Summer under the Stars

by Catherine Ferguson

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘Let’s just go straight home,’ I suggest.

  Clemmy shakes her head. ‘No, we’re going to see Joan.’ She grabs the piece of paper with the postcode and punches it into the satnav.

  ‘But we don’t need to go now. We could do it another day, when you’re—’

  Clemmy turns with a smile that’s too bright. ‘No time like the present.’

  The tension in the car is palpable as we drive the twenty or so miles to the village where Joan lives. Clemmy is no doubt brooding about Ryan and his blonde friend. And as for me, my stomach is churning at the thought of seeing Joan.

  On arrival, Clemmy parks by the village green and says she’ll take a walk along the high street to look at the shops while I’m at Joan’s.

  ‘Will you be okay?’ she asks as we part.

  I nod. ‘And you?’

  She shrugs but says nothing.

  ‘There’s a nice-looking pub over there,’ I say, pointing across the green. ‘Let’s grab a drink after?’

  ‘A drink or three,’ she says with feeling, no doubt thinking about Ryan grabbing that girl around the waist.

  ‘Hey, stop worrying. You can talk to Ryan when he gets back from this conference. He’ll set your mind at rest, I’m sure.’

  She gives me a half-smile. ‘Good luck at Joan’s. Phone me when you’re leaving.’

  I nod, wishing Clemmy was coming with me for support. A message pings through on my phone and I grin when I read it.

  ‘Surprise, surprise. Toby has decided to go into the Guildford office today after all. He says the sheep are getting on his nerves.’

  Despite everything, Clemmy giggles. ‘Are they bleating too loudly, then?’

  I shrug. ‘Presumably.’

  *

  The last time I saw Joan was when she came up for the funeral and stayed overnight to support me, but to be honest, I was on another planet altogether and wouldn’t have known even if the Queen had popped in, concerned about my emotional welfare.

  When she opens the door, her face lights up in the warmest smile of welcome – while at the same time, her eyes swim with tears. I knew this would happen. Seeing me is bound to make Joan really emotional about Mum.

  ‘Daisy, my love. How wonderful to see you! Come in, come in.’

  Joan’s brown hair has vibrant strands of auburn and caramel running through it and she’s wearing a kaftan-type top in deep turquoise with a jewelled neckline, over loose linen trousers. We hug in the tiny hallway of the cottage and I breathe in the floral scent I remember from last time I saw her. It brings memories of the funeral flooding back but I brush them away and force a smile.

  She strokes my cardigan fondly. ‘I remember this. It was your mum’s favourite. She used to say it made her feel like royalty wearing it!’

  ‘Oh, this thing?’ I say brightly, looking down as if I’ve just noticed what I’m wearing. ‘Yes, it’s a great cover-all. You can wear it over jeans or if you’re going out somewhere nice. It’s very versatile.’ I’m prattling, I know, but panic is rising inside me. Joan’s sorrow is like a living, breathing thing in the room with us, and I’m not sure I can handle it.

  Her smile wobbles for a second. Then she rubs my arm briskly. ‘Come on, love, let’s get us a cuppa. Or perhaps you’d prefer a soft drink?’

  ‘I’m … I’m sorry I’ve been so bad at being in touch,’ I say, watching her pour lemonade over ice into a tall pink glass. ‘I’ve just been – um – so busy.’

  She brushes off my apologies. ‘Time just seems to run away. Your mum and I always used to say we should arrange to meet up more often, but then we only ever managed once a year. Life gets in the way!’

  ‘She loved her trips down to see you.’

  ‘And so did I.’ Her gaze is far away, remembering. ‘Now, of course, I wish we had made the time …’ She gives her head a sad little shake. Then she rallies herself. ‘But it can’t be helped. So how are you, Daisy? Tell me what’s been happening.’

  Sitting in her cosy country-style kitchen, we swap news, Mum never far from the subject, and I start to relax a little. It’s comforting being with someone who loved Mum almost as much as I did. Watching Joan refresh the teapot with more boiling water, a sharp pang of longing takes me by surprise. In an ideal world, my biological mum would turn out to be someone warm and homely like Joan or Toby’s mum, Rosalind. Not the rather vapid, cold, fashion-obsessed woman that is Arabella. I mean, how could I possibly be her offspring? I’ve worn double denim in the past and felt totally fine about it!

  At last, I pluck up the courage to broach the subject with Joan. When she brings the teapot back to the table, I just come out with it. ‘Joan, did Mum ever tell you who my birth mum was?’

  The teapot freezes in mid-air as she looks at me, and a strange expression flits across her face. For one wild second, I wonder if she’s going to say that she’s my biological mum. That Mum and Dad couldn’t have children so she offered to be a surrogate …

  But next second, my ridiculous hopes are dashed when she says softly, ‘Your mum never knew the girl’s name. Even though she did actually …’ Joan trails off.

  ‘She did actually …?’

  Joan gets up and crosses to the window, staring out over the garden.

  I watch her struggling with whatever conflict is going on inside her, as my heart hammers like fury. Despite the tea, my mouth feels suddenly bone dry.

  At last, Joan turns. ‘Your mum met her,’ she says softly. ‘She was just a young girl. A teenager. She came to the house when you were about three or four and tried to take you back.’

  A bolt of shock thrusts through me, leaving me temporarily speechless.

  Joan pours more tea and sits down in the seat next to me, laying her warm hand over mine. ‘Your mum rang me afterwards, in complete shock.’ She shakes her head, remembering.

  ‘So how did she … I mean, did she just try to snatch me away? The girl?’

  ‘She didn’t just try. She actually succeeded. Apparently she was quite hysterical. But your mum managed to get to you just as she was about to whisk you away in a car that was waiting.’

  ‘There was someone with her?’

  ‘Another girl, I think. Your mum couldn’t be sure.’ She shudders. ‘She used to say to me, “What would I have done, Joan, if I’d been too late to rescue her? I might never have seen Daisy again.”’

  Something occurs to me. ‘Oh my God, the nightmare!’

  Joan looks puzzled as I stare at her in shock.

  ‘I’ve never known if it was a nightmare or an actual memory but I’ve experienced it a dozen times at least. I’m in the dark, running along a lane with giant snowy hedgerows on either side, and I’m desperately afraid. And then I lose something. And even though I don’t know what it is, I feel the loss of it like it’s the most important thing in the world to me.’ I take a big breath in and let it out slowly. ‘I guess now I know it actually happened. It was a memory of that time I was snatched from Mum.’

  Joan nods eagerly. ‘I think you’re right. The house you lived in was set back from the main road, at the end of a narrow lane with tall hedges on either side, just like you describe. It happened in January and there was snow on the ground. I remember your mum saying the snow slowed the girl down. She kept slipping in her unsuitable shoes, which was how she managed to catch up with her and wrestle you away from her. She was home alone because your dad was working late that night.’

  ‘Thank goodness she managed to get me back.’

  Joan murmurs her agreement. ‘You dropped your teddy bear in the lane and your mum never found it. She thought the girl must have taken it.’

  ‘That’s part of the memory,’ I gasp. ‘I just have this horrible panicky feeling that I’ve lost something forever. It must have been the teddy bear!’

  Joan nods. ‘Of course, your mum was scared stiff after that. She realised the girl must be the biological mother, who’d somehow managed to find out where you lived. She
never had a moment’s peace in that house after that day. Especially when you were at school or where she couldn’t keep her eye on you.’

  ‘That’s why we moved.’ It suddenly makes sense. ‘They wanted to make sure I was safe and the girl couldn’t snatch me again.’

  ‘Yes. They called the police after it happened, of course, so presumably the girl would have received a caution at least for trying to take you. But your mum was terrified it would happen again. She wanted to move to Scotland, as far away as she could, but your dad persuaded her that Manchester was far enough and it would be easier to keep in touch with everyone here.’ Joan smiles sadly. ‘In the end, though, she only really kept in touch with me. I think she was worried that if people knew where you’d all gone, word might somehow get back to the biological mother and she’d track you down.’

  ‘Did she tell you about the handbag?’ I ask suddenly.

  Joan frowns. ‘I don’t think so. The girl’s handbag?’

  I nod. ‘I think she must have dropped it in the struggle.’ I produce the envelope from my pocket to show her. ‘This was in a zipped pocket inside. It’s got our address scribbled on it. And I assumed the typed address on the envelope must be hers, but now I’m not sure.’

  Joan stares at the envelope. ‘Have you been to this Maple Tree House?’

  ‘Yes. A woman called Arabella lives there.’

  Joan looks at me. ‘And do you think she could be …?’

  I heave a sigh. ‘I really don’t know. She might be. She’s about the right age, I think. But something doesn’t feel right.’ Then I shrug. ‘Maybe it’s just wishful thinking because I can’t really imagine having – someone like her for a mum.’

  Joan looks sad. ‘Daisy, no one is ever going to be as lovely as your real mum,’ she says softly. ‘And she was your real mum. Make no mistake about that. No mother could ever have loved her daughter more than that woman loved you.’

  She smiles at me through her tears and I bite the inside of my mouth hard.

  ‘You were truly the light of her life.’ She squeezes my hand so tightly, it hurts. ‘But maybe you need to give this other woman a chance?’

  ‘It might not be her. Even if she owned the handbag, it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s my birth mum.’

  Joan nods slowly, thinking. Then her eyes widen. ‘I think I know who could help. I go to the local WI and one of the members, Lottie, lives in Appley Green, in Acomb Road. She’s lived in the same house all her life, so she might be able to shed light on the family who lived in Maple Tree House.’ She leans forward. ‘Actually, Lottie has a reputation for being a bit – um – curious, shall we say?’

  ‘You mean she’s the village gossip?’

  ‘Yes. But don’t tell her I said that.’ Joan smiles. ‘If anyone would know about a baby being born years ago at Maple Tree House, it would be Lottie. Would you like me to talk to her?’

  I shoot her an anxious look. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I promise I’ll be very subtle about it.’

  ‘Okay, then.’

  My stomach is churning at the very thought of being one step closer to the truth.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I leave Joan’s cottage soon after, promising to keep in regular contact and let her know if I discover anything significant. And she tells me she’ll phone me after she’s spoken to Lottie.

  She hugs me really tightly on the doorstep and I know she’s remembering Mum. I cling on to her, the familiar feelings of panic rising up more powerfully than ever, making my whole body tremble.

  Clemmy is shocked when I tell her about my biological mother coming to the house and trying to snatch me back.

  ‘But I can’t understand how she could possibly have got hold of your address,’ she murmurs in wonder. ‘Aren’t personal details meant to stay private in adoption cases?’

  I shrug. ‘Who knows? It obviously scared Mum to death, though, and I really hate the thought of how she must have suffered after that. She must have been terrified the girl would come back to try again.’

  Clemmy murmurs her assent.

  ‘But aside from that, I’m actually glad she came looking for me because at least I now have a clue to her identity. If she hadn’t left her bag, finding her would have been impossible. Joan says she knows the village gossip who’s lived along the road from Maple Tree House all her life.’

  ‘That must be Lottie.’ Clemmy grins.

  ‘You know her?’ I ask, astonished.

  Clemmy nods. ‘Poppy caters at her dinner parties and Lottie sometimes pops along here to talk over the menu. We have a theory it’s just an excuse so she can get the gossip from Poppy over a cuppa in the Log Fire Cabin.’

  ‘Perhaps Lottie will know, then. If there was a baby,’ I murmur.

  We drive a little way in silence and when I glance at Clemmy she looks far away, wrapped in thought – definitely not like an excited bride-to-be.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I murmur. ‘Will you phone Ryan tonight?’

  She heaves a sigh. ‘He’ll be in Paris until Saturday. I need to tackle him face to face about this, not over the phone, so it looks like it’ll have to wait.’

  ‘It’s probably nothing, you know,’ I venture, wishing I could be sure it was true.

  The look she gives me – full of sad wistfulness – makes me realise she doesn’t believe that for a moment.

  ‘Come over later if you like,’ I tell her when we arrive back at camp. ‘Toby probably won’t be back until after nine so we could talk.’

  ‘Thanks, Daisy, but I said I’d help Poppy with preparations for her stall at the fayre on Saturday.’

  She looks far away, no doubt stewing over Ryan.

  It’s only when I’m out of the car and walking over to the tent that I remember Clemmy was about to tell me something in the café, before we were interrupted. After her shock at seeing Ryan with that girl, it must have gone from her mind.

  *

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me today but I’m feeling really emotional.

  Wandering around the tent, I feel jumpy, like I don’t really know what to do with myself. It’s a weird feeling. I wish I could call Toby and ask him to come back, but I can’t because I know he’ll be engrossed in work and won’t appreciate the interruption.

  In the end, I decide it must be seeing Joan again and talking about Mum that’s made me feel as if my mind has been thrown into a whirling pit of unwelcome feelings.

  Thinking about it, visiting Mum’s oldest friend was always going to be a stumbling block on my route to recovery. Joan is the only person alive who loved Mum nearly as much as I did. Her display of grief was clearly going to have an effect on me.

  Needing to shake off my mood, I decide a walk would do me good. I’ll email my manuscript over to Jake then I’ll go on over there. I bat away a little niggle of guilt. Jake’s a friend and I enjoy talking to him. That’s all …

  I’ve almost reached the woods when my mobile rings. It’s Toby.

  ‘Just wondered where you are,’ he says.

  ‘Oh. Well, I’m out for a walk round the lake.’ There’s a blaring of a horn in the background. He must be driving.

  ‘Right. So what time do you think you’ll be back?’

  ‘I’ll be an hour at least. Why?’

  ‘No reason. I’m on my way home but you just enjoy your walk. Take your time and I’ll see you when you get back. No hurry!’

  I hang up, feeling slightly less shaky inside. I’ve been trying hard not to feel abandoned by Toby over the past few days. But he’s en route here now so everything will be fine. I’ll make dinner and I’ll open up to him about everything that’s on my mind …

  I think about turning back now so I’m in the tent when he returns. But I really want to make sure Jake has received the manuscript. I won’t be away for long.

  So I walk on, thinking about Toby’s call. He sounded pretty relieved to have missed the walk. Looking back, I realise I made entirely the wrong choice in deciding he�
��d enjoy a glamping holiday – but I’m learning fast! I guess that’s half the fun of embarking on a new relationship – learning all about each other’s likes and dislikes and funny little habits.

  It’s clear that if Toby and I stay together, I’m going to have to get used to doing the outdoorsy stuff by myself. Not that it particularly bothers me. I rather like going for walks alone. It’s nice being able to just let my mind drift, instead of finding myself discussing complicated work matters – as I often end up doing when I’m with Toby – and trying my best to understand the job of a financial analyst!

  When I arrive at Jake’s camp, he’s not there. The tent is zipped up and the fire has gone out. A huge pang of disappointment hits, I suppose because it’s been a totally wasted journey. Ridiculously, I almost feel like crying.

  I carry on through the woods until I come out the other side, and then I see his car parked in the lane. My tummy gives a funny little lurch. Wherever Jake’s gone, he must be on foot, which means he’s probably not too far away.

  I’m pondering whether to turn back into the woods, in the hope that I might find him, when a deep voice behind me says, ‘I’ve been thinking about you.’

  I swing round and there he is, standing in a shaft of sunlight filtering down through the trees. He’s balancing branches on his shoulder, presumably to make a new fire, and he’s smiling at me in that eye-crinkling way that always catches at my heart.

  ‘Admit it. You’ve come back for more nettle tea.’ His lips twist and I start to laugh.

  ‘In your dreams.’

  ‘Perhaps nettle soup might be more to your taste?’ he suggests, raising an eyebrow. ‘I must have known you were coming. I made a big pan of it this morning.’

  ‘Mmm, yes. Sounds lovely. But sadly, I’ve just eaten.’

  We beam at each other, enjoying the moment, and I feel an excited fluttering inside.

  Jake rubs his hands together. ‘Right. I’ve got ordinary teabags. Or whisky?’ he says, pointing into the woods by way of invitation.

  I nod, unable to stop smiling, and we start walking side by side back to his camp.

  ‘Thanks for the manuscript,’ he says.