Seeing Stars

by Christina Jones

  Still shaking her head, and handing out napkins for Bertha’s nearest and dearest to weep into, Amber was crossing the room when she was stopped in her tracks by Constance Motion.

  ‘Did you give him a cigarette? Our Slo?’ Constance’s brassy and exuberant curls were escaping wildly from beneath the brim of her top hat. She blocked out the light. ‘Is that why he’s gorn outside?’

  Amber shook her head and raised her voice above the wailing. ‘Not guilty. I don’t smoke. If he’s outside he probably just needs some fresh air. It’s very hot, after all.’

  ‘Ah, that’s his excuse,’ Constance’s chins wobbled. ‘I’m not daft, you know. Coming back in the hearse he gave me all the old baloney about the smell of smoke coming from the crematorium.’

  ‘Well, maybe it did,’ Amber said as the Bandings caught up with her and snatched several Cherry and Camphor Cries from her plate and stuffed them into their pockets before scuttling back towards Mitzi. ‘It must be an occupational hazard.’

  ‘At a churchyard burial?’

  Constance stomped away into the garden.

  Through the tiny, much-curtained window, Amber watched Slo look over his shoulder in terror and beetle away into the shrubbery. Constance, her black riding habit billowing, had sighted her quarry and bored her way through a particularly unrelenting syringa. It was like a huge determined crow bearing down on a helpless piece of would-be carrion.

  ‘Our Slo been caught with a ciggie, has he?’ Perpetua, grey and wispy beneath her bonnet, popped up at Amber’s shoulder. ‘Silly boy. It’ll kill him.’

  ‘Does it really matter? I mean – at his age …?’

  ‘Bless you, it won’t be the fags that finish him off. It’ll be our Constance.’ Perpetua trotted after Amber as she returned to the table and collected two dishes of Weeping Willow Waffles. ‘Slo has to stop smoking. Because of that business with Gertie Bickersdyke’s funeral.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Amber said politely. ‘Was she an avid anti-smoker, this Gertie – er –?’

  ‘Bickersdyke,’ Perpetua finished. ‘I’ve no idea, but the family were very big noises in Winterbrook and they wanted her ashes scattered on the little ornamental pond they were having constructed in the Bickersdyke Memorial Garden.’

  ‘Ah, nice …’

  ‘Should have been. Course, we had to hang on to Gertie in her box back in the chapel of rest until they were ready for her. Several weeks it took for the pond to be ready – trouble with the pond liner. It didn’t go anything like that Alan Titmarsh said it would. No sooner did the water go in than it all seeped out again. Trying to cut corners never works. Anyway, Gertie was with us much longer than we’d expected. Not that we charged extra for the shelf-space, of course.’

  Amber’s fixed interest smile was beginning to ache.

  ‘Anyhow,’ Perpetua continued, her thin lips pursing together like two small slugs having a love-in, ‘come the big day, we had the local press and the town council and about three hundred members of the Bickersdyke family at the ceremony. And when our Connie opened the casket and said the prayer and the local kiddies orchestra struck up “Cast Your Fate To The Wind” – terribly off-key I must add, sounded like a castration – and scattered Gertie’s mortal remains to the elements it were like emptying a bloody ashtray.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes! Dog-ends, dozens of ’em, bobbing along on the top of the pond. It looked like the local lads had had an all-night party. It only needed a couple of After Shock bottles and a condom.’

  ‘Oh, dear …’ Amber chewed the inside of her cheeks.

  ‘So, once the hiatus had been smoothed over and we’d fished the worst out and the Bickerdykes had stopped crying, me and Constance had to go straight back to the chapel of rest and check the others. Slo’d used all of them as ashtrays. All of them. We lost no end of business to the Co-Op after that got out, I can tell you. We had to diversify to try and claw our way back into the good books.’

  ‘Yes … I can see that you might have to …’

  ‘So –’ Perpetua fumbled inside a little black lace reticule ‘– we always do a bit of networking at our funerals. We have a couple of nice limos that can be used for any festive occasion. And, at a push, the hearse is handy for moving furniture. You might have need of us some time. Have one of our business cards.’

  As Amber had no intention of dying, ever, but not wanting to hurt Perpetua’s feelings, she smiled her thanks and watched as Perpetua wraithed away to spread joy elsewhere in the room.

  She flicked the card over before shoving it into her pocket. It had a Hazy Hassocks address and phone number.

  Constance, Perpetua and Slo Motion Christenings, Weddings and Funerals Catered For Let Motions Carry You From Cradle To Grave

  Much to the amazement of Bertha Hopkins’ still-sobbing nearest and dearest, Amber shrieked with laughter.

  ‘Amber? Are you OK?’ Mitzi pushed her way through the mourners.

  ‘Never better,’ Amber sniffed happily. ‘Honestly. Oh, I love this place. It’s magic.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

  ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star,’ Amber trilled as she pulled on her second best jeans in Moth Cottage’s tiny girlie blue bedroom.

  ‘You sound happy, duck.’ Gwyneth poked her head round the door. ‘Lovely to hear you singing.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be happy?’ Amber hopped over her piles of clutter and hugged Gwyneth. ‘I love you. I love being here. You’ve given me a lovely home, not to mention the best food I’ve ever had in my life, and I’ve made friends with Fern and – um – well, with Fern, and I’ve got a job so I can pay you for my keep – and I’m going to use Mitzi’s van soon so I’ll be able to take you and Big Ida out all over the place – and …’ She paused for breath and looked sympathetically at Gwyneth. ‘Your cheeks are still a bit rosy.’

  ‘Ah, it’s stopped hurting though. Mind, the nails and that were fine. Even that funny stuff she squirted in our lips was good once the numbness wore off. Made us look like the Beverly Sisters. All told, young Sukie did a grand job at beautifying – but we felt the derma-blasting was a step too far for us at our age.’

  ‘At any age.’ Amber shuddered. ‘Are you putting anything on the sore bits?’

  ‘Margarine.’

  Oh, right.

  ‘Anyway,’ Gwyneth returned the hug, then perched on Amber’s bed. Her legs stuck out straight in front of her as always. ‘I’m dead happy that you’re happy, duck. And you’ll have a lovely time tonight. Cassiopeia’s Carnival is allus a good ’un. Shame young Mitzi isn’t doing some food – that’d make it go with even more of a swing.’

  ‘Mmm … So would some live music.’ Amber straightened her silver vest, checked her make-up in the tiny mirror, and flicked her hair silkily over her shoulders. ‘Don’t you think?’

  Gwyneth nodded. ‘You ought to ask Mitzi about that, too. I think some of the Baby Boomers she works with formed a chamber orchestra last year. Or were you thinking of something a bit more modern?’

  Amber shrugged. ‘Well, I wasn’t planning on turning Fiddlesticks into the next Glastonbury, but yes, I thought maybe a rock band of some sort. Not too youthful, of course – something for everyone.’

  ‘That’d be nice.’ Gwyneth nodded. ‘A bit of Victor Sylvester, maybe? And some James Last for the youngsters?’

  Amber didn’t ask. It was clearly a generational thing. She doubted if Gwyneth would have heard of Slipknot or the Flaming Lips.

  ‘So, if we wanted music for – say – the Harvest Moon do, would I have to approach a committee or something? I mean, how are these astral celebrations organised? Who by?’

  ‘Bless you, they sort of do themselves. They’re centuries old, after all, and they’ve changed very little over the years. But Goff Briggs and Mona Jupp make a lot of the more earthly arrangements these days. You could start with them I suppose. The only problem would be money. The stars don’t make Fiddlesticks any money. We couldn’
t afford the likes of Cliff Richard.’

  And thank the lord for that, Amber thought.

  ‘No – I mean, of course I realise that they’re not commercial ventures. But maybe we could have a bit of fund-raising or something if we wanted dancing? Do you think anyone would object to live music?’

  ‘Can’t see anyone in Fiddlesticks not wanting anything that would make it even more of a party, duck. Everyone likes a bit of a knees-up, don’t they? Me and Big Ida did salsa lessons last year in Hazy Hassocks village hall and brushed up on our Charleston and there was a waiting list miles long. Mitzi’s influence again – she’s been like a breath of fresh air, that gel.’

  ‘Sounds like it. She was telling me about her Baby Boomers thing – how she’s got everyone who thought they were surplus to requirements involved in activities and community schemes and stuff. She should be everyone’s role model. I know Hubble Bubble is going to be huge – and she’s so nice and down to earth with her magic …’ Amber laughed. ‘Oh, and on that subject, just so I don’t make a complete fool of myself, what else goes on tonight that I should be forewarned about? Lewis said it was a bit like a mad Valentine’s Day.’

  Gwyneth chuckled, the chuckle being cut short as Pike hurled himself at her. They both collapsed onto the bed. It took a few moments before she emerged spitting fur.

  ‘Well, yes. That’s about it, really. All hearts and flowers and love stuff. Sit Pike! Sit – oh … all right, then, don’t. Oh – and did Lewis tell you about the balloons? No? Well, everyone has two silver balloons, one heart-shaped, the other a star – come to think of it, there must be a sort of fund for them because we allus has loads – and at around eleven o’clock, when the sky is dark enough and Cassiopeia’s constellation is right in the heavens, we all makes our love wishes and let the balloons go floating up to her … ’course, they used to have doves and things I think in the olden days, before the balloons. I wouldn’t have liked that. They’d have been so scared, poor little mites.’

  ‘Oh,’ Amber smiled. ‘That sounds wonderful. Not the doves – of course … but the rest of it. Especially the balloons.’

  ‘It is. The kiddies love it. And there’s a lot of rose petals scattered and Timmy makes a Cassiopeia Cup – a sort of punch – and there’s a barbecue for after. That’s it really. Oh, and some people go off and make their own love wishes to Andromeda – but we don’t take no notice of them. They’re a bit fundamentalist, if you gets my drift.’

  ‘Andromeda has her own night doesn’t she? Or so Lewis said.’

  ‘Ah, later in the year.’ Gwyneth struggled with the dog a bit more and lost. ‘She’s an autumn constellation for the northern hemisphere. But she’s a powerful lass, and the sad and lonely likes to get a bit of ’ead start.’

  Amber squirreled that piece of information away for later use. Just in case Cassiopeia didn’t come up with the goods on the Timmy and Fern front tonight, of course.

  She also decided she’d approach Mrs Jupp or Goff Briggs once tonight’s shenanigans were over, about the possibility of sorting out some live entertainment for future celebrations.

  ‘Thanks. It all sounds wonderfully complicated as usual. So?’ She grinned at Gwyneth. ‘Will I do?’

  ‘Duck, you looks lovely. Like a film star. You won’t need any help from Cassiopeia tonight, and that’s a fact. You’ll have everyone swooning at your feet.’

  An hour later, as the sultry July evening faded into a pink and lilac dusk, Amber’s feet were still swoon-free.

  Fiddlesticks was once more out in force. Amber, sitting at one of the trestle tables outside The Weasel and Bucket – tonight glittering beneath a thousand tiny pale-pink fairy lights – with Fern, gazed across the shadowy sea of now familiar faces, listened to the rise and fall of the soft, southern accents which had at first sounded so odd, and felt at home.

  Weird – was this because of St Bedric? Because she’d asked him to sort out her life? Tonight, because of the fizz of magical anticipation and the party excitement, she really wanted to believe that it might be. But there was still the no-nonsense part of her that remained sceptical.

  What it needed, of course, was absolute proof that this astral magic worked.

  She tilted her head and stared up at the darkening sky. If she squinted she could just make out the stars beginning to show. Tiny white pinpricks of light against the lush deep blue velvet. Try as she might she still couldn’t recognise Cassiopeia. She’d have to ask Lewis again to point her out before she started making her wishes.

  ‘It’s make or break for you tonight,’ she said silently to the heavens. ‘Because, honestly, I still think this is a lot of old hokum.’

  ‘Uh? Sorry? Did you say something?’ Fern, burrowing into a packet of salt and vinegar crisps, asked across the table.

  Amber shook her head. ‘I hope not! I was thinking, that’s all.’

  ‘Dangerous at your age, dear,’ Fern giggled. ‘And despite your earlier denials, are you going to be wishing for Lewis to fall madly in love with you tonight?’

  ‘No way,’ Amber pulled a face. ‘I’ve told you before – Lewis simply isn’t on my agenda. No, I’ve got other plans for tonight – and don’t ask. Secret. Top secret. Is it my round?’

  ‘Yep, but I’ll go – any chance to have a quick ogle at the delectable Timmy – and don’t laugh.’

  ‘I’m not. Of course I’m not. I wouldn’t. But actually, he’s just coming out to clear tables, which means if you sit here you can ogle to your heart’s delight and I’ll go and get the drinks …’

  Amber pushed her way into the pub. It was like walking into a very overcrowded rose-scented sauna.

  Timmy had entwined yet more twinkling pink fairy-lights round everything, and big red heart balloons bobbed round the chairs and the walls, and even the beer pumps. Several bunches of aggressively pink plastic roses sprouted in unlikely places and there were further rosy nosegays on each of the tables.

  Amber thought it looked wonderful.

  Zillah looked even more so.

  ‘Oh,’ Amber sighed greedily, ‘that dress is amazing …’

  ‘Do you like it?’ Behind the bar, Zillah smiled as she reached for four glasses with one hand and the Pegasus Pale pump with the other. ‘It’s years old, but I thought it would do for tonight.’

  ‘It’s perfect.’

  Long, sleeveless, low cut, close fitting at the top and floating down to the floor in multiple chiffony layers, it was a mass of tiny pink and cream sprigged roses. With dangly pink and silver earrings and her curls tumbling to her shoulders, Zillah looked like everyone’s idea of a Romany Queen.

  ‘Same again for you two?’ Zillah called across several heads.

  Amber nodded, raising her voice above the Weasel and Bucket’s roar. ‘And one for Lewis and Jem. Fern says they won’t be long. Oh – and they’re bringing Win with them, too. So, whatever they all usually have. Thanks …’

  ‘Make way for the workers,’ Timmy chuckled, powering his way through the throng, towers of empty glasses in both hands. ‘You look damn sexy, Amber. You’ll have to keep well away from Billy Grinley.’

  ‘I intend to,’ Amber grinned passing the money over to Zillah and taking the tray. ‘And Slo and Goff and Dougie and everyone else.’

  ‘Including Lewis?’ Timmy laughed.

  ‘Oh, especially Lewis.’

  Amber glanced at Zillah. Had she heard that last bit? Probably not. She’d moved along and was busy serving a crowd at the far end of the bar.

  ‘Actually –’ Timmy plonked his empties on the bar ‘– I wanted to ask you something.’

  Amber’s heart gave a little skip. Was he going to ask for some sort of intercession tonight? To admit he’d been secretly in love with Fern for years and now realised that his destiny wasn’t with Zillah.

  ‘Can you use a computer?’

  Amber’s heart resumed its normal rhythm. Bugger. She nodded.

  ‘Great. There’s not many round here as can, to be honest – and des
pite the IT classes in Winterbrook all I ever seem to get on search engines is a lot of irrelevant American stuff or porn.’

  ‘It happens all the time,’ Amber’s arms were beginning to ache and the noise level was reaching danger decibels. ‘Do you want me to sort something out for you? Tomorrow?’

  ‘Now, if you’ve got a minute.’

  ‘Now? Tonight?’ She looked around the bar. ‘In the middle of all this?’

  Tommy nodded. ‘Please. Before the Cassiopeia stuff really kicks off. It’s important and I’ve made a real hash of things.’

  ‘OK, let me just go and dump the drinks outside and then I’ll come back.’

  Having explained to Fern that she wouldn’t be long, and wondering where Lewis and Jem and Win had got to, Amber pushed her way back into the bar.

  ‘Through here,’ Timmy jerked his head from the kitchen doorway. ‘I’ve got it set up down here for the accounts and everything. Zillah usually does my computer stuff – but I can’t ask her to do this.’

  The kitchen, all pristine and gleaming, was a direct contrast to the chaos in the bar.

  The computer sat humming softly on a neat little pulldown shelf beside a state-of-the-art cooker.

  ‘I’ve logged on,’ Timmy said. ‘And the printer’s connected. What I want to find is a love nest.’

  No wonder he’d hit every porn site in Christendom.

  Amber’s heart sank. ‘Er – OK – for two people, I presume? You mean, a sort of romantic hideaway cottage or something?’

  ‘Or a hotel. Or guest house.’ Timmy nodded. ‘I’ve been trying to sort it out all day. So’s I can present it to Zil as a fait accompli tonight. But she keeps coming in and I don’t want her to see what I’m doing. If you could just find somewhere that offers exclusive, expensive, romantic seclusion for a weekend – in this country because we’d have to get someone in to look after the pub of course – and probably in September once Harvest Moon is over, when we’re quieter. If you could print out anything suitable with phone numbers, I’ll ring them straight away.’