Seeing Stars

by Christina Jones

  ‘Magic …’ Amber echoed weakly.

  ‘Yes?’ Mona Jupp peered over the bacon slicer. ‘Next?’

  ‘Just these –’ Fern pushed several bars of chocolate and a handful of iced buns across the counter ‘– please. The chocolate is for Timmy – he’s got such a sweet tooth, bless him – and the buns are for Win. She’s sitting outside on the bench. We’re going to paddle in the stream to cool off and feed the ducks.’

  ‘Not with my best fancies, I trust.’ Mrs Jupp made a moue of annoyance as she bagged up the buns with a flourish and a twist. ‘They’re fresh in this morning. Anything else?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Fern paid for her purchases, and smiled soppily at Amber. ‘So – what about you? D’you want to come and feed the ducks with us and sit in the sun and talk about the meaning of life and love and the wonders of the cosmos?’

  Amber shook her head. ‘Hard to resist, but sorry – I’m here to see Mrs Jupp and then I’m taking Gwyneth and Big Ida into Hazy Hassocks to do some shopping this morning while I go to work.’

  ‘Catch you later, then,’ Fern smiled beatifically as she bounced out of the shop.

  Dougie and Billy watched her bosoms go with regret.

  ‘Tell you what, though,’ Fern paused in the doorway and beamed at Amber. ‘Doesn’t Fern Pluckrose have the most gorgeous Thomas Hardy ring to it?’

  ‘Madness.’ Mona Jupp frowned at Amber. ‘Dangerous stuff, this flaming star-wishing as I’ve always said. It throws up the most unsuitable liaisons. We’ve just got used to Timmy drooping about all over the flaming place looking like a pathetic flaming mooncalf after poor Zil, and then – wham! – he’s plighting his flaming troth to young Fern, she’s besotted and the Lord knows where it’ll all end.’

  ‘In bed and happily and for ever with any luck,’ Amber sighed.

  ‘Dear God, girl,’ Mona Jupp snapped. ‘That’s taken as flaming read! Cassiopeia don’t take prisoners. What you asks for is what you gets – even if it does take more than one flaming incantation to get there. See, there must be all sorts of people asking her for all sorts of clashing matches at one time, if you gets my drift? Lots of love tangles. Star-crossed lovers all over the flaming show. That’s what people don’t understand – sometimes she can’t make things happen instant, like – it takes her a while, maybe years, to untangle the threads. Now, whatever it is you want, I hope you’re not going to try and pay for it with your flaming iffy Visa card.’

  Amber blushed, still embarrassed at the memory. ‘No – er, that is, I’m not buying. I wondered if I could have a word.’

  ‘Now?’ Mona screeched. ‘Flaming now? Before nine in the morning? My busiest flaming trading period?’

  ‘Well, yes, sorry. It’s a busy morning for me too – but this won’t take long. I just want to know if there’s a fund or something to pay for all the celestial celebration stuff.’

  ‘And for why?’

  Rapidly, horribly aware that Dougie and Billy had now turned their attention to her legs beneath the briefest denim skirt she possessed, Amber explained about the possibility of entertainment for Harvest Moon. Just to round the summer off nicely. To make the evening go with a swing, so to speak.

  ‘How much would we be talking about and what sort of entertainment?’

  Amber then explained about Freddo and the JB Roadshow and how wonderful they were and how they were exactly what Fiddlesticks needed. She’d thought the cost, at first, seemed quite high, but then there were eight of them after all, and the roadies and Freddo, so really it was very reasonable, wasn’t it?

  ‘And they’re good, are they? Suitable for all ages?’

  ‘Wonderful. Amazing. True stars. Out of this world.

  Brilliant. Real family entertainment.’

  ‘Ah, good. Not sleazy? Not like that flaming Eminem girl that Goff keeps going on about?’

  ‘Not like her – er, him – at all, no.’

  ‘And value for money?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely. Worth every penny.’

  ‘And could we charge for people to see ’em, do you think?’

  ‘I’m sure you could,’ Amber said, not having a clue, but much encouraged by the fact that Mona Jupp hadn’t screamed and said no-flaming-way.

  ‘As it ’appens, we do have a bit of a pot for festival extras,’ Mona said. ‘We raises money at the Christmas Fayre and the bring-and-buys and we allus have a raffle every third Sunday after Goff’s taken the family service. We haven’t spent any decent amount for years and years. We must have a tidy sum by now. More’n enough to pay for your bit of a band, that’s for sure.’

  The whole shop was now riveted by this high-powered financial discussion. They clearly hadn’t seen such entrepreneurial wheeler-dealing in Fiddlesticks for years.

  ‘And who’d have to make the final decision?’ Amber asked. ‘Is there a committee?’

  ‘Lord, no. Committees only mean everything gets talked about and nothing gets done. Me and Goff deal with it. Well, I say what goes and Goff does the books. Now, as it happens, I’m mightily partial to a bit of music – and if we can charge people to get in to listen to ’em and have a bit of a dance, then why not? I’ll tell Goff it’s all done and dusted. The flaming pot has enough money in it, so yes, I say let’s flaming go for it.’

  Amber wanted to hurl herself across the bacon slicer and kiss Mrs Jupp. Fortunately, the realisation that such an extravagant gesture would mean the revealing of her knickers to Dougie and Billy meant that sanity prevailed.

  ‘Thank you!’ she beamed. ‘So, can I tell them, or at least their agent, that it’s a definite?’

  ‘Why not? Yes, do.’ Mona Jupp fluttered her sparse eyelashes. Sukie, the Irish witch mobile beautician, clearly hadn’t got to grips with them yet. ‘Actually, I’ve always missed having a bit of live music at our little festivals. It really hits the spot for a gel, if you know what I mean. And, I’ll let you into a secret – I was a bit of a groupie in my early days, you know.’

  ‘Really? I’d never have guessed …’

  ‘Ah, I once threw my vest at Frank Ifield.’

  Still absolutely walking on air, Amber dropped Gwyneth and Ida off at Big Sava, and skipped along Hazy Hassocks winding High Street, keeping in the shadows thrown across the mishmash of shopfronts by the line of towering sycamores, towards Mitzi’s shed.

  ‘Oh, blimey – fancy meeting you here,’ Zillah emerged from the library, her arms full of romantic novels. ‘You look very chirpy.’

  ‘So do you,’ Amber said. ‘And that’s another gorgeous Boho dress – your wardrobe is a dream. Oh, please don’t tell me you came into Hazy Hassocks on that bloody mad bus. Didn’t Gwyneth tell you I was bringing them in this morning for their big shop? I would have happily given you a lift, too.’

  ‘Lewis did –’ Zillah shifted the books ‘– on his way to Winterbrook with Jem. But thanks for the retrospective offer – I may need to take you up on it one day. Just off to work with the Proudest New Grandmother in the Western Hemisphere?’

  Amber giggled. ‘Yes. You off to the pub today?’

  ‘Eventually. In time for the lunchtime grazers, yes. I must say –’ she grinned suddenly ‘– that it’s far less emotionally exhausting these days, now that Timmy’s decided that our future isn’t going to be a joint one.’

  ‘It must be – although I suppose you now have Billy and Dougie and Slo and Goff all thinking their luck’s in?’

  ‘They can think what they like,’ Zillah chuckled. ‘And I can handle them – they’re just playing at being would-be lovers; they’d run a mile if I gave them the come-on. Whereas with Timmy it was the real thing and so very wearing. And I didn’t want to hurt him because he’s such a lovely bloke. Whether it was someone’s Cassiopeia-wish working for Fern and Timmy, or not, I don’t really care. Not now I’ve got used to the idea. It’s taken a weight off my shoulders, I can tell you. Timmy’s lovely and will always be one of my best friends. I only hope Fern’s up to the task of coping with all that undying de
votion.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll handle it.’ Amber said. ‘Zillah, honestly, it’s lovely to see you looking so happy.’

  ‘Happy might be an emotion too far, love. But yes, I am feeling more at peace with myself. Strange, because nothing, apart from Timmy’s defection, has happened to really alter the situation.’ She laughed again. ‘I can only imagine that someone put in a plea to Cassiopeia to make something happen to cheer this miserable old bag up a bit.’

  Amber hoped she wasn’t blushing.

  ‘Anyway,’ Zillah continued, ‘I understand you had a great time the other night? At the Masonic? Lewis said it was fantastic.’

  ‘Oh, it was. Amazing – the best night out I’ve ever had. The JB Roadshow were just brilliant. I’d never seen or heard anything like them. I was obviously born far too late – missed out on real live music from real talented musicians without the interference of synthesisers or computers or any other artificial tampering. I wish you’d come with us—’ Amber stopped and paused for breath. ‘No, really. You’d have loved it. And it wasn’t just me and Lewis, you know, as a couple. It wasn’t like that at all. And we had Jem as a chaperone.’

  ‘Matchmaker, you mean.’ Zillah grinned. ‘Jem always makes his feelings about Lewis’s girlfriends very, very clear. Mind you, I do wish I’d been there – I still hanker after the old days of live bands in every village hall every Saturday night …’ She stopped for a moment, lost it seemed in wistful recollection. ‘Er – sorry, love. So? This band – the JB Roadshow? Are they local?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, but their agent is. Anyway, you’ll be able to hear them soon. It looks as though they’ll be providing the music for Harvest Moon. Mona Jupp has just given me the go-ahead.’

  ‘Really? Oh, wonderful. That’ll liven the village up a bit. I’ll have to get my dancing shoes out of mothballs. Mind, I’ll probably be the only one in the whole village who knows all the words to all the songs.’

  Amber shook her head. ‘Mona Jupp might just challenge you on that one. She used to chuck her undies at Frank Sinatra.’

  ‘Did she? Really? I didn’t know Ol’ Blue Eyes had played Bagley-cum-Russet Village Hall.’

  ‘Well, it may not have been him, then. Maybe it was Frank and his Funk Machine? Frank Someone anyway … oh blimey, look at the time! I really have to go. Mitzi will go spare if I’m late. See you. Take care …’

  ‘You too, love,’ Zillah swept away with her armfuls of happy-ever-afters. ‘Have a lovely day.’

  Amber was humming ‘Sock It To ’em’ as she pushed her way into the Hubble Bubble shed.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, Mitzi. I met Zillah and we got chatting and—’

  ‘That’s OK. We’ve got plenty of time and I’m all organised, although it’s far too bloody hot for what we’ve got on today,’ Mitzi sighed, standing as close to one of the blurring whirring fans as she dared. ‘A funeral and a kiddies’ birthday party. Both biggies, so we’ll both have to be at each one. Anything smaller and we could have split up, taken one each. Still, I wasn’t going to turn them down, was I? Oh, let me show you these …’

  Amber sighed. Ever since Sonny’s birth, Mitzi had turned up with a new batch of grandson photos every day. As they seemed to been taken merely seconds apart they were all much of a muchness. Amber had learned very quickly to study them for exactly the right amount of time and how to make all the right oohing and aahing responses.

  Amber handed back the sheaf of photos with the correct amount of deference. ‘He’s gorgeous. Really gorgeous. So, business booming?’

  ‘Very much so.’ Mitzi filed the photos away, smiling. ‘Oh, and the HHLL have booked us again for every one of their meetings for the foreseeable future, so they can’t have objected too much to the all-in female wrestling.’

  ‘Probably gave them the most fun they’ve had in years,’ Amber laughed. ‘So, are we double booked today, then – or is there a gap?’

  ‘The funeral is at eleven and the kiddies’ party is booked for lunchtime. So, if we get to the wake at half-eleven, it’ll mean being away in time to get to the party by one … They’re both here in Hazy Hassocks, thank goodness, but we’re still going to be cutting it fine to get from the wake, back here, rip off the black stuff, dress in less scary clothes for the children, reload the van, and make it to the party on time.’

  ‘So why don’t we take the kiddies’ stuff with us?’ Amber asked. ‘And our party clothes? The food will all keep OK in the cool boxes, and we can surely manage to strip in the van without causing a public decency offence?’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Mitzi said happily. ‘I knew there was a reason I employed you. Are you ready to load up, then?’

  Amber nodded. ‘Ready and waiting – oh, er no, I’m not – could I just make a quick phone call?’

  ‘Of course, but why on earth don’t you get your mobile sorted out? It’ll save you so much time.’

  ‘I know,’ Amber said blithely, squinting at Freddo’s card and dialling the number on the Hubble Bubble shed’s phone. ‘I used to think my life would come to an end without it – now I don’t even know where it is, but yes, you’re right, I must – oh, hi – Freddo? It’s me Amber – yes, it’s all systems go. Yeah? Brilliant. And you’ll come over on Plough Night to suss everything out, will you? Yes, yes – there’s a pub. About seven? You know the date? Great – yes, look forward to it … Bye.’

  And grinning delightedly at the way everything was working out so perfectly, she skipped into the kitchen and helped Mitzi in the routine loading of the van.

  Constance Motion was pacing up and down the pink-blocked drive when Amber screamed the Hubble Bubble van to a halt.

  ‘Where the devil have you been?’ Constance snapped, her black veil sticking to her lacquered curls in agitation. ‘The mourners are all in there, waiting. Perpetua and Slo have had to entertain them for heaven’s sake, to take their minds off the lack of food.’

  ‘We’re not late,’ Mitzi said, scrambling from the van behind Amber. ‘Slo said the funeral was at eleven, which means even with the briefest of send-offs, they wouldn’t be back here until half past and it’s not quite eleven now and—’

  ‘The funeral,’ Constance said in spectral tones, ‘was at nine-forty-five. Slo booked you to start the wake at ten-thirty. And don’t try to blame him this time, Mitzi Blessing, because I was there when he made the call.’

  Amber, frantically dragging the boxes from the back of the van and hoping her black skirt wasn’t too short for the occasion, pulled a face. Ooops.

  Since Sonny’s arrival, Mitzi had been a bit ditzy about everything. There had been several minor errors in bookings and some of the recipes had been, well, a little odd. But she seemed to have got to grips with things again now.

  ‘Oh, right – I’m really, really sorry,’ Mitzi said apologetically. ‘No, honestly. I wouldn’t have had this happen for the world. It’s unforgivable of me – I hate being unprofessional, Connie, you know that. And I’ll admit I have been a little – er – distracted lately. It’ll never happen again. Are the poor mourners devastated?’

  ‘Not about the loss of their Uncle Michael, no.’ Constance sniffed. ‘About not getting their mitts on to the grub, yes.’

  Mitzi smiled. ‘Right – so double helpings of Weeping Walnuts and Tansy Tears, is it?’

  ‘Whatever you’ve got to make ’em gnash their bloody teeth and stop grizzling about their bloody stomachs.’ Constance flicked at her veil which had now stuck to her harsh slash of lipstick. ‘And quick about it!’

  With Mitzi in hot pursuit, Amber hurtled into the house with the boxes, unloaded them, handed round plates and napkins – black and guaranteed not to run – tried to wear her most miserable expression, and winced at Slo and Perpetua who were doing a sort of John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John routine in the corner of the living room to the consternation of a couple of dozen bemused bereaved.

  ‘You’ve been so long they’ve run out of dirges and sad odes,’ Constance hissed.
‘The Grease thing is what they do at the Evergreens Christmas Party.’

  ‘You’re the one that I want …’ Slo warbled, shimmying towards Amber with a strange expression. ‘Whoa-whoawhoa-whoa – yeah.’

  Amber shoved a Tansy Tear in his mouth.

  ‘Right,’ Mitzi puffed. ‘Push as much weepy food into them as possible and let’s get out of here. If I’ve mistimed this one I’ve probably mistimed the kiddies’ party, too.’

  Amber nodded and trotted briskly through the ranks of mourners, piling their plates with lashings of Teardrop Explodes and Weeping Willow Waffles whether they wanted them or not.

  ‘That should do it,’ Mitzi nodded in satisfaction. ‘And it’ll shut the Motions up, too. There’s enough griefi-nducers in that lot to have Uncle Michael’s non-mourners blubbing and howling and rending their garments for weeks to come. The whole place’ll rival the Wailing Wall within fifteen minutes. Now, grab the van keys, and let’s bugger off to the Broughton-Pogges.’

  *

  They arrived at the Broughton-Pogges’ mock-Tudor with minutes to spare.

  ‘No time to get into our less scary clothes,’ Mitzi said. ‘We’ll have to pretend we’re Goths.’

  ‘Crikey,’ Amber blinked as they slithered from the van and started to unload the goodies. ‘Posh or what?’

  ‘Not as posh as it looks. Harrods money, Pricerite taste. Makes Tarnia Towers look like Buckingham Palace. And they aren’t married – Broughton-Pogges is an amalgamation of their surnames. Father – Jason Broughton – plays football for Reading or Oxford or Swindon or somewhere like that. Mother’s the Pogges. A vacuous ex-lap dancer called Lezli. Ready to roll?’