Wish Upon a Star

by Trisha Ashley

  Chapter 34: Babes in the Wood

  The Swedish celebration cake called a prinsesstårta is a domed, layered confection of sponge and cream, with a marzipan covering, Making it is time-consuming, but you can bake the cake part of it the day before, and the end result is stunning.

  Cally Weston: ‘The Cake Diaries’

  Thankfully there was no more from Adam, and I tried to put him out of my mind while I finalised the arrangements for Stella’s birthday.

  She’d been getting more and more excited as the day approached and anxiously supervised every stage of the making of her special prinsesstårta cake, which she wanted a traditional pale frog green. For some reason she’s rather into frogs just now, though this interest has not superseded her angel (and fairies, their miniature brethren) fixation.

  All her favourite people were invited to the birthday tea: myself, Ma, Jago, Hal, Celia and Will. She’d wanted Jenny too, but she was otherwise engaged at the time, though she’d already left a card and little gift for her. In fact, since Stella had been telling every person she met for at least a week that her birthday was on Saturday, it was no surprise that an avalanche of cards and presents had already landed on the doorstep.

  Jago was being rather mysterious about his present and went off the day before to collect it, so I only hoped he hadn’t ordered something hugely expensive, because goodness knew, the renovations at Honey’s were likely to take every last penny of his lottery winnings at the rate they were going.

  Ma was also being secretive, but suddenly demanded acres of gift-wrap when Stella was in bed on the eve of the big day, so I had to dash down to the Spar and buy more. I’d already carefully wrapped up my presents, including the toy narrow boat that had been high on Stella’s wish list, but also a cottage hospital, ambulance and a paramedic rabbit with a patient. I thought a bit of role-playing leading up to her operation might be a good idea, especially since in this case she’d be in charge of the outcome.

  Next morning I made sure Stella had some breakfast inside her before letting her loose on her cards and presents.

  I knew she’d love mine, especially the whole new family of hedgehogs I’d put inside the narrow boat, and she was also delighted with Ma and Hal’s joint gift of a child-sized wheelbarrow, set of gardening tools, watering can and small blue rubber gardening clogs with pink spots.

  Ma, in an inspired moment, had also bought her a bright red ladybird Trunki suitcase, the sort that children can sit on and ride.

  ‘You can take some of your toys and books in it when you go to America,’ she explained to Stella, ‘and it can go in the cabin with you as hand luggage: I checked.’

  ‘Brilliant idea, Ma!’ I said, and Stella happily played at packing various combinations of her new toys in the Trunki, then pushing it round the room, until the arrival of Jago, the first of the birthday guests.

  He came in carrying a huge parcel and when I said I hoped he hadn’t spent a fortune he looked faintly guilty. ‘Not really,’ he muttered.

  But he had, because inside was a beautifully made animal family-sized pink castle in the style of a doll’s house, so that the front hinged open and so did the turrets in each corner.

  ‘Oh, Jago, you shouldn’t have!’

  ‘Yes, he should, it’s mazing,’ Stella said. ‘You’re my most favourite Daddy-Jago ever.’

  ‘I’m your only Daddy-Jago,’ he said, with a grin.

  And as if that wasn’t enough, Celia and Will turned up with a big antique rocking horse.

  ‘Good grief!’ I said, when Will staggered in with it and put it down in the window, then set Stella onto the saddle, still wearing the white feather angel wings that Sarah and David had sent her.

  ‘It’s not quite as extravagant as it looks, because we found it in a junk shop without its rockers and in a bit of a state and we’ve done it up ourselves,’ Celia explained. ‘It didn’t really cost much, it just took time. I made the leather saddle and bridle.’

  ‘Stella, what do you say to everyone for all their lovely gifts?’ I prompted.

  ‘Thank you and I love you all,’ she said very seriously, though a little like a queen to her courtiers.

  We had the birthday tea and with much huffing she blew out the four candles inside the crown on her prinsesstårta.

  Stella was starting to flag soon after tea and happy to sit quietly on Ma’s knee watching a new Disney film, until she suddenly fell deeply asleep and we decided just to put her straight to bed early … though without the wings, of course.

  She didn’t stir while I popped her into her pyjamas and tucked her up with Bun, so I tiptoed out, leaving her toadstool light on and the door slightly ajar.

  Ma and Hal had already disappeared when I went back to the sitting room, and Will and Celia were just waiting to say goodbye and give me a hug.

  Left to ourselves, Jago and I tided up and put all the shredded wrapping paper in the recycling bag, loaded the dishwasher, and then sank limply onto the sofa with a glass of Prosecco apiece.

  ‘It’s been a wonderful day – thanks to you and everyone who’ve made it so,’ I said gratefully. ‘You know, when she was born I didn’t even know if she’d make it to her first birthday; I just hoped for a miracle. And now she’s four and we need another … How many miracles can one little girl expect?’

  ‘As many as it takes,’ he said, putting his arm around me comfortingly. I gave a long sigh and rested my head on his shoulder, quite exhausted …

  We must have both been so tired we just zonked out after that, because the next thing I knew we were lying in each other’s arms on the sofa and I was blinking up at the dazzling ceiling light.

  Ma was standing in the doorway looking slightly startled. ‘Good heavens, it’s the Babes in the Wood … or the Babes on the Sofa, at any rate,’ she said, as we scrambled stiffly to our feet.

  ‘We fell asleep,’ I explained. ‘We were almost as tired out by all the excitement as Stella!’

  ‘It was a pity I disturbed you really, but I didn’t realise you were here.’

  ‘It’s probably just as well. I’d better get back to the pub before they shut me out for the night,’ Jago said, stretching the kinks out of his tall frame, but I gave him a bit of the leftover party food to take with him before he left, since we’d never got round to any kind of supper.

  The weather was a bit iffy for the first week of August but we all crossed our fingers and hoped for a fine day on Sunday for the fête. Apart from the book signing at Marked Pages in September, this would be the last fundraising event and I was now sure we’d greatly exceed, if not double, the ten thousand pounds I’d originally needed. The proceeds of the other smaller events kept trickling in too, in a small but steady stream.

  Stella had a bit of a temperature at the check-up on the Thursday before the fête, though I thought it was probably because she was excited about it. She’d taken her cottage hospital and the doctor rabbit and patient with her to show them and re-enacted her favourite scenario.

  ‘You’re going to go to sleep now, little mouse,’ she said, doing the doctor bunny’s voice in a low, gruff tone. ‘And when you wake up again, your heart will be all mended and you can go home.’

  Then she looked up at the real consultant and nurse and said chattily, ‘In America, they don’t stick big needles in your arm.’

  ‘I think they do if they have to, Stella,’ I said, ‘but with the magic cream on first so it doesn’t hurt.’

  Stella gave me a look that expressed what she thought of this remark, but I didn’t want to lie to her … though on the other hand, I didn’t want to frighten her, either. I shivered suddenly, realising how close October seemed now, when we would be leaving for Boston. It seemed only days ago that I was worried I’d never manage to get her there, and now it was hurtling towards us like a train.

  I’d arranged for Jenny to come round early to baby-sit on the Saturday morning, so I could get to Ormskirk in time to see Jago put a croquembouche together. It didn’t matter t
hat he’d already made the choux buns before I arrived, because I’ve made those myself several times.

  When I got there he was neatly piping patisserie cream into each one through a small hole he’d made at one end, while David was also working away, since the couple who’d ordered the croquembouche wanted two macaroon cones to flank it.

  I sat down quietly with my notebook and watched as Jago began to form the base of the croquembouche around a huge special cone. The choux buns were dipped in melted caramel to stick them together and each layer built up until he reached the top.

  Then he began expertly flicking long sugar strands over the cake, using two forks held back to back and dipped in the liquid caramel. He made it look terribly easy but I was quite sure it wasn’t!

  When it was finished it looked stunning, and Jago made us all a cup of coffee while I wrote up my notes. I’d taken a couple of pictures, too, but I hoped before the article appeared in ‘The Cake Diaries’ they’d send a photographer to Honey’s, which should be up and running by then.

  Dorrie arrived to open up the shop and Jago walked out with me to my car for a bit of fresh air. Because I’d arrived so early I’d managed to get into the tiny car park right behind the main street, but I needed to go down to the supermarket before I went home.

  ‘I’ll be off to deliver the cakes in a bit,’ he said, ‘or the ones for the wedding, anyway. I think David has another macaroon cone to make for this afternoon, but he’ll probably take that himself.’

  ‘It was great watching you making the croquembouche,’ I told him. ‘I’m going to have a go, on a smaller scale, but I’m very sure it’s a lot harder than you made it look.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not so bad. Getting the sugar strands round it is probably the only dicey bit and that’s just practice,’ he said, then added, ‘I’m really looking forward to the fête tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, me too. I told you Adam wanted to come up this weekend, but I hoped I’d put him off, didn’t I?’ I paused and then went for a full confession. ‘He was a bit persistent, actually, so I’m afraid I’ve told him we’re in a relationship so I’d be going to the fête with you.’

  ‘You did?’ He looked down at me and grinned. ‘Well, funnily enough, I’d already told Aimee the same thing to put her off, though I don’t think she believed me.’

  I laughed. ‘Great minds think alike! And let’s hope that finally does the trick, because neither of them seems very good at taking no for an answer.’

  Driving back through Sticklepond later I saw that bunting was already strung up everywhere ready for the fête and was in time to glimpse a bride and groom coming out of All Angels in a cloud of pink rose petals.

  That could have been me and Adam … but how glad I was now that we hadn’t married, because it would have been the mistake of my life.

  Chapter 35: Fêted

  I woke up very early on the day of the fête, though when I went into the kitchen already a few weak rays of sunshine were fingering the plant pots on the windowsill like a doubtful shopper.

  I hadn’t noticed Hal passing the window again early in the morning, so I was starting to think I’d jumped to conclusions and he’d merely been taking an early stroll, or perhaps fetching something from his shed …

  There was no sign of Toto or Moses in the kitchen, but when I opened the back door to admire the cloudless pale azure sky, there they were, sitting side by side staring at me.

  I’ve no idea why, because if they could get out of the catflap, then there was nothing to stop them coming back in again.

  I’d already baked a cake for another prinsesstårta, which was to be sold by the slice at the fête, so now I set to work and created the domed shape of the top, then covered the whole thing in traditional pale green marzipan, finished off with the usual little crown.

  Once it was in the cake box I went to get Stella up, and by the time we got back to the kitchen Ma was also down and toasting slices of the fruit loaf that had baked overnight and made the kitchen smell wonderful, so we all had some of that.

  Stella was excited, but I made sure she had a quiet morning and then Jago came to collect us after an early lunch and we pushed Stella down to the fête in the buggy. Ma and Hal said they would follow us down, because there were to be one or two plant stalls, not to mention candyfloss, another of Ma’s not-so-secret passions.

  Already cars had overflowed the car park and were lining the streets, and people were making their way towards the green where all kinds of booths had been set up – hoop-la stands and coconut shies, roll-a-penny stalls and one where you tossed a coin into a ring. They all looked ancient and sun faded, as if they came out every year, but the acres of bunting festooned everywhere was bright and fresh, and fluttered in the warm breeze.

  The village hall, which was on the edge of the green, had the big double doors at the front and the side door open to show more stalls inside. I left Jago with Stella for a moment while I popped over and handed my prinsesstårta to Effie Yatton.

  I got back just in time to watch Hebe Winter, who was dressed entirely in white, which was, I’d been told, her usual garb on Sundays, graciously remind everyone why they were there, exhort them to spend lots of money and declare the fête open. With a cut-glass voice that could carry for miles, she didn’t need a megaphone.

  There was polite applause and then her place was taken by a sort of folk-rock group from a nearby village that, going by the banner across the front of the stage, was called the Mummers of Invention. They were quite good.

  ‘Chloe’s in the hall, running a chocolate stall,’ Raffy said. ‘Her grandfather’s got Grace – they’re over at the pony petting.’ He pointed to the corner of the field near the church wall.

  ‘Pony?’ echoed Stella, clambering out of the buggy and seizing my hand, which she tugged imperatively.

  ‘Now you’ve done it,’ I said, and we all headed across to where Poppy from Stirrups riding stables had created a My Little Pony experience in an enclosure made of hay bales. There, for a pound, children could groom, brush and generally play with the small golden-brown pony we’d seen up at the stables when we visited.

  ‘It’s Butterball,’ Stella said.

  As we neared I heard Poppy say to a worried parent, ‘Oh, no, Butterball’s totally safe,’ as the pony’s tail was plaited for probably the tenth time. ‘He’s about as intelligent as a cushion and his idea of bliss is to be stroked, petted and brushed – he can take any amount of it. In fact, I’ll have to keep an eye on him, because he can sometimes get so chilled out from being groomed that he falls asleep and starts to topple over.’

  I was glad to hear this, since Stella was now demanding to be allowed to go and play with him and my mother was already getting out her purse to pay Poppy.

  ‘You let her,’ advised Jago. ‘Poppy’s obviously keeping a close watch and she’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘Grace seems happy enough,’ Raffy commented. Gregory Lyon, tall and with his long white hair and blue cloak blowing in the breeze, was holding his great- granddaughter on Butterball’s back. The pony’s eyes seemed to be half-closing …

  Poppy gave his fat round butterscotch-coloured rump a little slap and he opened his eyes and looked at her reproachfully.

  I wondered how you made butterscotch flavouring …

  ‘Cally?’ Ma said, recalling my wandering attention. ‘I’ll stay here until our Stella’s had enough. Leave me the buggy and we’ll come and find you.’

  So Jago and I made our way round the field, trying our hand at all the stalls, which was a lot of fun, even if my aim was terrible. Jago was a bit better and won a rainbow-coloured teddy bear and a bag of pink candyfloss, which he said he was going to give to Ma. Then, just as we were about to make for the hall, something made me look across the field to the entrance.

  I clutched Jago’s arm. ‘Oh God, it’s Adam!’

  ‘And Aimee – and they’ve seen us, too,’ he said as the two horribly familiar figures headed determinedly in our direction. Aimee was
hanging onto Adam’s arm and had to stop to wrench one of her stiletto heels out of the soft grass.

  We turned to each other. ‘Too late to hide,’ he said ruefully.

  ‘I know, there’s only one thing to be done: quick, kiss me!’ I ordered.

  ‘Kiss you?’

  ‘Yes, and let’s make this look convincing,’ I said, winding my arms around his neck. He looked faintly startled but gathered me close and obliged. I shut my eyes and … blissed out. The kiss went on and on … and on. In fact, I’d entirely forgotten where I was until someone jostled us in passing and our lips finally parted. I stared up at Jago dazedly.

  ‘That was realistic,’ I murmured weakly.

  ‘I did my best,’ he said modestly, though he looked slightly shaken: probably because I’d fallen on him like a desperate woman after a kiss famine. He kept his arm around my waist holding me close to his side as we scanned the crowd for Aimee and Adam.

  ‘Can you see them?’ I asked.

  ‘No … or is that them, right over there, heading away?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Well, that worked.’

  ‘I don’t mind doing it again, if you like,’ he offered with a grin, ‘but we seem to have attracted a small audience already.’

  We had indeed and, my cheeks glowing slightly, I suggested we make for the hall, though he didn’t remove his arm from my waist in case, he explained, Aimee and Adam came back.

  ‘I don’t think they will; we seem to have fooled them,’ I told him, but unfortunately we also seemed to have fooled everyone else, because we were on the receiving end of a lot of knowing looks and kind smiles.

  We joined the flow of people round the hall after buying raffle tickets, past a booth with a sign saying, ‘Visit Gypsy Zillah Smith at the end of the pier’, Chloe’s chocolate stall and trestle tables laden with plants and home-made goods of all kinds, including some donated by Celia and her Crafty Knitters. She and Will hadn’t been able to make it today, but I was pretty sure I’d recognised one or two of the people who’d been at the Knitathon. Mrs Snowball was doing a roaring trade selling Jago’s gingerbread stars.