Seeing Stars

by Christina Jones

  ‘Er – yes. OK. Thanks. Ten stamps and a couple of airmail letters, then. And some writing paper and envelopes, please.’

  Grinning at this retro step and imagining Bex and Kelly and Emma and Jemma’s reaction when they received A Proper Letter, she handed her Visa card across the counter and jabbed in her PIN.

  Mona Jupp, having punched and swiped in vain, was now brandishing the card in triumph. ‘Won’t flaming go through!’

  ‘What? It must go through.’

  ‘Says declined on here,’ Mona beamed. ‘And this machine’s never wrong. Declined, it is.’

  Amber, very aware of the Fiddlestickers’ delighted massed gaze on her back, tried to shrink into her hair. Oh, God. Had she paid off the balance last month? Had she made a payment at all? There had been so much going on before she left home – she’d last used the card for her rail fare which had been just after the girls’ night out to say farewell.

  The perspiration made her palms itch. ‘Er – sorry … Um – I think I might have forgotten to pay it.’

  The Fiddlestickers rustled in glee behind her.

  ‘Have to be another card or flaming cash, then,’ Mona Jupp smiled with more than her share of teeth. ‘This your only card, is it? You have got cash? Enough cash?’

  ‘Er – yes it’s my only card because I cut the others up when I left my last temping job and – er – and I think I’ve got enough money …’

  Had she? After a lot of argument and persuasion, she’d managed to get Gwyneth to accept some money for her keep yesterday and there’d still been money in her purse – hadn’t there? Amber emptied the contents of her purse onto the counter. Mona swooped down and counted the coins with Fagin-like relish.

  ‘There – this lot is mine and this –’ she pushed two coins back towards Amber ‘– is yours. Like I said, you’ll have to get yourself a flaming job.’

  Watching as Mona bagged up the purchases in a flimsy pink striped carrier, Amber wanted the floor of the shop to open up and gulp her into oblivion. How embarrassing was this?

  ‘Jobs is all on the board,’ Mona Jupp advised almost kindly. ‘Outside. Some of them have been there some time and the best ones have probably gone. You’ll have to check the dates – I don’t always take the postcards down on a regular basis.’

  ‘Er – right … thanks …’ Head down, Amber scuttled past the queue and burst out into the cheerful sunny morning.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  Humiliated beyond belief, she squinted at the notice-board. The majority of the advertisements were yellowing and dog-eared and were business cards for taxi firms or take-aways. There didn’t seem to be an awful lot of jobs on offer unless you wanted to be an Avon lady or work on commission for various double-glazing firms.

  ‘Sorry,’ a cheerful voice spoke over her shoulder. ‘Can I just reach over for that drawing pin there? Thanks. Were you putting on or taking off?’

  ‘Neither,’ Amber said sadly. ‘Just grazing.’

  ‘More in hope than expectation, then,’ the pretty fifty-something woman in the faded jeans and yellow T-shirt with hair in vivid red layers beamed at her. ‘Mona Jupp isn’t exactly up to speed on employment matters. Money is a different matter though. She’ll be after my fifty pence for this like a shot.’

  Amber watched as she pinned her postcard neatly over one advertising chiropody for all in the comfort of your own home, dated 1998.

  Cheerful and hardworking assistant required for Hubble Bubble Country Cooking. Parties catered for. No function too small. Traditional recipes. All fresh herbal ingredients used. Various hours and good salary for right person. Contact Mitzi Blessing – Hazy Hassocks 501.

  Amber removed the card and grinned. ‘Er – do I need to phone?’

  ‘You’re interested in the job?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Oh, right – how, um, handy. Actually I’ve never employed anyone before so I don’t know what I’m supposed to ask you.’

  ‘I’ve never worked in catering before either so I’m not sure what I have to do,’ Amber said reassuringly. ‘But I’m hardworking and honest and clean and I do so need a job.’

  ‘And I do so need an assistant,’ Mitzi nodded. ‘Could you start immediately?’

  ‘This minute.’

  ‘Shall we go over onto the green?’ Mitzi shot a glance at the knot of Fiddlestickers who had emerged from the shop and who were now clearly intending to add this conversation to their morning’s entertainment. ‘And sit on one of the benches for some privacy?’

  They did. It was gloriously hot, and the willow trees hardly shivered their drooping silver foliage. The stream ran like crystal over its soft brown bed, and children were paddling and clutching fishing nets.

  Amber sat on the nearest bench and wondered again why everything in Fiddlesticks looked like an advertisement for The Perfect Life in the mid-twentieth century.

  ‘That’s better.’ Mitzi kicked off her espadrilles and wriggled her bare toes in the sun. ‘So, do you know anything about what I do?’

  ‘Only that you’re a friend of Zillah’s, and you did the food for St Bedric’s and it was fantastic although I never tasted it except the green cheesecake because it had all been snaffled and everyone giggled a lot afterwards. And that several people have said you cook from old-fashioned recipes using herbs and things and that it might involve some sort of – well – witchery.’

  ‘That about sums it up,’ Mitzi chuckled. ‘And yes, my grandmother’s recipes do have some surprising results. Although before it scares you off completely, I am definitely not a witch … well, not a nasty, cackly, old hag-type, anyway.’

  Hmmm, Amber thought. So there might be an element of witching involved somewhere, then? Not, of course, that she believed in any of it – and she really, really needed a job. ‘Er – do you know anything about me?’

  ‘Only that you’re staying with Gwyneth for the summer and you’re from up north and that Gwyneth was your gran’s friend.’

  They smiled at each other. It seemed enough to be going on with.

  ‘Right then,’ Mitzi smiled happily. ‘How are you fixed for tonight? I’m doing a big party in Hazy Hassocks and I desperately need some help.’

  ‘With cooking or waitressing?’

  ‘Neither tonight. Just setting stuff up, making sure the waiting staff Tarnia has employed take the right dishes out at the right times, keeping the plates heaped, all that sort of thing.’

  Amber nodded enthusiastically. ‘Sort of menial? Great, I can do that – although I’ll be happy to tackle cooking and waitressing as well.’

  Mitzi smiled. ‘I’ll certainly need you to help with both in the future, and preparation and deliveries – but I’ve got everything in hand for this one. And I didn’t know how to cook until I started Hubble Bubble so don’t worry if you don’t know Job’s tears from grated cyclamen bulb – all the recipes are written down and you’ll soon pick it all up. Will the minimum wage do until we see how you get on?’

  ‘Perfectly, thanks.’ Amber wasn’t sure if she could manage on the minimum wage – it would be far less than she was used to, but her lifestyle was so curtailed in the village that she’d damn well have to cope, wouldn’t she? At least, for now.

  And this was just so opportune. It had been meant. It really had. She’d asked St Bedric to sort her life out and he had. Maybe the village was weaving some kind of magic around her – it must be – because she actually wanted to stay. She stopped. She was clearly getting far too comfortable with the Fiddlesticks mindset of allowing celestial magic to take control. This would have happened anyway. It had nothing to do with green-cheese wishes – or did it?

  ‘Shall we say a month’s trial on either side?’ Mitzi continued. ‘I don’t know how long you’re intending to stay here, of course and—’

  Amber sighed. ‘Neither am I. At first I thought it would only be for a few weeks, then I fell in love with – er – the village and wanted to stay for ever, and then I thought it wouldn’t
make financial sense to stay and – I’m still not sure …’

  ‘You’ll know in a month’s time,’ Mitzi lifted her face to the sun. ‘One way or the other. Believe me. This place has a magic of its own. It’ll enchant and entrance you.’

  Oh, dear. Amber looked doubtfully at Mitzi. She’d seemed so normal. Now she was another one talking about magic as if – as if it were real.

  ‘Do you believe in magic? Truly?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Well, in magical properties in the elements and in herbs and stuff, at least. And don’t look like that. I’m not away with the fairies. You’ll soon find out that there are more things governing our lives than those we can see and touch. After all, don’t you think us meeting like we did was just a touch of midsummer magic?’

  ‘Coincidence,’ Amber laughed. ‘Chance. Definitely not because of the summer solstice or because I made a green-cheese wish or anything …’

  ‘Cynic. And you admit to making a St Bedric’s wish, so you must have thought—’

  ‘I only did it because everyone else was and because I didn’t want to upset Gwyneth. I didn’t really believe it for a minute.’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Mitzi grinned. ‘My elder daughter Doll didn’t believe in magic at all until something inexplicable happened to change her life. You’ll be the same – I’ll put money on it. Now, I suppose we ought to get back to business. Gwyneth is helping out at tonight’s party, so you can get a lift over with her and Ida, and I’ll meet you there at around six-thirty. Oh, and what about suitable clothes? Black skirt and white shirt and comfy shoes? I should supply them, I know, but I’m not that organised and—’ ‘I think I can dig out something along those lines,’ Amber assured her, relieved to be back on subjects she understood. ‘And I’ll try really hard not to let you down. Thank you so much.’

  ‘Don’t thank me too soon,’ Mitzi beamed. ‘You haven’t met Tarnia Snepps yet.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Stars Look Down

  Whatever else Amber may have been expecting from her first night’s employment, it certainly hadn’t included having Lewis as a chauffeur.

  Not having given any thought to how they’d travel to Tarnia Snepps’ party, the Hayfields van turning up outside Moth Cottage came as a complete surprise to her – but not to Gwyneth and Big Ida.

  ‘Neither of us drives, duck, so Lewis always obliges,’ Gwyneth puffed happily, using Big Ida’s cupped hands as a leg-up and catapulting into the van. ‘Hello, Jem.’

  Amber, trying to look nonchalant, clambered in behind her under her own steam. Unfortunately, the clambering was made less than elegant by Pike lolloping in over the top of her and plonking himself on Jem’s lap.

  ‘You’ll have to sit in the back,’ Lewis grinned over his shoulder at her. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘’S OK,’ Amber said, wishing that her black skirt wasn’t so short or her white shirt so tight or her sandals so spindly.

  The sandals were not a good choice, she knew. Her feet would be screaming before the evening was half over. Sensible shoes, as prescribed by Mitzi, simply weren’t in her wardrobe. The only flat things she had, apart from the pink slouch boots, were trainers and they, with the skirt and shirt, made her look as if she were going to a schoolgirl fetish party.

  At least Lewis looked more friendly than he had the last time they’d met. She’d never ask him anything about his father again. Once bitten and all that.

  ‘Hi, Jem.’

  Jem, now practically hidden beneath a mountain of doggy fur and lolling pink tongue and dribbly jowls, struggled out, turned, and gave her a true reprobate’s wink.

  Yep, the bubble mixture would have been a huge mistake.

  Lewis smiled at her through the driving mirror as they rumbled out of Fiddlesticks. ‘Great news, you getting the job with Mitzi Blessing. You’ll have a blast with her. She’s cool. I used to fancy her daughter.’

  ‘Which one?’ Gwyneth edged forward on her seat. Her legs didn’t touch the floor and protruded in front of her at right angles. ‘The bohemian one or the nurse?’

  ‘Both,’ Lewis grinned. ‘But thanks alledgedly to Mitzi’s herbal recipes they’re now both spoken for and permanently in lurve. No doubt everyone’s told you about her hedge witch cookery? And what it can do?’

  ‘Sort of,’ Amber nodded. ‘Not that I believe it any more than all the astral stuff.’

  Jem snorted and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Start believing,’ Lewis advised cheerfully. ‘People have had all sorts of magical experiences after eating Hubble Bubble recipes. And as we’re rapidly approaching Cassiopeia’s Carnival, when you get an evening off I’ll explain the Fiddlesticks celestial stuff properly if you like – just so you don’t make any mistakes.’

  Amber met his eyes. ‘OK. It’s a date.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Lewis swung the van away from the Bagley-cum-Russet turn and towards Hazy Hassocks. ‘It certainly isn’t one of those.’

  Jem and Big Ida chuckled.

  Sod it, Amber thought. How needy had that looked? ‘No, of course it isn’t. I mean, not a going-out-together sort of date. I know that. I’m not daft. It was just a figure of speech. I meant, yes, thanks I’d love you to explain the star stuff sometime and – oh!’ She caught Lewis’s eye in the mirror again. He was laughing. ‘Very clever …’

  ‘I thought so,’ Lewis looked innocently at her. ‘One-nil to me.’

  Behind her hessian curtains, Zillah watched the Hayfields van drive away from the cottages. Strange how quickly things could change. How silly had she been? It no longer worried her that Lewis and Amber were in the van together. Well, they were more than adequately chaperoned after all, but even if they’d been alone, Zillah didn’t think she had much to concern her.

  Certainly the panic she’d felt about Amber’s arrival had subsided considerably. Whether Amber fancied her son wasn’t clear, but Lewis had shown no interest at all, and as far as Zillah was concerned, that was all that mattered.

  Also delighted that Amber was going to be working for Mitzi and therefore not freeloading on Gwyneth’s generosity, she’d now changed her mind about Amber on all counts. She’d been wrong about her and she didn’t mind admitting it.

  Amber had proved to be a far more pleasant and feisty young woman than Zillah had expected. It was totally unreasonable, she knew, to imagine that every girl would be like she’d been so many years ago: silly, vulnerable, naive, trusting. Girls were different these days – far more grown up and worldly wise. No, Amber wasn’t going to make Zillah’s mistakes. She didn’t need Zillah’s protection.

  It was just that Lewis was so like his father.

  Oh, God – Zillah pushed the feelings away.

  No point in going down that route. She had to get ready for work. But the memories, so carefully buried for so long, had emerged and engulfed her all day.

  If only Big Ida hadn’t mentioned the summer solstice.

  Mitzi was waiting for them outside the ornate electric gates.

  ‘Welcome to Tarnia Towers.’

  ‘Crikey!’ Amber blinked at the outrageous OTT house in the rosy glow of midsummer evening. ‘It’s like Footballers Wives!’

  ‘It’s the absolute worst of tacky tat taste that money can buy,’ Mitzi agreed cheerfully. ‘Tarnia thinks it’s classy. And if you think this is bad, you wait until you see inside.’

  Gwyneth, Pike and Big Ida had trundled off towards the field earmarked for car parking; Lewis and Jem had whizzed away in the Hayfields van, laughing together. Whether or not they were coming to collect everyone at the end of the evening Amber hadn’t asked. It seemed enough to be going on with that she was meeting Lewis in The Weasel and Bucket next Saturday for her instruction in celestial magic.

  As they scrunched up the vast curl of the shingled drive, Amber gazed at the veritable army of people swarming everywhere, and at the seemingly endless sumptuous swathes of land surrounding the house. ‘She must be rolling to own all this! And all these people … Are they the guests?’

>   ‘Goodness no. These are simply the minions employed by Tarnia to make the party go with a swing. She never lifts a talon herself.’

  ‘Oh, right – and oh, wow!’ Amber almost clutched Mitzi’s arm in excitement. ‘She’s got a fairground!’

  ‘Just for tonight. It’s not a permanent fixture. She’s also got a zillion-pound fireworks extravaganza – supplied by The Gunpowder Plot, who are the biggest pyrotechnics company in the south of England, run by a bloke called Guy Devlin who is simply sex on legs and who Tarnia fancies the pants off, poor sod – and a …’

  Amber didn’t hear the rest of the line-up. She was far too entranced by the fairground: old-fashioned traditional rides in deep colours and burnished gold. It was so beautiful. And nostalgic. None of the hi-tech, white-knuckle rides that seemed to grace every fairground these days. It was like looking at a picture book: there was a helter-skelter and a big wheel and a ghost train and hurricane jets and a caterpillar and oh yes, oh joy – galloping horses!

  The huge roundabout with its intricately-painted horses suspended on their barley-sugar, twisted brass rods, stood silent and still in the evening sun, glowing like a casket of jewels, a thousand glass prisms reflecting rainbows of sparkling light.

  ‘Petronella Bradley and Jack Morlands’s Memory Lane Fair,’ Amber said softly, reading the lettering on the deep-red trucks. ‘Oooh – lucky buggers, whoever they are. Imagine spending your entire life travelling from place to place with all that beautiful stuff and having ultimate freedom and – oh, crikey – what the heck’s that thing over there?’

  ‘A showman’s traction engine,’ Mitzi grinned. ‘Have you never seen one? No, I suppose you wouldn’t have – amazing monster isn’t it?’

  ‘Awesome … And is that a sort of organ beside it? That ornate thing? Behind the stage? I remember seeing something like that at Blackpool Tower ballroom when I was a kid …’

  ‘That’s a fairground organ. The engine drives it – it’s a fantastic sight – and the sound is wonderful. They both belong to Flynn and Posy Malone from Steeple Fritton – not far away from here. When Posy and Flynn got married last year they went to church on the engine – all decked out in flowers and ribbons. Brought Steeple Fritton to a halt, I can tell you.’