Seeing Stars

by Christina Jones

  Everyone clapped and whistled.

  ‘Now!’ Goff jabbed a finger towards the stars. ‘Greetings to Cassiopeia!’

  Everyone clapped and whistled again.

  Amber, feeling slightly foolish, didn’t.

  She could just see Gwyneth and Big Ida and the others dotted around in the throng. Lewis and Jem were standing by the bridge. She couldn’t see Sukie or Win. And there was Zillah, close to Fern. And Timmy, smiling soppily … Poor old Cassiopeia, Amber thought, having to sort out that one.

  Tipping her head back, she stared up at the sky. The stars were extraordinarily bright tonight. Glittering, truly like diamonds, remote, mysterious, far more beautiful than anything man could produce. Nature certainly had the edge on humankind for producing spectacular effects, Amber thought dreamily.

  And then suddenly, Cassiopeia, the celestial pole dancer, was visible.

  Amber could see her!

  A zigzag formation of five fabulous stars, larger than any others near her, brighter, more stunning.

  ‘Now!’ Goff screamed. ‘Now!’

  Fiddlesticks village green was instantly silent. Heads tilted back. Mouths worked.

  Amber took a deep breath and stared at the constellation. ‘OK – now I don’t believe any of this, but if you can’t beat ’em join ’em – so … Please, please will you sort out Zillah. She’s had a bit of a rough deal as far as I can tell, and Timmy’s not right for her – so if there’s a man she really, truly loves can you somehow manage to bring them together? Er – thanks …’

  Self-consciously Amber released her star balloon. It joined dozens of others wafting heavenwards. A cloud of silver misting slowly, hazily, towards the star clusters above them.

  ‘OK, and having done that, could you also make Timmy fall in love with Fern, please? I know she’s asked you for this herself, but maybe she needs a bit of help.’

  Amber released her heart balloon. Hundreds of other silver hearts wafted above the village. So many people, so many hopes and dreams.

  ‘And,’ Amber finished. ‘If you’ve managed to take all that in, I wondered if you could make Jem really happy and find Lewis’s dad for him. I know Lewis says he doesn’t want to know but if it’s right, then I hope you can. I’m not sure if this is what you do, of course, but it’s worth a try. Cheers.’

  Feeling a bit silly, but also strangely refreshed and invigorated, Amber smiled to herself.

  There! It was all out of her hands now. If there was anything at all in this astral magic, she’d soon find out, wouldn’t she?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Moon Madness

  ‘We could do with a bit of rain.’ Gwyneth kicked at the dry, dusty ground with the toe of her crossover sandal. Little puffs of earth landed on Pike’s breakfast biscuits. It didn’t seem to spoil his enjoyment. ‘Going to be an awful year for me runner beans if we don’t get a drop soon.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll have to bring our Leo’s Lightning incantation forward a tad.’ Big Ida, sitting on the bench outside Moth Cottage in the early morning sunshine, nodded over her mug of tea. ‘I know ’e’s not due ’til August, but needs must, eh?’

  ‘Ah, but we’ve tried that before, remember? After the scorcher of 2003? We said a few words early on the following year asking Leo to bring us a bit of rain for the gardens, and what happened? The summer of 2004 was the biggest washout on record. Never stopped raining until September. You ’ave to be careful with Leo.’

  ‘Right enough,’ Big Ida swallowed a ginger nut whole without blinking. ‘But looking on the bright side, we all ’ad a lovely crop of runners in 2004, didn’t we?’

  Zillah, sipping her cup of tea alongside Gwyneth and Big Ida with the cats rubbing round her legs, let this multi-faceted meteorological, astrological, and horticultural conversation drift over her as she stared out across the village green. Runner beans were the least of her worries.

  She had a far more pertinent problem. A hugely pertinent problem.

  As usual, Fiddlesticks was misty and for once eerily silent after the excitement of the night before. The only evidence that Cassiopeia’s Carnival had enchanted the village was the still steaming barbecue beside the bridge, heaps of trampled rose petals, and several sadly limp balloons hanging from the upper branches of the willow trees.

  Both the postman and milkman had made their rounds more carefully than normal with less than cheery smiles, clearly nursing Cassiopeia Cup hangovers of massive proportions. The rest of Fiddlesticks was still sleeping off the excesses and dreaming sweet dreams of romantic fulfilment.

  Zillah would have simply welcomed sleep, preferably dream-free.

  Timmy’s delighted midnight smile had meant she’d spent the remainder of the night wide awake, panic-stricken, pacing her living room listening to music she’d almost forgotten, reliving memories she so wanted to forget, wishing so much that she had someone to confide in. Wishing she knew what the hell to do now.

  ‘Looks like Cassiopeia has worked for me, Zil,’ Timmy had said softly as they were clearing up after The Weasel and Bucket had finally shooed out the stragglers including the Motions, Goff Briggs and Billy Grinley and closed its doors.

  Zillah, bone tired, hadn’t even paused in whipping one load of glasses out of the washing-up machine and piling the trays with more.

  ‘Has she?’ She hadn’t even stopped working to read the warning signs. ‘That was quick.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ Timmy had moved close behind her, bottling-up temporarily abandoned. ‘Zil, look at me.’

  She’d looked.

  She’d seen a kind, nondescript man, his eyes luminous with love and she’d wanted to stop him then and there.

  But she couldn’t and hadn’t.

  ‘Zil, you know how I feel about you. No, let me finish … I love you, you know that. I know you don’t love me – but I’ll make you happy, I promise you. And you work so hard, so I’ve planned a little break …’

  ‘Break?’ she’d clung to the word. Maybe he was simply going to suggest she took some time off. ‘Well, I could do with a bit of time to myself but—’

  ‘To ourselves, Zil. Just us. Together. Away from here. Away from everyone who knows us and the village noseyparkering into everything. A few days together, in a little romantic hideaway in the West Country.’

  Oh, God!

  ‘I know you’re from Cornwall, so –’

  Oh, God!

  Timmy had smiled at her. ‘And I thought you’d always hankered after a bit of Frenchman’s Creek, so I’ve phoned this place in Fowey and—’

  No way! Not Cornwall! Not ever! Not with Timmy – and not on her own – just NO!

  ‘We can’t go away,’ Zillah had said, feeling the panic rising in her throat. ‘Not together. Not to Cornwall. Not both at the same time. I mean, who would look after the pub?’

  ‘The brewery’ll put relief people in. And it’d only be for a long weekend. Even if they were awful they’d hardly bankrupt us. See? There’s nothing stopping us.’

  Oh, but there was. Cornwall was the last place on earth she wanted to go. Anywhere else might just be OK, with Timmy as a good platonic friend. But Cornwall with Timmy as a besotted lover? Her two worst nightmares. It simply couldn’t happen.

  ‘It’s all booked, Zil.’ Timmy had resumed pushing colourful bottles of Irn Bru and WKD Blue into the fridge. ‘All paid for. In less than a twinkling, so to speak. Looked up on the Internet, contacted on the mobile, paid for on the plastic. Magic, eh?’

  Magic, indeed.

  Timmy had turned his attention to a selection of Vodka Kicks. ‘I thought we could go for four days at the end of September. After Harvest Moon. Plenty of time for you to plan your holiday wardrobe, eh?’

  Zillah had grabbed handfuls of pint mugs and thrust them onto the overhead shelves. At least there was a bit of a lifeline. It was still only July. She had plenty of time to find a cast-iron reason not to go without hurting Timmy too much. Didn’t she?

  ‘Ah, you’ll have to thank young Ambe
r as well as Cassiopeia for pulling this off.’ Timmy had poured two glasses of house red and pushed one along the bar towards her.

  ‘Amber? Why? What did she have to do with it?’

  ‘Amber was a star. She looked all these places up on the Internet for me. You know how jackass-brained I am with technology. I’d never have found them in a million years. She got all the details of suitable venues and I rang them straight away. The one in Fowey was heaven-sent. Cassiopeia might have answered my wish, but I couldn’t have done it without Amber.’

  Zillah had said nothing. She’d left the wine untouched. She’d decided to kill Amber.

  Now she sipped her tea, her eyes gritty through lack of sleep, her brain churning. Pike, having finished his breakfast, nudged the cats out of the way and slumped onto her feet in the sun. Gwyneth and Big Ida were still mulling over the possibilities of making an early private plea to Leo for refreshment. All normal stuff. As it was nearly every summer morning.

  Only this morning was different. This morning she’d have to make one of the biggest decisions of her life.

  She stared out across the village green to The Weasel and Bucket, pretty as a chocolate box, swathed in a delicate rising heat-haze. The rooms in the ivied eaves had their blinds still drawn. One of those was Timmy’s bedroom and if she said yes to him, she knew it could be hers too. Or maybe Timmy would want to live with her in Chrysalis?

  God, no! That was unthinkable.

  Chrysalis was her own shell, her haven. The place where she could be herself. She’d created it from love. It could only be shared with love. And she didn’t love Timmy.

  But it wouldn’t be fair to keep Timmy hanging on. She definitely wasn’t going to Fowey and she’d have to tell him immediately, and then probably leave The Weasel and Bucket, maybe even move away from Fiddlesticks.

  No, that was unthinkable, too. But then so was the alternative.

  If she agreed to go away with Timmy, even if it wasn’t Cornwall, she’d be agreeing to so much more. He’d love her, cherish her, give her security for the rest of her life. But she’d never love him in return. And even if he was prepared to accept that, she wasn’t. Having loved once, she simply couldn’t spend what was left of her life with a pale imitation. She’d rather live alone and just remember how it had been once when she was young.

  Lots of women – and men – would be delighted to settle for companionship and security in their autumn years, but she simply couldn’t.

  She’d kill Amber.

  ‘Is Amber awake yet?’ She looked at Gwyneth. ‘I need to speak to her.’

  ‘She’s up and gone long since.’ Gwyneth swung her legs backwards and forwards on the bench like a child on a swing. ‘Had a phone call from Mitzi at the crack of dawn. About work. Sadly, as young Mitzi hasn’t got the van insured yet, Amber’s had to go into Hazy Hassocks on the bus.’

  Usually the news that someone had had to take the round- village bus would have elicited all Zillah’s sympathy. Right now, she felt Amber deserved it.

  ‘Oh, right. Has she got a mobile with her?’

  ‘No, duck, She don’t use it no more. She says she can’t see why she ever thought it was so vital.’

  Zillah shrugged. ‘OK. But when she gets back can you tell her I’d like to see her.’

  Gwyneth nodded. ‘About your Lewis being with Sukie last night, is it? Amber did seem a bit distracted when she came home after Cassiopeia’s.’

  If only it was about something sortable like Lewis and Sukie. If only the clock could be turned back and all she had to worry about was Lewis’s unsuitable liaisons. If only.

  ‘Nothing to do with Lewis and Sukie,’ Zillah said shortly. ‘This is about something far, far more important.’

  Sitting on the early morning bus as it trundled through a myriad identical, sun-misted, green-tunnelled lanes, Amber felt as if she were in a time-machine.

  A time-machine would be very welcome, to be honest. Something that could whisk her back – oooh, just a few hours to last night, to the moment when Jem gave her the pentangle. Just before Lewis arrived with Sukie.

  Damn, damn, damn and sod!

  She stared out of the windows at the bucolic beauty and sighed heavily. Lewis disinterested and unattached had been a challenge; Lewis disinterested and entwined round Sukie the Irish Witch was a kick in the teeth. Not that Amber was sure Sukie was Irish of course, but with that glorious Corrs colouring it was odds-on, surely?

  Sod it!

  And now she’d have to forget about it and concentrate on some silly coffee morning for Mitzi.

  ‘Sorry if I’ve woken you, love,’ Mitzi had said breathlessly over the phone at about half-past five. ‘But I need you over here as early as possible this morning. Change of plan.’ Then there’d been a lot of muffled shrieking and laughing and staccato conversation in the background and Mitzi had giggled excitedly.

  Amber could only imagine it had had something to do with the dead sexy dentist.

  ‘Sorry,’ Mitzi had said eventually, sounding a little intoxicated. ‘Look, Amber, love, just get here as soon as you can. I’ll explain then. No time now. Too much going on. Is that OK? Thanks, you’re an angel …’

  So Amber had washed, dressed quickly in her work clothes, rushed through mascara and lip gloss, screwed her hair up in a scrunchie, tugged everything out of the pockets of last night’s jeans, grabbed her purse and her handbag, and had been at the Fiddlesticks bus stop within half an hour of the phone call.

  The single-decker suddenly stood on its brakes and Amber found herself propelled forward. It was only her lightning reflexes that prevented her being hurled onto the lap of the man in front of her who had what she’d first thought was a dead mole tucked into the collar of his shirt, but which, after several minutes of the journey, she’d decided was back hair.

  If her previous bus trip to Hazy Hassocks had been a bit odd, this one was far more disturbing.

  The bus had collected little knots of people from hamlets and villages and simply at various spots along the road where would-be passengers waved their arms and leapt into the bus’s path. The passengers all seemed to know one another and immediately picked up on conversations halfway through. And they had their own seats.

  ‘You can’t sit there, duck!’ A woman dressed in a union jack two-piece and plimsolls screeched as Amber had found an empty space. ‘That’s Sandra’s seat!’

  ‘Oh, right … sorry …’ Amber had stumbled into another vacant seat further up the bus.

  ‘Not there!’ A middle-aged man who had one long eyebrow and bits of bloodied lavatory paper dotted about his chin, snapped. ‘Mr Emsworth always sits there.’

  ‘Right …’ Amber had swayed even further along and looked hopefully at a vacant seat towards the rear. ‘Anyone sitting here?’

  ‘Do it look like it?’ Across the aisle, a box-shaped lady with post-menopausal acne and a moustache, pursed her lips. ‘It’s empty, innit?’

  As the bus turned a particularly sharp corner at that point, Amber found herself catapulted into the seat.

  Mrs Spotty-Moustache glared across at her. ‘And don’t sit by the window. Our Flintlock always sits opposite me. He gets on just afore Bagley and he gets travel sick if he can’t see out.’

  Our Flintlock, thin and grubby and with a strange glint in his eyes, galloped onto the bus at the Bagley stop, scrambled over Amber and beamed at Mrs Spotty-Moustache. ‘Morning, our Peaches.’

  Peaches?

  Amber tried not to breathe in as Flintlock and Peaches updated family information across her. Peaches clearly chewed recreational garlic. Flintlock probably hadn’t been in close contact with deodorant since 1967.

  By the time the bus reached the outskirts of Hazy Hassocks, none of the passengers had shown the slightest inclination to leave, and neither of the seats reserved for Sandra or Mr Emsworth had been taken.

  ‘You could ’ave sat down there,’ Flintlock nodded down the bus, ‘if you’d wanted. Sandra’s on holiday in Bulawayo and Sid
dy Emsworth died last Feb.’

  Amber stood up as the bus careered towards Hazy Hassocks High Street. Last time, she’d got off outside The Faery Glen pub and made her way to Mitzi’s shed. It hadn’t taken long at all.

  ‘If you wants the library end, you don’t want to get off ’ere,’ the woman in the Union Jack two-piece bellowed down the bus. ‘It’s quicker to wait until you gets past Big Sava.’

  Amber sat down again.

  Several shops including Big Sava flashed past.

  ‘Missed it!’ Peaches shrilled. ‘You should ’ave got off at the pub.’

  Amber pinballed down the aisle and fetched up by the driver. ‘Er, can you stop somewhere soon, please? Near the library?’

  ‘We don’t stop near the library!’ the bus chorused.

  ‘You’ll have to wait until we reaches the dental surgery now, sweetheart,’ the driver grinned. ‘And a word of advice if you travels with us again – you don’t want to take no notice of them back there. They’re all barking.’

  Once safely on High Street terra firma with everyone on the bus waving to her as they sped away, Amber vowed never, ever to take public transport again. She’d have to hope Mitzi insured the Hubble Bubble van sooner rather than later.

  The shed shimmered in the morning heat. The workaday traffic crawled along the High Street adding to the hazy effect. Amber, exhausted and irritable after a fairly sleepless night and the early start, tried the door.

  It was locked. As there wasn’t a bell or a knocker, she rapped smartly on the flaking green paintwork with her fist.

  The door creaked open a fraction and Amber caught a glimpse of a thin, elderly face topped by a vibrant plastic cycle helmet.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s me. Amber. Mitzi asked me to come into work early and—’

  The door was pulled open.

  ‘Hello, young Amber. Come along in. Do you remember me? We met at Bertha Hopkins’ funeral?’