‘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.�
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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.’
Chapter 28: Taking Stock
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.
When I went down to open up Honey’s, the village was still quiet and I barely saw a soul. Inside the shop it didn’t look that bright even with the light on, so I gingerly tried raising the blind. It got almost all the way up, but then the cord at one side snapped and it hung down at an angle like a bird with a broken wing, though at least we now got a little light, revealing that Jago didn’t seem to have done more than swipe down the cobwebs from the ceiling and scrape off the top furring of grey dust.
Jago would be arriving later, after he’d delivered his croquembouche to a wedding reception venue, but Tim Wesley and a whole bunch of students got to Honey’s soon after I did. They swarmed over everything like ants, photographing and measuring and noting the position of every last thing. Easy-peel labels were slapped all over the place and then they started to pack.
I was more of a hindrance than a help, really, since the contents of the drawers were such a fascinating jumble: button hooks and buttons of all kinds, papers of rusting pins, darning wool, knitting needles, hanks of pale blue and pink silk, button-up leggings for toddlers, hairbrushes, rattles, matinée jackets, silk socks and yellowing leather booties for babies. There were hand-crocheted dressing table mat sets, hairpins, fifties-style crepe dresses and flowered cotton pinafores, nylons, rayon scarves and bits of costume jewellery … The list went on and on.
All the price tickets were in pounds, shillings and pence, and candy-striped paper bags with pinked tops and gussets hung from a string under the counter.
I made a little selection of the buttons, lace, trimmings and hatpins before they were packed up, because I thought that if they were displayed in a deep frame, it would make a nice memento for Miss Honey.
The students had a short break outside the back door, washing the dust out of their throats with cola or the kind of energy drinks that would have had me bouncing off the walls in minutes. Then a small hired removal van came for the dresser, organ and the hefty pedestal table, which were carefully packed in hessian as if they were very precious, which was something Miss Honey would appreciate. The organ went in last, since it was to be delivered to the restorers on the way to the mill.
There was still no sign of Jago even after the van returned to ferry the first consignment of shop contents up to the mill – the counter, stands and mannequins, along with as many boxes as would fit around them.
I’d started to worry about Jago’s non-arrival till he texted me again to say he was stuck in a traffic jam caused by an accident. He only finally arrived just as the students were packing the final boxes of stock for the last load.
‘It’s been an absolute treasure trove,’ Tim told him, enthusiastically describing some of the things they’d unearthed. ‘Thanks so much for letting us have it. I know you could have sold a lot of it off – some of it is very collectable.’
‘I didn’t feel any of it really belonged to me: it’s the Honeys’ heritage. But I’m looking forward to seeing it all set up again at the mill house and so is Miss Honey.’
‘We’ll have a special opening ceremony when it’s finished and see if she feels up to coming along and cutting the ribbon,’ Tim suggested. ‘She’s a very lively old lady for her years, so she might well.’
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ I said. ‘How are the tape recording sessions going along? She said some students had been up.’
‘Oh, we’ve got hours of reminiscence and it’s being edited down for a short permanent audio loop for the shop. I told someone from the Middlemoss Living History Archive about her – that’s an ongoing project to record the memories of people living in the borough of Middlemoss – and they asked for a copy of the tapes. I think they were going to see if Miss Honey would let them tape some reminiscences of her life for them too, since ours is mostly about the shop.’
‘Yes, she mentioned that, and I think they’ve already started. All this excitement has given her a new lease of life!’ Jago said.
Tim drove off back to the mill, ready to supervise the van when it arrived with the last load, and Jago and I watched the final boxes carried out, leaving only light patches on the wooden floor where things had stood. The long empty room seemed to stretch back like a dark cave.
‘I’ll need loads of lights in here when it’s my preparation area,’ Jago said thoughtfully. ‘I must have a think about that before the electricians come in.’
He went out to have a word with the students before they departed, but it turned out he wasn’t just thanking them: he was arranging for some of them to come back next Saturday, when they were free, to clear out all the rubbish from the house into a skip he was going to order for the weekend.
‘It’ll cost me a few quid but it will be worth it. So, all in all, a pretty good day,’ he said with satisfaction.
‘Yes, but I’d better go now, because Celia and Will will be bringing Stella home soon. They called earlier to say they’d picnicked in the garden and then she had an afternoon snooze on the swinging seat – it was too warm to stay in.’
‘I’m sure she’s had a lovely time,’ Jago said.
‘Actually, I feel quite guilty, because it’s all been so interesting today that I’d quite forgotten about her until they rang!’ I confessed.
He laughed. ‘I think that’s pretty healthy.’
‘I’m desperate for a shower before they bring her back. I feel filthy.’
‘Me too, even though I haven’t been here that long,’ he agreed, and said he’d go back to the flat to shower and change, then return later with a Chinese takeaway, since Ma and Hal were going out again – this was getting to be a habit!
And the following day we’d all be at Honey’s, since Ma and Hal wanted to look at the garden and see what – if anything other than weeds – was in there.
When Stella got home she excitedly showed me the toy-families-sized quilt she’d made out of a snippet of silk and a little thin wadding. Actually, I’m sure Celia had made the whole thing, but since Stella had directed the operation, she felt that she’d had a major part in it.
Before Celia and Will went home again, I showed them my treasure trove of buttons, bows, lace, hatpins and tiny wooden cotton reels, and Celia offered to construct a sort of little three-dimensional collage out of them for Miss Honey, which Will would put in a deep box frame. In fact, she said there w
as enough there for two, so I think one would be nice for Jago to display somewhere, maybe in the office/reception area he was going to make at the front of the shop.
Stella had tea and then was so tired she went willingly to bed, though with the promise that when he came, Jago would come and say good night to her.
Next morning we were all at Honey’s for the great garden inspection, Hal armed with a giant Strimmer and me carrying a picnic basket with refreshments and a rug.
I wouldn’t let Stella go into the house because of all the dust, though I thought Ma and Hal might be curious to see it. But Ma refused, because she didn’t feel Miss Honey would approve, and Hal was disinterested in anything except the garden.
He and Ma waded about in waist-high weeds – practically head-height on Ma – and then he cut a path to the far end by the garage, which we all trooped down in single file, like a strange Famous Five.
Actually, the garage was in better condition than you might have expected, apart from the paint having peeled away from the wood like silver birch bark. Inside, there was nothing except some dubious heaps of sacking, a rusty jerry can and a few ancient oil stains on the cracked concrete.
‘Perhaps the lodger, or whoever rented the annexe, had a car and used it at one time?’ I suggested.
‘Not for ages, though,’ Ma said. ‘The gates to the lane are nearly off their hinges too.’
‘Corrugated iron never looks good, even when it isn’t rusty,’ Hal observed. He was chewing a long piece of grass, though Ma had told him it would give him liver fluke. I hoped not, but I expect it was just an old wives’ tale.
‘It seems a strange thing to make gates of,’ agreed Jago. ‘I’ll have them replaced to make the back access more secure. What’s that small stone building for, over the other side of the gate?’
‘Oh, that was a midden, for putting the rubbish in,’ Hal explained, then peered into the small door at the back of it. ‘Looks like they blocked up the other side and used the midden to keep chickens in at some time: there’s nesting boxes.’
Wish Upon a Star Page 25
