Under a Starry Sky: A perfectly feel-good and uplifting story of second chances to escape with this summer 2020!

by Laura Kemp

  Dedication

  To my beloved rambling club tribe, Paddy, Reuben, Ceri and Ollie

  Title Page

  LAURA KEMP

  Contents

  Dedication

  Title Page

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Credits

  About the author

  Also by Laura Kemp

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Finally, Wanda Williams was getting out of here.

  Punching the air as she tore off her dirties, her last Saturday shift at the family campsite was over.

  Next week was the official start of her gap year – she’d spend six months working at Get Lost travel agents to save up for a backpacking adventure Down Under, starting in February, before uni the following September.

  She’d had it all planned since she could walk, according to Dad, who’d fed her globetrotting tales from his navy days. Wanda by name, wander by nature, he always said. Mam didn’t get why anyone would leave the village: ‘We’ve got a chemist and the pub does a lovely Sunday roast – everything you could ever want is here!’ If you were after incontinence pants and gravy dinners, that was. ‘Plus, everyone knows one another!’ Precisely. Gobaith was a claustrophobic cauldron hemmed in by the mountain: a speck on the map, in an area known as the Desert of Wales. Remote, inward-looking and smack bang in the middle of the country, people here were vastly outnumbered by sheep. There was nothing to stay for. Particularly as the unrequited love of Wanda’s life was leaving too. Not that she’d stay for him, obviously, because she was an independent woman with a future.

  As the shower water drummed down on her she told herself, as she had told herself before, that had anything ever happened between her and Lewis Jones, she’d feel far worse about him going away. Her heart would be broken rather than bruised. And it was aching enough already at the thought of saying goodbye to him tonight …

  Dry, dressed and her freckles toned down with foundation, Wanda dropped a kiss on her mother’s head in the kitchen.

  ‘But there’s tea, here,’ Mam said. ‘Your favourite, lasagne.’

  ‘Ah! Plate me one up, I’ll have it later. No idea when I’ll be back.’

  Carrying the scent of canvas on his weathered skin, Dad appeared from the back door, rubbing his huge hands with glee at the sight of a laid table. ‘Another August bank holiday is nearly over, then. Best one yet, I reckon.’

  Towering over her, he came behind Mam to give her a squeeze and she turned her adoring face to his for a peck. It brought a lump to Wanda’s throat to see they were still in love after all these years when their hair was turning grey. ‘All down to you,’ Mam cooed like the little bird she resembled.

  ‘Us, you mean, Lyn,’ he said, nodding at the Best Small Campsite 2004 trophy gleaming alongside another five from the previous years, which commanded a shelf of their own on the dresser. ‘We all earned that. Even you, Wanda! I don’t know what I’ll do without you when it comes to cleaning the loo block.’

  Their laughter was interrupted by the screech of a chair pulled back on the centuries-old stone floor. Wanda’s sister Carys gave her a hormonal once-over. ‘I prefer your hair when it’s natural and wavy. God, and the sisterhood, love you for who you are, not as you think you should be.’

  Wanda tossed her straightened-till-it-was-singed ginger mane at her. Fourteen-year-old Carys was in the middle of a Christian feminist phase and any reply would lead to a lecture of letting love wait. Abstinence was, unfortunately, enforced on Wanda rather than a choice.

  ‘Right, I’m off,’ she said, as casually as she could.

  Slipping out of the farmhouse, the night was warm, but Wanda still shivered as she made her way through the twilit campsite. Beyond the bustle of barbecues and the hushed voices of parents getting their kids ready for bed, she could feel something in the air tonight. She didn’t want to go all Phil Collins about it but what if, what if it was something she’d been waiting for all her life? Yet again she wondered why she and Lew had never got it on. Five years ago, aged thirteen, she had woken up one morning and suddenly seen him no longer as a boy with a waft of feet about him but as her destiny. Now, even more so, she felt they had such a connection – their in-jokes, their shared love of hikes up the mountain and pints in the pub.

  Stop it, she commanded herself, you’re just lopsided with love and prone to high emotion. That feeling, of being unsettled, is because things are about to change, that’s all. This is the end of the summer, no, your childhood, and the beginning of the rest of your amazing life. Work your Kate Moss Glastonbury chic instead.

  Breathing in the sweet smell of grass, she ran a mental inventory of her little waistcoat and cut-off denim shorts, but when she got to her wellies, she could only hear the whoosh of air as she trod the path. Then her insides began to bubble because there he was, sat on the steps of Dad’s shepherd’s hut, a corrugated-iron shed on wheels, at the far end of the silvery lake, in the shadow of the mountain. So gorgeous with that messy dark mop of curls; he was big and broad, a proper farmer’s son, with ripe biceps and chunky thighs straining his black T-shirt and camo shorts. That face of his, oh my days, eyes the colour of spring ferns; those full lips, all wrapped up in olive skin and scaffolded with proud cheekbones and a jaw you could crack conkers on. Yet inside he was soft as anything, bottle-feeding abandoned lambs and feeling no embarrassment when his mother asked him to get some pink loo roll from Blod’s Shop.

  As she got closer, she was grateful her feelings didn’t leap out of her chest in a throbbing cartoon heart. People had teased her over the years about their ‘friendship’ but the mud hadn’t ever stuck. She’d gone out with other boys to prove it – and also to herself, because maybe she’d just go off him if she tried. It never happened. If Lew got it in the neck, he would pull a face which said ‘as if I fancy her!’ and he’d had girlfriends, the lucky, lucky cows. She’d never told anyone how much she adored him in case it got out and ruined everything. The vibes between them, claimed by some to be completely and obviously a sign of their attraction, were simply platonic or else he’d have made a move. And he never had. At least with his departure she could get over him.

  ‘I can’t stay long, sorry,’ Lew sighed, his brow heavy with sadness. ‘Dad wants to take me for a beer.’

  ‘’Course,’ Wanda said cheerfully, but really thrown by how li
ttle time they actually had. ‘You’re leaving crack of anyway …’

  ‘Yeah, he wants an early night. Long drive tomorrow.’

  He was off to Scotland on an intensive six-month course to train as an outdoors instructor. When they’d next see one another had been floated many times over coffees, smoothies and beers and he’d say soon, Christmas, next year, maybe he’d join her abroad when he’d finished, as if it was inevitable and besides, they could call and email. But with the inevitability now seeming flimsy, she steeled herself for their farewell.

  ‘And I’ve got loads to do too.’

  He made a show of budging up for her but she couldn’t let her naked leg touch his. So she went inside the rickety old hut to give herself some space, switched on the cosy gas lamp and sank down on one of the sheepskin rugs on the wooden floor. Lew didn’t take the hint though and joined her, laying back on an arm so his body curled around hers.

  ‘How was it then? Your last day?’ He blinked slowly with his thick black eyelashes and smiled that wonky smile of his which turned her to jelly. Dazed, she drank him in, trying to save some for a rainy day. Or a very sunny one in Australia. Words wouldn’t come to her: she felt sick now that the reality of her loss loomed. ‘Can’t be worse than mine. Had a hand up a sheep’s bum. Unless you were on bog duty again?’

  In spite of herself, she laughed. But it only reminded her how much she’d miss their familiarity.

  Lew tilted his head, sensing her unusual restraint. ‘You okay?’

  Yeah. I’m just feeling a bit devastated that this is it and I’ve loved you forever and nothing will be the same again. No biggie.

  ‘Fine,’ she lied. Wanda wrapped a strand of hair around her finger to busy herself, but there it was again, a kind of buzzing just out of reach of her fingertips.

  ‘I’ll call as soon as I get there. This won’t change anything, will it?’ He gave her a plucky grin, but she couldn’t match it and before she could stop it, the tumult of her yearning and grief came out as tears. ‘What is it?’ he said, concerned, taking her hand. His touch melted her defences.

  ‘It’s just … I know we’ve talked about this the whole summer but now it’s here … I can’t process it,’ she sniffed. ‘That I won’t see you tomorrow or the next day or the day after that.’

  He dropped his head. ‘I know,’ he said, quietly. ‘It’s horrible.’

  She waited for his breezy ‘but it’ll all be fine!’ as he lifted his chin. But instead he looked as haunted as she felt.

  ‘Well, this is fun!’ she croaked.

  She saw his Adam’s apple rise then fall as his eyes wandered the hut. Then they fell on hers and that something she’d been sensing seemed to come into focus. His cheeks were pink and he looked unsure.

  ‘Look …’ he gulped.

  ‘Don’t, honestly. We’ll be over this by tomorrow.’

  ‘No. Listen to me …’ he said. ‘We’ve never been … available at the same time, have we?’

  ‘Really?’ She pretended to wonder, as if it had never occurred to her. But she knew the cyclical pattern of Lew dates girl, Wanda pines, Wanda dates boy, Lew dumps girl, Wanda dumps boy, Lew dates girl and on and on.

  ‘Not till now, no.’ He pressed his lips together, looking nervous. She wouldn’t let herself even think where this was going. But that thing that was coming in the air, well, it was kind of giving her a nudge. ‘I’ve always wanted to … be with you, Wanda. Stupid of me to say it now, I wish I’d been brave enough to tell you before …’

  Wanda’s breathing went shallow. ‘Lew? You serious?’ She wondered if he was just saying this as if he’d heard her most private of thoughts and was doing it out of kindness. Through the little square window of the corrugated-iron hut she saw the sky was at its finest, dressed in sapphire velvet studded with diamonds. Were those stars aligning? No. They couldn’t be. ‘Even if we … where would we go from here?’

  ‘I’d meet you on the other side of the world if I had to.’

  Was this real? Was he trying it on, maybe? Yet he looked as if he meant it and he was no player. Wanda couldn’t think straight and she hesitated. Could she start something only to have to let him go? Agonisingly, he read her silence all wrong.

  ‘Ha! Forget it!’ He ruffled his hair awkwardly and cleared his throat. She couldn’t bear this misunderstanding: her heart, her overjoyed heart, overruled her head.

  ‘No, Lew …’ She inched towards him.

  His eyes widened and then desire tumbled in, dragging them under, and their lips were almost touching. Wanda heard nothing but their breathing; only they existed in this moment. But then another face appeared and it took her seconds to register that their friend Annie Hughes was at the doorway, looking panicked and saying their names over and over.

  ‘Have you seen my brother? Have you seen Ryan?’ Annie’s black eyes were flashing with fear.

  Their intimacy forgotten, Lew swivelled round and got to his haunches, poised for action, while Wanda went to Annie’s side. A bit of a tearaway, Ryan was one for going walkabout, but this time Wanda sensed it was different.

  ‘He’s in a bad way, a falling out with his dad, I had to get in between them. I’ve looked and looked, but nothing.’

  ‘Have you been up the mountain?’ Lew asked. The pair of them, in fact the four of them, had spent hours up there all of their lives. It was their backyard, their playground: as kids, sledging in winter and surfing the slopes on flat pieces of cardboard in spring and summer and making dens; then, as adolescents, they’d sneak away from prying eyes, taking cans to The Bunkhouse, a dilapidated old stone barn, and play truth or dare.

  Annie shook her head. ‘I’ve been all around the village.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Lew volunteered, knowing its every rock and crevice.

  ‘We can look round the campsite,’ Wanda said and then to Lew, ‘Come back, to say goodbye.’

  ‘’Course,’ he said, placing his hand on his chest.

  They bundled out, Lew disappearing up the mountain path into the darkness, and there was Annie’s scrawny boyfriend Dean sucking on a fag. His small eyes travelled up and down Wanda’s body as he declared, ‘Let the little shit stew.’

  Wanda grabbed Annie and led her away. They checked every hedge and tree, the outhouses and storehouses on the land, asking campers if they’d seen a skinny thing of a young man in tatty skateboarder clothes, but after half an hour there was no sign. As they worked out what to do next, Annie suddenly cried out in anguish, pointing to the silhouette of the mountain.

  A strip of orange, the colour of furious lava, was glowering above them – and streaking along the tinderbox of dry scrub. Grass fires weren’t unusual: at school, they’d had regular visits from the fire service to warn of the dangers of ‘arson for fun’ carried out by yobs who claimed it was just harmless entertainment when there was nothing else to do. Sometimes you’d see smoke rising or small circles burning, but they’d either fade or be put out. This blaze, though, looked different: aggressive and hungry. Within minutes, it was zipping down towards them and thick smoke rolled onto the site.

  Mesmerised by its speed, Wanda’s feet at first couldn’t move. She and Annie could only grip one another, her friend wondering aloud, aghast, if Ryan and Lew were safe. It was Dad running out of the house, with Mam and Carys, shouting into a phone, waving arms to evacuate that kicked them into action. Wanda banged on caravan doors and stormed the ladies and gents, yelling into tents to get out and run to the lane. Crying children in sleeping bags were carried away; there was coughing from the thick acrid fumes, people were scattering, terrified. Blue lights, yellow helmets, breathing masks and oxygen tanks, the crackle of walkie-talkies and villagers running in to help. Blod Evans from the shop directing the way to the community hall; Glanmor Hopkins, her boss from Get Lost and Dad’s best mate, gathering extinguishers from the fire points; faces she recognised from the bakery,
the curry house and the café lining up with buckets by the lake but being shooed away from danger. It was all pointless as the flames licked the fringe of the house. Wanda scanned the crowd desperately, where the hell was her family? Then, among them, as close to the searing heat of the farmhouse as they could bear, were Mam and Carys, both sobbing and shaking.

  ‘We couldn’t find you!’ Mam grabbed hold of her. ‘Dad’s gone inside to see if you’re in there!’ Mam covered her mouth but the scream ripped through Wanda’s heart.

  The fire was devouring the roof. Wanda broke free and began to run towards their home. A fireman setting up a cordon caught her and held her back and she struggled in vain to fight him off. From the pit of her soul, she howled ‘No!’ just as the top windows blew. The curtains were alight, then incinerated to ash. And the front door exploded in a blast of raging flames.

  Life didn’t happen here, she’d thought today. Now she was certain that death had come to prove her wrong.

  1

  Fifteen Years Later …

  Very clean but basic. A satisfactory four-night stay. An answerphone and online booking system would be helpful as we found it very difficult to make a reservation.

  The Smiths, Birmingham

  Campsite Visitors’ Book

  Wanda Williams was doing the Right Thing.

  Everyone had said so. In their own particular way, of course, not missing the chance to point out her round-the-world trip had been delayed by fifteen years.

  ‘About bloody time,’ Blod Evans had bellowed across the counter of Blod’s Shop. ‘You’re not getting any younger!’ With arms aloft, she’d come at Wanda in a blur of cerise lipstick, red glasses, spiky silver hair tipped peacock blue and a dazzling gold-sequinned plus-size jumper, repeating it at volume in her ear in a huge cwtch of a cuddle. Telling the matriarch of Gobaith before anyone else had meant news of Wanda’s solo adventure raced up and down the bustling one-road high street faster than Usain Bolt, saving her the job of breaking the story.