Summer under the Stars

by Catherine Ferguson

  Poor Clemmy is so worked up, she’s actually trembling.

  Ryan gives a frustrated growl and turns away. ‘I should have known I wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret.’

  My heart rate picks up speed. What the hell is Ryan about to confess?

  ‘Go on, then. Who is she?’ demands Clemmy.

  Ryan glares at her for a long moment before he answers. ‘Nicole is my dance teacher.’

  Clemmy falls silent.

  I sneak a look at her. It’s fair to say Ryan has taken the wind right out of her sails.

  ‘So well done, Clem, you’ve managed to ruin the surprise with your stupid suspicions. I was going to impress you at the wedding with my moves but it turns out you don’t trust me, so maybe we shouldn’t even be having a wedding.’ Ryan turns on his heel and walks off.

  Clemmy stares after him. Her face is a study in shock – and starting to creep in are traces of horror at how she could ever have doubted him. She covers her eyes and murmurs, ‘Shit.’

  I touch her shoulder. ‘Hey, at least now you can relax. Ryan’s turned out to be the lovely man you always thought he was.’

  She groans. ‘I know. But what does that make me? A paranoid flake who’s just messed up the best thing that ever happened to me!’

  I frown in sympathy. ‘You’re not paranoid or a flake. You’re just a woman in love who’s terrified it’s all going to go wrong. Blissful happiness always comes at a price to us contrary humans.’

  ‘But what if he means it about there being no wedding?’

  ‘He didn’t,’ I tell her firmly. ‘He just said it because he was angry with you for spoiling his surprise.’

  ‘And for not trusting him, which is far worse,’ she groans. ‘Oh God, no.’

  She’s staring in horror across the field and I follow her eyes.

  ‘He’s bringing her over,’ she whispers, quickly flicking at her hair and standing tall.

  Sure enough, Ryan and the girl called Nicole are walking over to us. Nicole is smiling openly but Ryan’s face is tense.

  ‘Clem, Daisy – let me introduce you to Nicole, who used to be a professional dancer.’

  We shake hands and Nicole smiles at Clemmy and says, ‘I’ve been working him hard but I think I’ve got him wedding-ready! When’s the big day again?’

  ‘The first Saturday in October.’ Clemmy smiles awkwardly. ‘I must admit, this is all a big surprise.’

  Nicole grins. ‘You wouldn’t believe the number of men I’ve put through their paces in preparation for their wedding. And couples, too. But I think he’ll do you proud.’ She turns and nudges Ryan. ‘He’s quite the confident mover now.’

  ‘Really?’ Clemmy laughs. ‘Well, in that case, you’ve definitely worked wonders.’ She smiles hesitantly at Ryan and, after a moment, he smiles grudgingly back.

  ‘Right, well, I’ll leave you to it. My parents live in Appley Green and I’m here for the weekend.’

  ‘Did you drive through?’ Clemmy asks.

  Nicole nods and I can see Clemmy thinking what a fool she’s been.

  After she’s gone, Clemmy looks at Ryan with tears in her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess it’s just wedding nerves and stupid hormones.’

  Ryan draws her into his side and kisses her.

  ‘I’ll never doubt you again, I promise.’

  ‘You’d better not because I’m here to stay.’ He grins suddenly and clears his throat. ‘Clementine Rogers, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?’

  She laughs. ‘What, now?’

  He nods, smiling into her eyes.

  ‘In front of all these people?’

  ‘Which people?’ he growls, pulling her against him and slipping his arms around her. ‘All I can see is you, Clem.’

  My heart gives a happy lurch as I watch them moving in time, staring into each other’s eyes, Ryan holding his fiancée close to his heart. The people milling around stop what they’re doing to watch, and the crowd parts to give the lovebirds more space.

  Then suddenly Ryan is down on one knee, holding Clemmy’s hand and smiling up at her.

  Clemmy’s hand covers her mouth as she stares down at him.

  ‘We got engaged after you proposed to me. So I never got the chance to ask you if you’d marry me. But I’m asking you now.’ He clears his throat. ‘Clementine Rogers, will you please do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

  Clemmy gives a little shriek of joy. Then she starts saying yes, over and over again, happy tears spilling from her eyes.

  I swallow hard, surprised at how emotional I feel myself.

  Afterwards, it’s clear the happy couple are eager to get home and make up for lost time, and as it’s nearing the end of the afternoon and Poppy has almost sold out, we decide to pack up and leave.

  ‘That was well worth doing,’ sighs Poppy, looking happy but exhausted as we load the empty trays into her van. ‘I’ve handed out loads of business cards, so hopefully that will translate into lots more business.’ She beams at us. ‘Brunch on me tomorrow?’

  She includes me in the invitation but I have to refuse.

  ‘I’m heading home to Manchester tomorrow and I want to make an early start to beat the traffic. If that’s okay with you, Clemmy?’ She’s giving me a lift into Guildford to pick up my hire car.

  ‘Absolutely. Shame you can’t stay for brunch, though, Daisy.’ Ryan tickles Clemmy and she shrieks and drags him into the back seat of the van with her.

  I sit in the back with them, feeling a mixture of emotions. I’m so pleased for Clemmy and Ryan. After their little hiccup, all is set fair for the wedding in October and I couldn’t be happier for them.

  There’s a hollow feeling inside, though, when I think of Jake.

  I’m still waiting to hear what he thinks of my manuscript.

  At first, I kept checking my emails constantly, anxiously waiting for a response, which was stupid, really. I mean, he was hardly going to read it immediately. It could be weeks before he has the time to get to it.

  Anyway, I couldn’t bear the disappointment of checking and finding nothing, so I’ve forced myself to stop looking now. At least, not every five minutes like I did at first.

  ‘You will be able to come to the wedding, won’t you, Daisy?’ asks Clemmy, breaking into my gloomy thoughts.

  ‘Oh, wow.’ It’s so unexpected, I’m almost speechless. ‘Of course I will. I’d love to!’

  ‘Brilliant! It’s been so great having you around this week.’ She leans close, nudges my shoulder with hers and murmurs, ‘We’ve bared our souls to each other, that’s for sure.’

  I nod happily. Who would have thought that booking a glamping site holiday would lead to a renewed friendship and a wedding invitation? At least this whole crazy week has an upside to it!

  ‘It’s amazing how a crisis or two can bring people together!’ We exchange a rueful smile.

  ‘Would you like to join us for dinner?’ asks Clemmy. ‘I hate to think of you spending your last night on your own.’

  ‘What, with you two lovebirds cooing all over the place?’ I laugh. ‘Thank you very much but no. I’ll have plenty to do packing up and then getting an early night.’

  ‘You should come, Daisy,’ Ryan says. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to talking weddings all night, so I’d be extremely grateful for your input.’

  ‘Hey, you.’ Clemmy nudges him and he grins.

  ‘Only joking. Working out the seating plan is quite the most fascinating thing I’ve ever had to do. But it would still be great if you came over, Daisy.’

  I laugh at their antics. ‘No, really, if you don’t mind I’ll just chill on my own before my long drive tomorrow.’

  All the same, going into the empty tent after they’ve dropped me off feels a bit sad after the bustle of the day. I busy myself getting a meal of sorts together, basically eating what’s left in the fridge – a small piece of quiche and half a tub of coleslaw. Then I wash up and get my case out.

&
nbsp; Unzipping it, I find the bag with Mum’s cardigan in it and stare at it sadly. It gave me such comfort wearing it, and I certainly won’t be parting with it. But I’m feeling a little bit stronger now.

  The cardigan stays in the bag.

  I’m in the middle of packing when my mobile rings. It’s Clemmy.

  I answer, wondering if she’s phoning to repeat her dinner invitation or to make sure I’m not feeling down all on my own.

  ‘Daisy?’ She sounds excited. ‘Can you come over?’

  ‘I’m just packing …’

  ‘You need to come now,’ she says. ‘Lottie’s here. She’s remembered more stuff about the occupants of Maple Tree House.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Can you come over now? I’ll open a bottle of wine. I think you might need it.’

  ‘Clemmy!’ My heart starts beating frantically. ‘You can’t leave me dangling like this. What is it? Tell me now!’

  ‘No. I’d rather Lottie explained. Just get your butt over here immediately,’ she shrieks, having clearly been at the wine already.

  My heart is pounding as I make my way over the grass to Clemmy’s door.

  She hustles me inside as soon as I knock and I follow her into the kitchen, where Lottie is sitting at the table, a cup of tea in front of her, munching her way through a chocolate muffin. Ryan must have taken himself off to watch TV.

  Lottie looks at me over her glasses when we walk in and she waves the muffin in greeting. ‘You must be Daisy.’

  I nod and she says, ‘Sit down. Sit down. Clementine tells me you’ve been on a search for your long-lost mother?’

  ‘My birth mother, yes.’

  ‘Well, I’ve remembered something that may or may not help.’

  ‘More tea, Lottie?’ calls Clemmy and, infuriatingly, I have to wait while Lottie has her cup topped up and stirs in three teaspoons of sugar.

  Clemmy joins us at the table, bringing a glass of wine for me.

  I take a large glug of it immediately.

  ‘So.’ Lottie leans forward, her eyes round, clearly relishing her moment in the spotlight. ‘After I spoke to Clementine here at the fayre, I kept thinking about Maple Tree House. It was always such a fascinating place. The most expensive piece of property in the street. Six bedrooms, I think, if you count the rooms in the extension that was added twenty years or so ago.’ She pauses to take a big slurp of tea.

  ‘Well, anyway, I got to thinking about Fiona and Graham Watson, who owned the house, and their little daughter, Arabella. They ran a business manufacturing computer accessories and I remember thinking that poor little Arabella must hardly have seen them because they always seemed to be working. And that’s when I realised something.’

  She pauses dramatically and leans forward, prolonging the suspense for just a little longer.

  ‘You realised …?’ prompts Clemmy.

  Lottie sits back in her chair and folds her hands over her stomach. ‘Well, I remembered that, at one stage, the Watsons had a housekeeper. They liked to think they were rather grand, you see, living in the big house, and the mother and father both worked full-time. So they employed someone to look after the house. She was quite young, as far as I can recall. Probably not even out of her teens.’

  ‘Do you …’ I try to speak but the words get stuck in my throat.

  Clemmy, sitting next to me, covers my hand with hers and leans forward. ‘Do you know who she was? Can you tell us the girl’s name?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Lottie draws in a big breath and lets it out slowly.

  Then she smiles triumphantly from me to Clemmy and back again.

  ‘Her name, girls, was Sylvia.’

  Shock clutches at my heart and I stare at Lottie in a daze.

  Clemmy gives a little gasp and turns to me. ‘The Sylvia who owns the Starlight Hotel?’ She swings back to Lottie. ‘Is it that Sylvia?’

  Lottie nods. ‘She only worked for the Watsons for a short while – probably no more than a few months. That’s why I’d forgotten all about it until you asked me about Maple Tree House. I’ve been debating whether to tell you, but in the end, I thought you needed to know.’

  She carries on talking but I’m barely aware of what she’s saying. I feel as if I’m swimming underwater. It’s a very weird sensation. Lottie and Clemmy are talking but the sounds aren’t penetrating through to me properly.

  Clemmy puts her hand on my back and turns to say something. Her face looms in front of me and I find myself trying to lip-read but being completely unable to understand what she’s saying.

  I scrape back my chair as the churning in my stomach gets worse. ‘Sorry, can I use your loo?’

  Clemmy gets up quickly and leads me to the downstairs toilet. Inside, I lock the door and stand in front of the mirror, leaning on the washbasin, staring at my reflection in the mirror until it blurs.

  Could Sylvia be my biological mother? Did she leave her job as housekeeper at the Watsons’ after such a short time because she found herself pregnant?

  I run the tap and splash some water on my face. Then I take a few deep breaths and, thankfully, the nausea that had gripped me begins to subside.

  I examine my face, looking for traces of a resemblance to Sylvia. There’s something about the eyes that might be familiar, although I’ve no idea what colour hers are. And I think Sylvia has the same pronounced bow-shaped upper lip as me.

  Still stunned, I’ve no idea how I feel about this sudden turn of events. Should I be ecstatic? Excited? Or worried in case it all ends badly? Is Lottie even right about Sylvia being the Watsons’ housekeeper?

  Someone knocks softly on the door. ‘Are you okay in there, Daisy?’

  Clemmy.

  ‘Fine. I’ll be out in a minute.’ I force myself to speak, although my voice sounds strange.

  ‘Okay.’ There’s a pause. ‘See you in the kitchen.’

  Pressing my hands to my burning cheeks, I stare at myself in the mirror one last time, wishing Mum hadn’t died because then I wouldn’t have had to go through all this emotional chaos.

  But that’s just pointless. This is the reality. I must face it.

  When I enter the kitchen, Lottie has gone. Clemmy gets up from the table. ‘I think we should go and see Sylvia,’ she murmurs, looking at me anxiously.

  ‘Now?’ I stare at her in horror. Is she mad?

  She shrugs. ‘You’re never going to be able to sleep until you know the truth,’ she points out gently. ‘Are you?’

  I shake my head as my throat clogs with tears. Clemmy’s right, of course. There’s no point in putting it off. I need to know …

  It’s still light when we emerge into the balmy night air, the sun a big glowing red ball on the horizon. I glance at my watch. Nine-thirty. What will Sylvia be doing now?

  Silently, we get into Clemmy’s car and drive along to the hotel. She parks outside and we walk into reception. My heart is in my mouth as Clemmy asks to speak to Sylvia.

  ‘Can I help, Madam?’ asks the receptionist with a bright smile, and I almost laugh. The question we’re going to be asking has the potential to be rather more life-changing than whether or not there are any rooms available for tonight!

  ‘No, we really need to talk to Sylvia if possible,’ Clemmy says. ‘It’s personal.’

  The receptionist frowns, thinking. ‘She’s in the restaurant, I think. Wait one moment.’

  My heart hammers as she starts speaking on the phone. ‘Sylvia? Yes, there are two ladies waiting for you in reception. They say it’s a personal matter.’ She nods then asks for our names. ‘Clemmy and Daisy?’ After a brief instruction from the other end, she says, ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll tell them.’

  She puts the phone down and says, ‘I’m so sorry but Sylvia’s busy right now. She won’t be able to see you tonight.’

  ‘Oh.’ Clemmy looks at me with a frown. ‘But it’s important. Can we make an appointment to see her tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. She’s
going away to a conference and is leaving first thing in the morning.’

  My heart is beating very fast. ‘But I need to talk to her. Tonight.’ There’s an edge of desperation in my voice. Tears of frustration are pricking at my eyes. I’ve come this far and now to be denied the chance to talk to her …

  The receptionist is apologetic but firm. ‘Why not leave your number and she’ll call you when she’s back?’

  She’s in the restaurant. I need to see her now, otherwise I’ll never have any peace …

  Clemmy shouts after me as I walk quickly away.

  As I approach the restaurant, I see Sylvia slipping out and walking briskly up the nearest staircase.

  ‘Sylvia?’ I call, and she hesitates but doesn’t turn around. ‘Please. I need to talk to you.’

  She draws in a breath and raises her head to the ceiling. Then she straightens her jacket and turns. Her face is in semi-darkness as she looks down at me. I can’t see her expression very clearly.

  ‘I’m busy, Daisy. I can’t talk now.’

  She turns to go and it suddenly occurs to me that perhaps she really is just busy.

  ‘Sylvia?’ Perhaps she has no idea why I’m here! ‘Do you know who I am?’

  Slowly, she turns to face me. ‘Yes. I know who you are,’ she says in a voice weirdly devoid of emotion.

  My stomach drops to the floor.

  I stand there in a daze, watching Sylvia walk away from me up the stairs, holding herself stiffly upright.

  I finally find my voice.

  ‘Sylvia? Please! We have to talk about this.’

  But she carries on climbing the stairs. So in desperation, I run after her, my heart in my mouth.

  ‘Sylvia. For God’s sake. You’re my birth mother. You have to talk to me! You gave me up for adoption. Don’t you think I at least have a right to some answers?’

  She hesitates and I wait, holding my breath.

  But when she turns to me, her face is as unyielding as stone, her eyes as cold as a day in mid-winter.

  ‘I have nothing to say to you, Daisy. What’s done is done. I can’t change the past and I have no desire to.’

  She turns away but I grab her arm and she flinches as if I’ve struck her. Her whole body is trembling, I realise.