Summer under the Stars

by Catherine Ferguson

  Sylvia stands up, snapping back to her usual professional manner. ‘Right, I’d better get on. Take care, Daisy. And if there’s anything I can do, just let me know.’

  ‘I will.’ I can’t imagine there’d be anything – unless I found myself stranded here with nowhere to stay – but it’s really nice of her to say so.

  As I leave the hotel, I make a mental note to do what Sylvia says and not dwell on the bad things but move forward as best I can.

  Back at the tent, I pick up my cardigan, remembering how delighted I was when Jake brought it back. I wish now that I’d told him the truth about Toby and me. Perhaps then he wouldn’t have just disappeared without a word.

  I’d been planning to stay for the summer fayre tomorrow to help out on Poppy’s cake stall. Now, I’m tempted to just pack up and leave early tomorrow morning. Move on with my life, as Sylvia advised me to do.

  I bury my face in the cardigan’s softness, as though Mum’s scent might still be lingering there. But all I can smell is the faint aroma of fabric conditioner and an outdoorsy, smoky scent. The garment has been washed so many times, it now has more bobbles than a shop full of woolly hats. Carefully, I fold it up. Then I open my case and lay it inside.

  It’s the middle of summer.

  I have no need of an extra layer …

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Next morning, I’m up early after a disturbed night’s sleep.

  I’ve had breakfast, showered and made a start on my packing when Clemmy calls round just before nine.

  She gives me a sheepish grin. ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling this early but I wanted to make sure you’d be here for the fayre?’

  When I make an uncertain face, she says, ‘Oh, please stay. Poppy wants me to man the cake stall and it would be so much more fun if you were there to help me.’

  She looks so disappointed that I’m going, I feel quite emotional. After less than a week, I feel like Clemmy and I are as good friends as we ever were. And I need all the friends I can get right now!

  ‘Okay, I’ll stay another day and leave tomorrow morning. If you help me get a hire car to drive back to Manchester.’

  ‘Yay!’ Clemmy punches the air. ‘Of course I’ll help. I’ve got the number of the local car hire firm in my phone.’ She smiles expectantly. ‘I also came over to ask how it went with Jake yesterday. Did you talk to him?’

  When I tell her what happened, her face falls. ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe he just left without saying anything to you. I have to say, he’s gone way down in my estimation … unless it was an emergency?’

  I shrug off her question, determined not to waste any more time thinking about the reasons for Jake’s hasty departure.

  We’d known each other barely a week after all. He didn’t owe me anything.

  Sylvia’s warning flashes into my mind.

  I’m not going to let any man stop me from moving forward into my future …

  *

  It’s a lovely day for a summer fayre. A hot sun shines in a clear blue sky but there’s a cooling breeze keeping the temperature just right.

  Clemmy, Poppy and I drive over in Poppy’s van, the back loaded with cakes and pastries of all descriptions. We unload the trays of goodies over at the stall we’ve been allocated, on the far side of the field behind Sylvia’s hotel, then Poppy drives the van to the car park provided for stall holders.

  I’m on edge all the time, wondering if Jake will be here.

  I know that, logically, it doesn’t make sense because he’s no longer camping out in the woods.

  He won’t be here. I know that.

  But a tiny part of me is still hoping …

  In the short time I’ve known him, Jake has managed to creep into my heart and take up residence there, and there’s not a thing I can do about it. Every time I see a tall man in jeans with tawny hair, my heart starts racing fit to burst out of my chest and I’m in a permanent state of excited expectation at the thought I might see him.

  Sad or what?

  As Clemmy and I start arranging the cakes in a mouth-watering display, a band – presumably hired for the day – is warming up nearby, playing old jazz classics, perfect for a hot summer day. There’s also some fairground roundabouts and a variety of other stalls that are beginning to take shape, including a Women’s Institute table selling homemade preserves and pickles.

  Clemmy is expecting Ryan to arrive any moment, back from the Paris conference, and I can tell she’s as distracted as I am. She wants to tackle her fiancé about the woman we saw him with in the café the other day. I really feel for her. Asking questions that could forever change your life as you know it isn’t always the easiest thing to do …

  I think about Arabella, wondering if she’ll be at the fayre today.

  Clemmy peers over at the WI stall. ‘That’s Lottie over there,’ she murmurs.

  I swing round to look. ‘The village gossip? Where?’

  ‘With the pale lilac perm? And the winged spectacles? She’ll be in her element. She’s got so many people here to winkle nuggets of gossip from!’

  ‘Maybe Joan will be here,’ I say, remembering she’s also a WI member. I glance around but I can’t see her. She said she’d be in touch when she’d spoken to Lottie about Maple Tree House, but so far, I’ve heard nothing.

  ‘Shall we go and talk to Lottie?’

  ‘What?’ I glance at her, startled. ‘Now?’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ says Clemmy reassuringly. ‘I know her quite well so I could talk to her myself if you like. I could say I’d heard that Arabella had had a baby when she was very young and I wondered if Lottie knew about it.’

  ‘Really?’ I gaze at Clemmy, my stomach doing somersaults at the very thought.

  She shrugs. ‘You need to find out who your birth mum is. And I’m sure Lottie will be only too glad to tell me if she knows anything.’

  I swallow. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Great.’ Clemmy beams at me. ‘I’ll go and talk to her now.’

  ‘Wait!’ I need to tell her not to mention me by name, but she’s already walking over there. And before I can run after her, I’m stopped by Sylvia who’s next in the queue for Poppy’s cakes.

  ‘You stayed on for the fayre?’ she says, and I have no choice but to stop and talk to her. Especially after her kindness in waiving my bill the day before.

  ‘Yes. I’m in no real rush to get back. I was living in Toby’s flat, so I’m going to have to find somewhere else to stay.’

  She nods in sympathy. ‘A brand-new start.’

  ‘Yes. That’s a nice way to put it. What are you doing buying cakes from Poppy, by the way?’ I smile at her. ‘I would have thought your chef could turn his hand to all manner of wonderful sweet things?’

  Sylvia touches my arm and murmurs confidingly, ‘Poppy’s chocolate muffins definitely have the edge. But don’t tell Chef I said that.’

  ‘Can I help you, Sylvia?’ asks Roxy, Poppy’s assistant. ‘Let me guess. Chocolate muffins by any chance?’

  Sylvia smiles. ‘Got it in one. Half a dozen, please.’

  Clemmy is racing back over, almost tripping over her own feet in her eagerness to talk to me.

  She pulls me to one side. ‘You’re not going to believe this,’ she murmurs. ‘But Lottie actually remembers a baby at Maple Tree House.’

  ‘She does?’ My heart starts racing. ‘But when?’

  ‘She reckons in 1987. She says she remembers because she’d just given birth herself to her son, Joe. She didn’t know the owners of Maple Tree House because they’d only recently moved in, but she recalls passing the garden with little Joe and seeing another baby in a pram. A woman came out into the garden and – Lottie being Lottie – immediately got talking to her over the hedge. She remembers jokingly saying, “Everyone seems to be having boys at the moment. Is this another one?” But the woman said no, it was a girl, and took the pram inside.’

  ‘It was a girl?’ My heart lurches.

  ‘Yes, but here’s t
he interesting bit. That was the one and only time Lottie clapped eyes on that baby.’ She raises her eyebrows meaningfully.

  ‘And that’s because the baby was adopted,’ I say slowly, my mind reeling.

  Clemmy nods. ‘It would certainly seem so.’

  ‘Was the woman Lottie spoke to Arabella?’

  Clemmy shakes her head. ‘Arabella would have been just a teenager. Lottie says the woman was probably in her forties.’

  ‘Arabella’s mother?’

  ‘I’d guess so.’ Clemmy frowns, then says just what I’m thinking. ‘I suppose another possibility is that you’re Arabella’s sister.’

  ‘But that wouldn’t really make sense, would it? It was a young girl who snatched me away.’ I sigh, my head going round in confusing circles.

  Clemmy nods thoughtfully. ‘At least we now know there was a baby living at the house and it was a girl.’ She smiles. ‘You might have to stay on here a little longer to get to the bottom of this mystery.’

  I grin at her. ‘I wish I could, but I’m back at work in Manchester on Monday.’

  ‘It’s looking more likely that Arabella is your mother.’

  ‘I wish I could be pleased.’

  ‘Is it time you talked to Arabella? Asked her outright about the baby?’

  ‘I think it probably is.’ I hold out my hand. ‘Look, I’m trembling.’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ says Clemmy reassuringly. ‘She’s here, actually. I just saw her.’

  ‘Really?’ I turn, surveying all the people milling around at the fayre. ‘Where?’

  ‘Clem, are there any more trays of pastries in the car?’ calls Roxy. ‘We’re running out fast.’

  Clemmy signals there are, then she touches my arm. ‘Back in a sec.’

  I nod vaguely and she goes off to the car. I’ve just spotted Arabella, over by the refreshments stall, talking to Sylvia.

  They seem to be arguing, if Arabella’s jerky hand gestures are anything to go by. As I watch, Sylvia rakes both hands through her hair and looks skywards, as if she’s trying to hold on to her anger. It’s not like her to lose her cool. I wonder what Arabella is saying to make her so annoyed?

  I start walking over and neither of them even notices me approaching.

  I’m within earshot just in time to hear Arabella say in her grating, high-pitched tone, ‘She probably will find out eventually but it certainly won’t be from me!’

  They both clock me standing there at the exact same moment and Arabella’s shocked expression is almost comical. Sylvia smoothes her hair, takes a breath and moves away, back to the stall, while Arabella’s eyes narrow and she gives me a look that could kill. It’s so full of venom, I almost gasp out loud. She storms past me, deliberately knocking my arm so that I stumble sideways. Then she disappears in the direction of the car park.

  What the hell is her problem with me?

  Perhaps she’s found out who I am. The baby she gave up for adoption …

  Oh God, Sylvia was standing behind us when Clemmy and I were talking about me searching for my birth mother. Could Sylvia have put two and two together and gone to tell Arabella? Sylvia doesn’t strike me as a gossip. She seems a very private, discreet sort of person. But then again I hardly know her.

  I walk over to the side of the field, my legs shaking, and sit down on the grass, leaning back against the fence.

  Tears are pooling in my eyes but I look upwards and determinedly blink them away.

  However much I might not like Arabella, seeing that look of venom on her face felt like a dagger in my gut. I’ve never felt so alone as I do right now. It’s a real physical pain inside.

  I think about Mum and what I’ve lost, and the lonely future I’m facing without her, and my shoulders start to shake. And then it’s impossible to stop the tears flooding down my face.

  After a while, I realise someone is standing over me.

  Ruby.

  ‘Is it your mum?’ she asks, frowning.

  I nod, wiping my face with a hanky and attempting a smile, and she drops down onto the grass beside me.

  For a moment there’s silence, broken only by an occasional post-weeping shudder from me.

  Then Ruby says in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘You’re lucky, really.’

  ‘Lucky?’ I stare at her, feeling such a burst of fury towards her that I find myself scrambling to my feet to get away, worried I’ll say something I’ll regret.

  ‘But you are,’ she says, calm as a cucumber, sitting cross-legged and staring up at me. ‘I mean, think of it this way: not everyone gets on with their mum. My best friend, Chloe, absolutely hates hers. I mean, she loves her, obviously, but she’d rather snog Simon Cowell than willingly spend any length of time with her mum. I know lots of people like that. They love their parents but they’re not exactly the people they’d choose to spend their precious free time with. But it was different for you and your mum.’ She shrugs. ‘I can tell you had such a close bond by the way you talk about her. You were the best of friends as well as mother and daughter, right?’

  I swallow and try to speak but my mouth is too dry.

  ‘So you were lucky. Really lucky to have experienced the sort of bond that I think must be quite rare. You should celebrate it and make your mum proud by …’ She pauses, searching around for inspiration. ‘By doing great things!’ She grimaces. ‘Because, let’s be realistic here, that’s really all you can do. And I’m not trying to say it’s easy, all this grief stuff. Because I know it’s not. When my gerbil died, I cried for days. Weeks.’ She shrugs. ‘Mind you, I was only ten years old. And I know we’re not talking about gerbils, but it’s love all the same … isn’t it?’

  I gaze down at this wise-beyond-her-years eighteen-year-old, a grudging smile breaking through. ‘Perhaps I’ll get a gerbil, then.’

  Ruby nods enthusiastically. ‘Perhaps you should. Or learn to fly a plane. Or become a cordon bleu cook. Or backpack around the world with just a chimpanzee for company. And you can do it in your mum’s memory and know that she’ll always be in your heart, cheering you on.’ She makes a face. ‘Ugh, I sound like a bad romance novel.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ I drop down to join her on the grass. ‘Well, admittedly that last bit was a little nauseating. But in general, you’re on the right track.’

  ‘Good.’ She nods as if to say her job is done.

  ‘I could send my book out to some publishers.’

  ‘There you are! Brilliant! You’ll be a writer!’

  ‘As easy as that, eh?’ I tease her, nudging her so that she loses her balance and rolls on her side with a dramatic shriek then collapses into giggles.

  She springs to her feet. ‘I need cake. What about you?’

  I nod, holding out my hand. ‘Cake. Definitely.’ She hauls me to my feet and we wander companionably in the direction of Poppy’s stall, where a large queue has formed.

  A car roars by and I glance up and see it’s Arabella’s Mini Clubman breaking the speed limit.

  ‘I wonder what rattled her cage?’ mutters Ruby, staring after it. ‘Maybe she’s just had bad news.’

  ‘I think you might be right,’ I murmur.

  I take a deep breath and turn my attention to the cakes. It’s probably for the best.

  I’d hate to have Arabella as a mother anyway …

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘I can’t believe it, Daisy. He’s brought her here. Look!’ Clemmy hisses in my ear as Ruby’s chatting to Roxy, paying for her strawberry-topped angel cake.

  Pulling Clemmy away from the queue so we can talk, I look over at where she’s pointing and, sure enough, there’s Ryan walking over the grass with the slim, blonde girl from the café.

  Clemmy’s pretty face is flushed. ‘He’s just driven back from London. I told him to come straight here and find me, but I didn’t expect him to be bringing a bloody passenger!’

  As we watch, Ryan spots us and waves. The blonde girl says something to him, raises her hand and strolls off in another direction.r />
  ‘Right, I’m going to have it out with him,’ says Clemmy, looking more focused and determined than I’ve ever seen her. ‘He’s never mentioned her to me and there’s only one reason why he wouldn’t. He knows I wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘It might be totally innocent,’ I remind her.

  She throws me a sceptical look and marches over the grass to meet Ryan.

  I feel tense and apprehensive watching her spiky body language as she approaches her fiancé, head held high to give her confidence. Underneath the façade, I know she’s as vulnerable as a new-born chick.

  I’m so fond of Clemmy. I want her to have the wedding she longs for with the man she loves, but from where I’m standing, things look very far from rosy right now.

  They’ve stopped in the middle of the field and Clemmy is throwing her arms around wildly. Ryan is standing there staring at her, with the bewildered look of a man who’s just been ambushed.

  Then he starts gesticulating, at which point Clemmy tosses her head and starts marching in my direction, Ryan following a few paces behind.

  As they get nearer, I can hear their conversation, though I’m pretending to examine some silver earrings on the jewellery stall.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve been keeping all this in. Why didn’t you just come out and ask me who she was?’ demands Ryan.

  ‘Because it wasn’t just her. It was all the late nights and sleepovers in London you’ve been having lately. You must admit, you never used to stay over. You always came home, no matter how late it was.’

  ‘Yes, because I was desperate to see you, but it was starting to affect my performance at work. I’m knackered, Clem! Planning a wedding is stressful. I’m just trying to stay sane.’

  Clemmy doesn’t seem particularly reassured by this.

  ‘You still haven’t told me who your blonde friend is,’ she hisses, looking around as if she expects her to pop up and join in the free-for-all.

  Ryan doesn’t answer. He just looks at her, drawing in a huge breath and expelling it slowly.

  ‘Well? I’m waiting.’