotton Common omnibus. She’s strangely addicted to this period locally set soap drama.

  Stella and Jago helped me clear up and load the dishwasher, then we went into the sitting room and did a big alphabet floor jigsaw. But after her busy day, Stella soon started to flag again and I got her ready for bed.

  Once she was tucked up she insisted on Jago reading her a bedtime story, even though he explained that with his dyslexia he was the world’s worst reader. But in the event it didn’t really matter because he’d barely got into her favourite Moomin book before she was fast asleep.

  We tiptoed out, leaving the door ajar so we could hear her from the kitchen if she woke. I wanted to look up recipes for castle pudding, because I’d suddenly thought that little individual ones might be a nice recipe for ‘Tea & Cake’. I actually had a little Victorian copper jelly mould shaped like a turret.

  ‘I always worry Stella will be poisoned by copper things, so I don’t use it,’ I said, getting it off the dresser.

  ‘I think that’s only if they aren’t thoroughly cleaned,’ Jago suggested.

  ‘I know, but I’m so neurotic about anything that might affect her health, however unlikely, that I wouldn’t risk it.’

  ‘That’s only natural.’ He was examining the old china and glass I’d displayed along the shelf and added, ‘I like these three old glass rabbit moulds.’

  ‘I got them from jumble sales. Stella likes chocolate blancmange rabbits and it’s one way of getting milk into her. I make jelly ones with fruit juice sometimes, too.’

  ‘Have you tried her with caramel custards?’

  ‘No, but she might well like them. I haven’t made those for ages … and I don’t think I’ve done that recipe for “The Cake Diaries”, either.’