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

by Laura Kemp

  At least there were only a couple of single tent bookings until next week, so the coast was clear for Wanda to get going. She sank onto a chair at the kitchen table and flicked through the admin. Plenty of unpaid bills told her that Mam was struggling with the finances. Luckily, Wanda had her travel savings and she could pay them off. But would it be so easy to fix the campsite? Maybe she should close it down until she’d managed it. But dropping the curtain would mean no income at all – and for God knows how long. This business was all about the summer trade – they simply couldn’t miss the season. Besides, there was a group arriving in a few days and it was too late, too unfair on them, to cancel. She had no other option but to grit her teeth and get on with it.

  But where was she going to find help at such short notice? There was only one place to start – Blod’s Shop. Wanda showered and found some of the clothes she’d boxed up because she wouldn’t be needing them in the tropics – if she was staying here, she couldn’t walk around in Dad’s old waxed jacket and wellies. She must’ve seemed like a madwoman to Annie, who, she had noticed, while lean and muscular in her body, with her big hair tied back, appeared softer round the edges, having grown into her striking looks.

  Then she was on her way on Cary’s bike, taking big breaths and trying again to be upbeat. Because Blod would help anyone. There was no need for a community noticeboard because she was the community noticeboard and she embodied the English meaning of Gobaith, which translated as ‘hope’. Barely had Wanda entered the gloriously old-fashioned parlour with its wooden shelves bursting with goodies than she found the Williams family was top-of-the-hour news.

  ‘Terrible about your mam, Wanda,’ Blod said, buzzing her way to her from the vintage till in a black-and-yellow bumble-bee mohair jumper dress to give her a hug. ‘There’s a hamper going her way, I put it together this morning with all her favourites, you know, that local honey she likes, better than that rubbish jam you get in hospital,’ she chattered, boiling like pea soup, ‘a couple of bars of that lovely Cambrian chocolate, a snifter of sherry …’ Meanwhile Wanda was suffocating under Blod’s tickly woolly top. ‘It’ll be something nice to wake up to, you know, after her operation this afternoon.’

  ‘This afternoon?’ Wanda cried as she released herself from Blod’s bosom. But Carys hadn’t messaged yet!

  ‘Yes, so Bronwen says.’ Blod returned to her crow’s nest and popped a boiled sweet. ‘Welsh cake and custard,’ she winked, offering a bulging paper bag to Wanda. ‘New in, very popular.’

  ‘But your sister’s in Portugal!’ Wanda said, waving away the distraction. She didn’t need Blod to go off on a tangent now.

  ‘Yes,’ Blod said, smiling as if it was obvious, ‘but her old neighbour, Diane, her cousin’s son was visiting, out of hours, mind, but he knows someone who knows the sister on ward four, and he saw your mam this morning, see?’ She gave a firm suck like it was a full stop.

  ‘Wow. Well, thanks for telling me. I think.’ This was the good-stroke-terrible thing – depending on what it was concerning – about Gobaith life. Secrets had to be buried deep to remain that way.

  ‘Awful luck for you, Wanda, dear, with your travels.’

  ‘Just a delay, that’s all it is.’

  ‘That’s the spirit! No point lifting your petticoat after you’ve wet yourself, eh?’ Trust Blod to use the plain-speaking local version of no point crying over spilt milk. But her straight-talking was part of her charm. And it came at Wanda again: ‘So you’ve seen Annie then. She came back to grab her flask, told me all about it. Good to see you’re talking at last.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, Blod.’

  ‘In my long sixty-six years on this earth, Wanda, I’ve learned a thing or two about pain. If you hold on to it then it never stops hurting. She’s not a bad person, Wanda. You know that. She wants to help you too. Your mother never tarred Annie with the brush used on Ryan.’

  ‘I understand why you’re on her side, you’re like family to her. But I can’t even go there.’

  ‘Listen, I remember when she pinched a sausage roll from the shop, years ago. I could’ve given her a good hiding, but I heard her out. Ryan was hungry, there was nothing in for him at home. After that, I’d slip him something every now and then. She never did it again. The point is, people have reasons for doing things, everyone deserves a second chance.’

  But Wanda could never imagine being close to Annie again. And she didn’t want to discuss it any more – time was pressing on. ‘Anyway, I’m here because I need to pick your brains.’

  ‘Anything,’ Blod said, and she meant it, she was the beating heart of Gobaith.

  ‘I’ve got six days until the season starts. The campsite’s a mess. I need some help. I can’t do it by myself.’

  ‘What about some of the farmer boys?’

  ‘They’ll want paying and we’re skint.’

  ‘It’s going to be hard finding someone with so little warning. There is Spike at Fork Handles. He seems keen.’ Blod raised her eyebrows.

  Incomers, especially English ones, always wanted to throw themselves into community life. It’d be very weird going back into her old office. But what option did she have? Phil the Pill, who’d be thrilled she wasn’t leaving, would take it as a come-on if she asked.

  ‘I’ll try him then,’ Wanda said.

  Blod suddenly froze – had she had a lightbulb moment? Wanda waited expectantly, praying she’d recalled a twenty-four-hour crack squad of altruistic grafters. But Blod’s eyes were aimed behind Wanda’s left shoulder. She turned round just as Blod bellowed a name Wanda knew so well.

  ‘Look who it is! Lewis Jones! As I live and breathe!’

  Wanda’s jaw flopped and he registered her at the same time, his face falling, taking a nervous step backwards. But it wasn’t just his actual physical presence that shocked her but what had become of him. In a dirty fleece and holey trousers, he was completely dishevelled. Exhausted-looking, sallow and with baggy moss-coloured eyes, which quickly darted away from her to Blod.

  Then it was as if the sun had come out when he smiled at Blod, his gaze turning to summer leaves. It was like seeing the old Lew and Wanda felt her stomach somersault. Her heart boomed too, filling her ears, and she watched with a dry mouth as Blod went to him and reached up to pinch his cheek of dark stubble to check it really was him, a long-lost child.

  ‘Still so handsome!’ Blod cooed. Wanda was startled to find herself agreeing. ‘Well I never! It’s you. I can’t believe it!’

  Neither could Wanda, especially hot on the heels of seeing Annie. Nothing of either of them for fifteen years, then both in the same morning. It felt like a conspiracy to her as her emotions rose in her chest. But where there had been anger with Annie, there was confusion instead - the memory of how much she’d loved him rushed in, their almost kiss, and then the emptiness of remembering he’d gone without saying a proper goodbye and how years of friendship she’d thought was stronger than steel had evaporated almost overnight.

  Lew cwtched Blod hard. Wanda gulped as he shut his eyes, his defences down and she took the chance to take him all in as he towered taller and wider than he’d been as a young man, yet still soft too, with those still luxuriant cow’s eyelashes of his.

  As they parted, Lew looked again at Wanda and gave her a small nod of recognition, which she returned. She understood his gesture, even though she didn’t understand who he was any more, because she couldn’t find the words to speak to him either. How did you pick something back up which had been screwed into a ball and lobbed into the bin?

  ‘I thought you were in Norfolk! Those builders you got in at The Bunkhouse giving you trouble?’ Blod said.

  ‘Got back a few days ago,’ he said in a deeper, more gravelly voice than he used to have, ‘I’m taking over the redevelopment for the foreseeable. I’ve signed up with the mountain rescue, too,’ he said, pointing at the logo on his top. �
��Thought I might as well while I’m around.’

  Wanda lurched inside. It sounded like he was doing a Take That – back for good. Or at least a while.

  Blod beamed. ‘How lovely! Time for a cuppa?’

  ‘No, lots to do. Just popped in for some caffeine. To prop my eyes open. Had a call-out last night, a sheep stuck in a ditch. Then it was impossible to get back to sleep.’

  ‘We’ll have a proper catch-up soon in that case. Coffee’s between the nappies and cat food.’

  He went off to the shelves and Blod elbowed Wanda. ‘You could ask him to help.’

  Wanda stared at her, stunned. You couldn’t not see someone for fifteen years and then just ask if they minded saving your life. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, her pulse still galloping from the encounter.

  ‘Life’s too short,’ Blod replied knowingly.

  It was all too much. Wanda was glad of the excuse that enabled her to leave. ‘I’m off to speak to Spike. Thanks, Blod. I’ll leave you to it.’

  Before Blod could protest, Wanda went, stopping herself from taking a look at Lew because it would only throw her even further – she could think about this later, and she knew she would. The important thing now was to recruit a helper.

  As she approached Fork Handles she saw she’d have to get past the jumble of plastic wares that had belched its way onto the pavement. Luminous pink and green ‘pow’ shapes of cardboard in the window yelled ‘Bargains galore!!!’ and ‘DIY tips!!!’ and inside was heaving. Wanda plotted her way through the mops and spades, chairs and buckets, immediately identifying the proprietor – he had an energy around him, a kind of celestial light, like a beacon for those in need of home-improvement advice. Effortlessly, and in a very different accent to theirs, he dealt with one inquiry after another – ‘you need a six-millimetre steel ’ex nut’; ‘sandin’ sponges go furver than sandpaper’; ‘try a USB socket, you won’t regret it, mate!’ – and all with a smile. Wanda knew she’d found her man, or rather her cockney geezer.

  He appeared at her side and held out a hand which was surprisingly smooth to the touch.

  ‘Wotcher! I’m Spike. You’re …Wanda, right?’

  His blue eyes twinkled and she could have sworn he had a halo above his blond crew cut. Capable, manly and very pleasing to the eye, too. Plus he knew who she was and that told her he wanted to get along here.

  ‘Hi, yes! I used to—’

  ‘Work here? Must be weird seeing it all changed.’ He folded his hefty arms across acres of chest and gave her the most understanding look. It was the polar opposite of that cool and muted scene with Lew and she felt liberated by his warmth and, for the first time that day, hopeful.

  She thought back to the tick-tock of slow business, Glanmor’s lunchtime dozes at his desk – and her own frustration. ‘It is odd. But it’s brilliant to see it busy in here. It’s got a new life.’

  ‘What can I say? People love a bargain!’ Spike said. ‘So … what can I ’elp you with?’

  ‘Ah, I’m afraid I’m not here to buy anything. I’m on a begging mission.’

  ‘If I can do anyfing, I will.’ She couldn’t help but notice his teeth were straight out of a Colgate advert, his tan was the healthy outdoors sort and his Fork Handles T-shirt strained over his biceps. How old was he? Late thirties? And no wedding ring. This Spike was going to be inundated with flirty requests for a screw. She filled him in, asking if he’d pop over to the campsite to have a look at what needed doing, see if he could show her what to do …

  ‘I love a bit of DIY SOS!’ he said. ‘I always ’ave a cry at that on the telly.’

  Oh, stop! He was bordering on Perfect Male!

  ‘I’ll bring the van up, some tools, ’ave a butcher’s, see what we can do.’

  ‘Amazing! Thank you so much, Spike! I don’t know how to repay you!’

  ‘A drink?’ he said, instantly.

  O-kaaay. That was forward. Was this nice-guy thing an act to cover up his inner sleaze?

  Wanda took a step back. His face fell.

  ‘Sorry!’ He held up his hands and did a very good job of looking bashful. ‘I ain’t making myself clear … Look, I’m new here and I just want to get to know some women. Oh Gawd, that came out wrong too. Let me explain, cards on the table. I want to make friends … Lucy, my wife, she died two years ago, and Arthur, our eleven-year-old’ – he pronounced it Arfur – ‘he’s struggling still, obviously, as you would. Misses her so much. Trouble is, the family is all over the place, there’s no close aunties or grannies, one’s in Scotland and the other is in Spain. We moved around a lot too, I was in the forces, and ’e was never anywhere long enough. So I saw this opportunity, to make a permanent ’ome for us here, in this beautiful part of the world, to settle, and … I think he needs some female company in his life …’

  God love him, Wanda thought.

  ‘I see, I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe bring him up with you when you come? Would that work?’

  ‘Yeah! Nice one.’ Relief was written all over his face.

  He wasn’t a sleazebag, far from it. Self-effacing and sweet, he just wanted the best for his boy. Wanda said goodbye, she had so much to do – she needed to ring Carys, get up to the hospital to see Mam and make a start on a plan of attack on the campsite, prioritising what was compulsory and what could wait. She watched as Spike was swallowed by a swarm of customers. He’ll fit in here, she thought, mounting her bike. Especially if he’s willing to work up a sweat for nothing. And who was she to argue, if he was going to be doing that for her benefit.

  5

  Lew’s arms around her was the closest thing Annie had to having her brother back.

  With the wind whipping around them, she squeezed him hard as tears of joy and sadness blurred the individual stones of The Bunkhouse, turning them into a slab of grey, segueing into the mountain which was yet to burst into spring.

  It was the most bittersweet of moments. So harsh a reminder of what she had lost; Lew had been Ryan’s best friend, his only friend in fact, and his defender. It made her imagine how Ryan would have looked now. He wouldn’t have been as firm as Lew, but would he have filled out from his whippet frame and sunken chest? Would he have been nudging silver, like she was?

  The regrets took the opportunity to barge their way in: if only she’d been able to protect him from his upbringing. If only she could have saved him … Yet being with Lew again was a real thrill. He was a physical connection to Ryan, an anchor when she was adrift, here and now as well as in the past, when she knew he’d pick up if she rang. A good part of her past, and someone with whom she could be herself, free of hesitation and doubt. He was also the one person who had believed that there was a chance Ryan hadn’t started the fire. Lew had never found him; he’d gone to the other side of the mountain, to an old haunt of theirs, then as the slopes breathed fire, he’d rushed home to check on his parents. Annie was crushed that he hadn’t returned for Ryan’s funeral, but then again the course had been a long way away and to miss a week or so would have set him back and she’d wanted nothing further bad to come of the fire.

  ‘Fifteen years!’ he laughed as they separated and their clothes rippled in the stiff breeze. ‘You haven’t changed!’

  ‘I bloody well hope I have!’ Annie said, blinking back her conflicting emotions to take him in just as a scud of cloud whooshed away, allowing the sun to light him up.

  At thirty-four, he had aged – he’d spent his working life outdoors – but in the way men did, their skin maturing. With a thick head of dark hair and laughing green eyes, he was in his prime, or at least he would be if he didn’t look so tired.

  ‘You’re not doing too bad yourself!’ she said, pulling her Puffa closer and stamping her feet on the muddy gravel. It could be a nice day down in the village but up here where it was exposed and unsheltered, it was unforgiving.

  ‘Only because I’m stood
next to this pile of rubble!’ he said, thumbing the scaffolded building. ‘Makes anyone look half-decent.’

  ‘Oh, cer i grafu!’ she teased through her dancing hair. This had always been their way and she was chuffed it had come back to them so easily in person.

  ‘Go and scratch? Charming!’ He gave a harrumph of fake outrage.

  ‘Fishing for compliments as ever, Lewis Jones!’

  But that was unfair to him, really; he’d never been a big-head about his looks, more confused actually about the attention he got from girls, who’d either sigh and part the way at Gobaith Community Hall youth club to allow him through, or else throw themselves in his path. He’d only ever had eyes for Wanda.

  ‘Yeah, and look what good it’s done me,’ he said, suddenly looking battered and beaten. ‘Exiled from Norfolk.’

  It was an inkling of why he’d returned. But that’d come, there was no need to press him for details.

  ‘Well, you’ll be a wanted man here then, won’t you, eh?’ she said softly.

  ‘Not getting involved with women, thanks very much.’ So heartbreak was responsible for his reappearance. Wasn’t it always? ‘This is my life now. The Bunkhouse.’ He nodded with determination, the cracks plastered over.

  With the scrub of the forecourt littered with materials and rubbish, it was clear there was still much to do, but it was a vast improvement already on the decrepit barn that had been a hideaway for generations of kids, including her.

  ‘To think we used to come up here for a sneaky can of cider! How long has this taken to do so far?’

  ‘A month. The builders came in. Then I ran out of this,’ he said, rubbing his fingers together. ‘I’d used up all the money from my half of the house we owned. So I had to get down here a few days ago to finish it. Inside was pretty much sorted, actually, I was lucky, they did a tidy job. The last few bits are mainly cosmetic, painting and whatnot. Come and see.’