‘I don’t like to leave you. Maybe I should wait and come back with you.’
But I knew she’d really had enough of people and was desperate to get back to Sticklepond and her work – and, I suspected, Hal – so I assured her we’d be perfectly OK without her.
‘We’ll be fine, we’re in good hands here, and then we’ll move back to the hotel for the last few days when Stella has more bounce and maybe have some little trips out … I’d like to find a good bakery and arrange to have a special Boston cream pie sent to the staff at the Heart Centre. I’ve heard of a really good chocolate shop too, so I’m going to get something for Opal; she’s been so good.’
‘And given you her Mississippi mud pie recipe,’ Ma said.
‘That’s a point,’ I said. ‘That recipe and the one for key lime pie, which the hotel receptionist gave me, both need Graham crackers and I don’t think I can get them back home. I’ll put some in my luggage, just in case.’
Jago
Jago collected Martha at the airport and drove her home, once she’d said goodbye to Jenny, who’d been met by her brother, Clive Snowball.
‘Well, I’m that glad to be home again,’ Martha said with a sigh, sitting back in the front seat of the Saab as Jago headed back to Sticklepond. ‘Being cooped up in an aeroplane with a lot of strangers is my idea of hell, even if we did have return flights in business class.’
‘I can imagine,’ he said sympathetically. ‘But I’m sure Cally and Stella must be missing you already.’
‘Not as much as they’re missing you – or not in Cally’s case, anyway,’ she said pointedly, and he glanced across at her.
‘I’m very fond of Cally – of them both. And I’m sure Cally loves me like a brother,’ he said gloomily.
‘Well, you’re right out there, and you’re a pair of daft ha’porths who can’t see what’s under your noses!’ she said forthrightly.
He looked across at her, startled. ‘Do you mean … you think she really—’
‘For goodness’ sake – yes!’ Ma snapped impatiently, then she shut her eyes and refused to be drawn for the rest of the journey back.
‘I’ve just dropped Martha off, and Moses and Toto were really glad to see her,’ Jago told Cally. ‘Hal was at work, but he’d left a bottle of whisky and a note on the kitchen table saying he’d be round later, so she’ll be fine.’
‘She’s always fine on her own,’ she said. ‘Was the house warm?’
‘Yes, the heating had been going on and off and Hal had been keeping an eye on things. I’d better get back to work – I’ve got a bride and her mother coming in a little while to talk about ordering a cake for spring. The orders for the next wedding season are really starting to snowball already.’
‘Well, that’s what you need, so you can see how it will pan out over the first year of trading.’
‘I’ve got a new order book and I’ve worked out how many croquembouche I can make in a day, though if I’m very busy I may have to train up someone to deliver and set them up. I miss you helping me with the paperwork, too.’
‘I’ll be back before long and I’ll sort you out if you’ve got in a muddle,’ she promised.
‘I am in a total muddle,’ he confessed ruefully, though not to the fact that she was the cause of his confusion, ‘a mess that only you can get me out of.’
He dropped in to see if Martha was all right once or twice, but he could see that she was perfectly happy on her own. Hal was often around, of course, but somehow he didn’t seem to count … except that he was sure there was a hint of romance there because late one evening, driving through the village, he’d spotted them walking back from the Green Man, hand in hand.
He’d carried on with Plan A and almost finished turning the annexe behind Honey’s into a guest suite, so as soon as Cally got home he’d unroll before her his master plan that she and Stella live there after Christmas until they were ready to pick up their old lives in London … though, encouraged by what Martha had said, he really hoped that when Cally had had time to think about it, she’d change her mind about that part.
‘I’m counting down the days till you get back. I’ve got something I want to show you,’ he told her, but then refused to be drawn on what the surprise might be.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen any long-term weather forecasts for snow when we get home, have you?’ she asked. ‘Stella seems to think because she mentioned it to Father Christmas, it’s going to happen.’
‘Martha’s told Hal about it and he says not to worry, he’s on the case.’
‘What, he can do a little snow dance and it falls from the sky to order, or something?’
‘I’ve no idea, but maybe he’ll rope in a witch or two to help,’ he suggested, and then they got giggly over the idea of Hebe Winter, Florrie Snowball and Gregory Lyon all joining hands and frolicking under the full moon.
Later, Jago woke up in the middle of the night with a start, hoping none of those three had really got second sight or he might find in the morning he’d been turned into a little white mouse …
Chapter 41: Boston Beans
Stella was like a different child after being spoiled by Jenny’s family in Salem during our relaxing stay, and then when we went back to the Great Western for the last few days she greeted the staff like old friends.
We had a couple of little trips out, back to the aquarium and to the wonderful Children’s Museum and ate Boston baked beans at a place called Durgin-Park in the market, which the hotel receptionist told us about. Of course, we sampled variations of Boston cream pies, cupcakes and doughnuts everywhere else too … I kept scribbling down recipes and I was looking forward to trying some of them out at home with Jago.
I’d eaten so much cake in America that I was now about the same shape as a Christmas pudding and all my clothes were too tight. But luckily Ma said my payment on publication of the second Cake Diaries book had come, so I treated both of us to some new clothes – trousers, mittens and hats, warm socks and thick, fleecy sweatshirts – and a lovely dress for me that I thought would be nice for the welcome home party. It had a deep cross-over neckline that flattered my curvy figure and if Ma was right about Jago being in love with me – well, my gorgeous new dress might just do the trick!
The shops were all Christmassy by now and irresistible, so we did a little present buying, too …
Stella had her final hospital check-up and was passed fit to fly home. Jenny’s family collected us and saw us off at the airport, which was just as well, considering how much extra baggage we had. But Stella was deeply disappointed not to see the friendly yellow cab driver who’d taken us to the hotel when we’d arrived in Boston, and only cheered up when Kevin promised to go and find him after our flight left, to tell him she was fine. I’d have been worried if I’d thought he really meant it, because it wouldn’t be an easy task, seeing he had no idea what he looked like or, in fact, anything about him except that his name was George. However, Stella went off to the departure lounge perfectly happy.
I got on that plane feeling relieved, relaxed and rested, but by the time I got off in Manchester, I felt like a puppet with its strings cut. I don’t know why, but it was all I could do to collect our stuff together and get through into the arrivals hall.
So it was a huge relief when I spotted Jago waiting to meet us, looking darkly and delectably handsome. His caramel-brown eyes lit up at the sight of us, and Stella woke enough to transfer her hot, sticky cross self from my arms to his. He hugged me with his free arm and kissed me – not one of our never-ending kisses, but warm and sweet, for all that – and then we went out into the cold air. And it was cold.
‘Is it cold enough for snow?’ I asked, as we drove home, the heaters pumping out warmth. ‘Are we going to have a white Christmas?’
‘I don’t know; the forecast’s a bit ambiguous. Still, Christmas seems to be such a big deal one way or another right across the borough of Middlemoss, that maybe Stella won’t notice if it doesn’t snow,’ he s
aid. ‘The party is next Saturday: do you think you and Stella will be up to it? I know you’ll need some time to settle back and get Stella into her usual routine again.’
‘Oh, yes, she’s full of beans now – Boston beans – and she’s really looking forward to it. She’ll be having a check-up in a couple of days in Ormskirk, when I think the physiotherapist is going to give her some exercises to do, too.’
‘I’ve baked and iced the stars ready for her to hand out at the party, and I’ll buy a few metres of narrow ribbon from the market on Thursday to make the loops.’
‘We’ll help you to thread them up, it’ll be fun,’ I said. ‘Everyone must have gone to a lot of trouble.’
‘Yes, but they’re all having a great time,’ he assured me.
Ma’s cottage looked strangely small after the hotel – and Kevin’s home had been on the large side, too. A brief moment of claustrophobia swept over me, which was probably how poor Ma felt most of the time – and I thought how bravely she’d put up with the crowded house for so long.
‘She’s got a tree and lights on it already!’ I exclaimed, seeing it flashing on and off through the window.
‘I came over yesterday and helped her put the tree up: she said she wanted it all ready for when you got home.’
‘She doesn’t usually remember things like that, but Stella will be so excited,’ I said, touched.
Stella woke up enough to exclaim sleepily over the tree and then was put into her own warm bed, surrounded by Bun and so many stuffed toys that it was a wonder there was enough room for her in there, too.
Looking down at her, before I turned off the light, I thought already my changeling child had begun the metamorphosis from fairy to human, for she’d definitely grown and that transparent, other-worldly look had been replaced by a healthy, rosy flush.
The Boston cream pie isn’t really a pie at all, but a very rich and delicious cake. I found several variations of it while I was over there recently, but they are all basically similar: a cream-filled chocolate sponge covered with a thick layer of rich chocolate ganache.
Cally Weston: ‘The Cake Diaries’
The sky was a cold but limpid blue next morning when I was up early and baking as if I’d never been away, and there wasn’t a single snow cloud on the horizon.
When I said as much to Ma later, while she was eating endless rounds of toast and Marmite, a delicacy she’d missed in Boston and was now trying to catch up on, she said you never knew, it could just blow up out of nowhere in an instant.
Then she followed me into Stella’s room and wandered over to the window to draw the curtains, while I was getting her up.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her start histrionically and then she exclaimed, ‘Well, I never! I’m sure those are flakes of snow!’
‘Where? Show me, Grandma!’ Stella demanded, rushing to see, and Ma’s eyes, blue and wide with innocence, met mine over her head.
‘Mummy – look! It is snowing,’ Stella cried.
‘So it is,’ I agreed, for the first few drifting, lazy, feathery flakes had now become a thick, whirling swirl of purest white …
‘Feathers? Snow is feathers?’ Stella said, enchanted.
‘Yes,’ Ma said. ‘Hal says snow is the feathers from angels’ wings, so it always melts away eventually … unless some very special little girl has asked for snow; then sometimes it doesn’t vanish at all.’
Stella stood on tiptoe and looked down at the ground as a last solitary, downy feather drifted and landed light as a whisper on top of the white scattering that lay on the grass beneath the window.
‘It’s magic!’ she breathed.
‘It certainly is,’ I agreed.
And later, when she’d been bundled up warmly so she could go out and collect every last precious snowflake and then gone up to the studio with Ma to put them in a special jar of their own, I sought Hal out in his shed and thanked him.
‘Nothing to thank me for,’ he said, absently brushing a tell-tale fragment of fluffy whiteness from his tweed sleeve, and then refused to be drawn on the matter.
‘Some things are better if you don’t think about them too much,’ he said.
In future, I might adopt that as my philosophy for life.
Stella showed her angel feathers to Jago when he came round, but by then she’d thought of something that troubled her.
However, he assured her that the angels weren’t feeling cold because they’d lost all their feathers, they just naturally moulted, like birds, from time to time as the new ones came through, so they could easily spare Stella a few.
We settled in as if we’d never been away, except, of course that Stella seemed to grow in energy every day. And Jago and I picked up our old relationship as if there had never been an interval too, so I began to doubt if Ma had been right … I mean, Stella was well and we were home, so what was he waiting for?
Over the following week we gently eased back into village life and went for walks, well wrapped up. Although I still took the buggy in case Stella tired, I could see that one day soon she wouldn’t want it at all – which would be just as well, because by then she wouldn’t fit in it any more!
She quite cheerfully visited her old friends at Ormskirk Hospital and showed off her battle wounds, but was more interested in telling them about the angel snow. And afterwards, when we went to the Blue Dog with Jago, she told the three Graces, too.
Soon, I don’t think there was anyone within a radius of about ten miles from Sticklepond who didn’t know that snow was angels’ feathers.
We had lots of visitors. Raffy and Chloe came together, and Jenny with Mrs Snowball. And Celia and Will came over, of course. Raffy was going to meet up with me, Celia and Will before Christmas to do a final reckoning and discuss where to donate the money left over in the Stella’s Stars fund.
There was a card from Miss Honey, who said she’d been invited to the party but to tell Stella that she was going into hibernation for the winter like a tortoise, though if the Lord spared her, she’d see us in spring.
The November Sweet Home magazine, which had just come out, had slipped in my stained-glass star biscuit recipe, instead of the one I thought they were going to use and ‘The Cake Diaries’ featured my own mincemeat recipe and one for open iced mincemeat tartlets. A box of author’s copies of my second Cake Diaries book arrived too, most of which I would wrap up and give as Christmas presents to local friends, though I sent both volumes to Opal in Boston straight away, with a letter thanking her for all her kindness and telling her about the angel snow. I knew she’d love that.
I hadn’t been down to Honey’s since we returned, because Jago went all mysterious and said he wanted to give something a final touch before he showed me whatever this surprise was, so goodness knew what he’d been up to.
But of course he’d been at Ma’s a lot, and I’d already sorted out his bookkeeping and helped him with some complicated forms. Now we had resumed our evenings of baking, film watching and snoozing on the sofa, as if we’d never been apart – and it was lovely, though suddenly not quite enough …
But I had my plans, and Christmas was now hurtling towards us, a joyful one, destined to be the best ever. We made a Christmas pudding the size of a cannonball and the cake, too – both later than usual, but none the worse for that. Then Jago and Stella built the most stupendous gingerbread castle, covered in icing snow and decorated with brightly coloured Reese’s Pieces, which I took lots of pictures of before it got nibbled. There was no chance it would last till Christmas.
We threaded red and green silk ribbon through the hundred big gingerbread stars and all the smaller ones for the party, then, the day before, it was a mad rush to make cakes, pack the star biscuits and, in Stella’s case, try to decide what to wear.
Luckily a fairy outfit large enough to fit over a warm dress and leggings arrived from the Scotts just in time and, teamed with the angel wings that Sarah and David had given her for her birthday, she decided she had the perfect ou
tfit.
I’d be wearing the blue and grey dress I’d found in Boston with cowboy boots, ditto, and declined Stella’s offer of a pair of gauzy fairy wings. I told her I was so happy, I could probably fly to the party without them.
Jago
Stella and Cally, as guests of honour, were forbidden to arrive early at the party, but Jago was there, delivering one of his most magnificent croquembouche cakes, decorated with sugar strands and a myriad of silver sugared almonds and stars: his feelings always tended to express themselves edibly. He’d made a little sugar angel to go on top, too, using a chocolate mould.
The village hall looked very festive, with a ‘Happy Christmas and Welcome Home Stella!’ banner over the door. Inside, an army of helpers had erected the Christmas tree brought by Seth Greenwood, along with armfuls of holly and mistletoe from the Winter’s End estate, and were draping it with twinkling lights.
Jago deposited his croquembouche in the centre of the refreshment tables and then carried in the two macaroon pyramids that he’d brought from David and Sarah, and the boxes of gingerbread stars.
There was a separate table for the special Stella’s Stars biscuits, under the watchful eye of the WI ladies, who were busy putting out covered plates of triangular sandwiches, mini pork pies, jellies in paper cases, mince pies, and little cheese and tomato tartlets.
Jago, helped by Effie Yatton and a posse of Brownies, hung all the smaller gingerbread stars on the lower branches of the Christmas tree and by the time this was finished practically the entire village – not to mention Will and Celia – had arrived, the bright paper garlands festooned from the wooden beams of the ceiling swaying and rustling every time the door was opened.
Cally, Stella and Martha came in last, as arranged, looking self-conscious, especially when everyone applauded. But soon the babble of conversation resumed and Raffy turned on a CD of carols in the background.
Wish Upon a Star Page 36
