Amber sincerely hoped so.
The night was closing in as she left the pub, and she smiled proudly at the activity still taking place under massive arc lights on the village green. It was as if the circus had come to town. The Fiddlesticks kiddies had never seen anything like it, and were crowded round the huge festival-type stage, getting in the way of umpteen electricians and sound men and lighting and special-effects experts who were all beavering away getting things spot on for the JB Roadshow.
Goff, Billy and Dougie, bristling with importance, were checking off tick-lists with the police, a whole host of security and parking personnel had been recruited, and it looked, Amber thought happily, exactly like a mini Glastonbury.
Only an hour or so to go until darkness proper fell; just enough time to get ready for the biggest party Fiddlesticks had ever seen.
She felt a shiver of excitement. It was magic. Sheer magic.
In fact, since Leo’s Lightning, everything had seemed – well – bewitched.
Lewis and Clancy were getting on really, really well. They’d spent hours together, talking and explaining and catching up and simply getting used to their new and unexpected relationship. So far, it seemed to have worked out better than either of them could have hoped, although Lewis said he’d never be able to call him Dad. Clancy apparently hadn’t minded at all and had promised never to call Lewis ‘me laddo’, or at least not in public.
Zillah, of course, was simply on cloud nine – Amber couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone quite so happy; Gwyneth and Big Ida were merrily planning planting their autumn gardens, their winter keep-fit programme and their next animal-rescue sorties; Fern and Timmy were so loved up it was becoming embarrassing – which only left Amber.
Well, she was enjoying the challenge of her college course, and the Hubble Bubble job was wonderful. So – everything in the garden was rosy, wasn’t it?
Well, yes, almost.
There’d been no major Lewis-developments to report since the snuggling-up under the wet willows, although Amber thought they’d become closer in a friendly way. There was no longer the remote disinterest in his eyes when he looked at her, and although she ached to touch him, to hold him, to kiss him, she’d accepted that friendship was all she was going to get.
Ah, well.
*
It was, Zillah thought, sitting on Clancy’s guitar case, in the noisy, overheated, backstage bustle, exactly as if they’d turned back time.
She’d met the other JB Roadshow members several times since her reunion with Clancy, of course, but she’d never heard them play. Now, with Clancy, amongst all the paraphernalia, it was exactly as it had been all those years before with Solstice Soul.
The laughter, the growing tension, the good-humoured jibes, the panicky loss of plectrums and drumsticks, the drinks and last-minute cigarettes, and run-throughs of tunes they’d played a million times before.
‘Unbelievable out there.’ Tiff Clayton, his hair newly bleached for the occasion, beamed lecherously at her. He was like Billy Grinley all over again only with a bit more showbizz pizzazz. ‘Full house. The whole green is packed as far as the eye can see, and people have got candles and picnics and it’s mind-blowing.’
‘Pretty hot totty, too,’ Berry Knight, the lead guitarist grinned. ‘Just right for you, Tiff. There are at least three chicks of pensionable age but still under eighty in the front row.’
Clancy bent down and kissed her. ‘OK? Not nervous?’
‘Of course I’m nervous’ She touched his cheek. ‘I was always nervous before a gig, wasn’t I? It’s no different now.’
‘Yes it is. Everything’s different now.’
She giggled. It was. Nothing would ever be the same again. And she loved it.
‘Right boys,’ Freddo strode into the mayhem, his hair flowing, his bling sparkling. ‘The crews are all up and running; sound, lighting, special effects all A-OK. The security boys are happy and everyone’s ready for—’
‘Blast off?’ Ricky Swain, the organist asked.
They all laughed.
Freddo shrugged cheerfully. ‘Whatever. So – are you all tuned up? Tuned in? Turned on? Amps tested? Guitar strings—’
‘Shut up!’ They howled at him.
Clancy pulled Zillah to her feet and kissed her. ‘Are you going to watch from the green?’
‘Yes, Amber and Lewis and Jem are saving a space for me on their front-row blanket.’ She slid her arms round his neck. ‘I’ll be bursting with pride. You’re going to be great.’
‘Going to be?’ Clancy raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought I’d been great on several memorable occasions recently?’
‘Too much information!’ the rest of the band yelled, chucking empty beer cans.
‘Um, right!’ Freddo clapped his hands. ‘I’m going to be making a little announcement, in my role as MC on stage when I introduce you – but there’s a teeny extra bit of news I need to impart now.’
They all stopped and looked at him. Zillah felt her heart sink. Surely not a management change? Not when Clancy’s second-time-around career was going so well?
‘As you know, there’s been a big resurgence of interest in soul music, and some of the biggest names are coming over from the States for the Soul Survivors nationwide tour and—’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jezza the drummer made wind it up movements with his hands. ‘We know. And you said we’d cut a quick album to tie in …’
‘Which you will,’ Freddo said. ‘Studio is booked next week – and we don’t have much time so you’d better be bloody good. Anyway, the great news is that we’ve been booked on the tour too as a support act.’
The band all whooped and stamped their feet.
‘Which means,’ Freddo yelled above the din, ‘that you’ll be on the road for six months, playing some of the biggest venues in the country, and as none of you are spring chickens, I suggest you all start taking mega doses of Sanatogen and Wincarnis right now.’
‘And loads of Viagra for Tiff,’ one of the brass players shouted.
They were ecstatic.
Zillah simply wanted to cry. Six months! Just when she’d found him again. How could she be parted from him for six months? It was just like the last time – and she’d lost him, hadn’t she?
‘Zil?’ Clancy looked at her. ‘What’s up? I thought you’d be thrilled. It’s stupendous news for us. We’ll have an album out and be on the same bill as really, really famous soul bands.’
‘I know –’ Zillah tried to smile ‘– and yes, it’s great news. Wonderful.’
‘It’ll be just like the old days.’
Zillah nodded. ‘Clancy, honestly, I’m thrilled for you. It’s just what you, the band, need. And this time I’ll still be waiting where you left me when you get back. Promise.’
‘Waiting? Left?’ Clancy frowned at her. ‘Do you think I’d go anywhere without you? Zil, darling, this is now – not back in the dark ages! Do you think I could bear to be apart from you for six minutes – let alone six months? You’re coming with me. This is for us, Zil, not just me.’
‘Really?’ Zillah felt as if she’d swallowed sunshine. ‘Really? Oh, wow. You mean … Oh, wow! Six months of touring … Together. All the time. Being on the road … Different towns, different places – I’ve hardly been out of this village for thirty years … oh, wow!’
She kissed him and he kissed her back and the years dissolved.
‘Ahem!’ Freddo coughed. ‘If you two could just hold back on the full-frontal stuff, we do have a show to put on.’
The harvest moon, a huge golden orb, hung in the navy sky like a painted backdrop.
Sitting on her blanket with Lewis and Jem, Amber felt a fizz of excitement. The stage was massive and snaked with cables, and the towers of amps promised blood-tingling noise, and the banks and banks of lights warmed the slight chill of the evening.
Gwyneth and Big Ida and the Motions were at one end of the row, with Mona Jupp and Goff and the other pub regulars at the other.
Behind them, all the Fiddlestickers and hordes of people from Hazy Hassocks and Bagley-cum-Russet and even Winterbrook, were cheek by jowl.
Everyone was waiting, anticipating, the tension almost electric.
‘Look at Zil,’ Amber nudged Lewis as Zillah appeared from backstage and made her way down the makeshift steps towards them. ‘She looks amazing. Like the archetypal hippie rock-chick …’
Lewis smiled proudly, as Zillah, in a long black skirt and a silver bustier under a black shawl, her hair all tousled, her long silver earrings catching the light, picked her way towards them.
She sat beside them, leaning across, kissing them all, her eyes sparkling.
‘Amber.’ Zillah squeezed her fingers. ‘Thank you. For this. I don’t know how you managed it – how it happened – but I’ll never be able to thank you enough.’
‘That’s all right,’ Amber said gruffly, squeezing Zillah’s hand back, suddenly afraid she was going to embarrass them all by a bout of emotional girlie crying. ‘I’m just so pleased for you. And for Clancy and for Lewis and – Oh-my-god – Zillah!’
But before she could say anything else, with a fanfare of unseen trumpets, Freddo bounced onto the stage.
The audience whooped and yelled and cheered as he picked up the microphone and strode up and down the stage, waving.
‘Does ’e sing?’ Constance Motion piped up. ‘Is ’e the turn? Is ’e like Val Doonican?’
Freddo raised his hands for silence and ran through his introductory spiel, telling everyone about the JB Roadshow and announcing the great news about their forthcoming tour.
The audience screamed and yelled and clapped a lot more.
‘Get on with it!’ Slo shouted. ‘I wants to ask young Gwyneth for a waltz!’
Amber leaned towards Zillah. ‘Quickly – before they start – is that what I think it is?’
‘And there’s one more thing to tell you,’ Freddo bawled, still stalking up and down. ‘Today, it was my great pleasure – probably the greatest pleasure of my life –’
Zillah and Lewis were now exchanging conspiratorial glances across Amber.
‘– to witness the marriage of our sensationally talented bass guitarist, Clancy Tavistock and your very own, very beautiful, very, very sexy, Zillah Flanagan!’
The audience exploded. The applause was thunderous. Gwyneth and Big Ida were laughing and crying. Everyone was staring at Zillah, beaming.
Amber hugged and kissed Zillah. ‘I knew that was a wedding ring! I knew it! Oh, Zillah! Congratulations – I’m so pleased for you – delighted – it’s amazing – but …’
‘Lunchtime. Winterbrook Registry.’ Zillah looked as though she was going to burst. ‘Freddo and Lewis as witnesses. No one else. We didn’t want a big do. Quiet as possible. We wanted to keep it a secret. I made Lewis promise not to tell anyone – not even you and Jem – until we’d finally done it.’
Jem, having worked out the implications of Lewis now having what he’d always wanted, kissed everyone.
Lewis grinned. ‘It was the most romantic thing ever. I bloody cried – but at least I didn’t have to wear a bridesmaid’s dress …’
‘And –’ Zillah leaned towards Amber ‘– there’s something else.’
‘God – you’re not pregnant are you?’ Lewis pulled a mock-horror face.
Zillah punched him. ‘I’m going to be touring with Clancy – I’ll be away for six months. My only problem will be Gwyneth and Ida and Chrysalis, so –’ she beamed at Amber ‘– I’d like you to move in as my house-sitter and geriatric-reprobate-minder, love. Would that be OK?’
OK? OK? Living in that fabulous retro cottage, still able to be with Gwyneth, having her own space? Having privacy to – to do her own thing, entertain …? OK?
‘Zillah – oh, yes. Yes – thank you. Oh, blimey,’ Amber hugged Zillah again. ‘Now I really am going to cry.’
But there simply wasn’t time.
With a whoosh and a crescendo of unbelievable noise and a blinding blaze of lights, the JB Roadshow, in their velvet flares and bright shirts, swarmed onto the stage, and Tiff picked up his microphone.
The noise was incredible as they thundered into their opening ‘Sock It To ’em JB’ number and as one the audience was on its feet, swaying and clapping, already dancing.
Clancy looked down at Zillah and blew her a kiss.
The Fiddlestickers roared some more, the roar lost in the raw, raunchy, explosion of soul.
They were, Amber thought giddily, as she clapped her hands above her head between Lewis and Jem, even better than they’d been at Winterbrook. And Clancy was sooo gorgeous.
Lucky, lucky Zillah.
The band rocked on, perfect, professional, sensational.
Fiddlesticks had never seen anything like it.
‘Holy shit,’ Lewis laughed as the JB Roadshow launched into ‘Soul Finger’, ‘Mrs Jupp has just thrown her knickers at Tiff Clayton.’
Chapter Thirty
Catch a Falling Star
It really had been the best night Fiddlesticks had ever known.
Everyone had danced and sung all night, screaming their enthusiasm, refusing to let the band leave the stage until they’d played an extra hour of encores. It was the early hours of the morning before the last high-as-a-kite villager staggered away across the green.
Now, unable to sleep and still on an adrenaline buzz, Amber sat alone outside Moth Cottage in the darkness. Gwyneth was sleeping soundly with Pike and the cats curled on her feet, and in Butterfly and Chrysalis Cottages, the dimmest of lights glowed. Big Ida was definitely snoring. Zillah and Clancy definitely weren’t.
It must be about 4 o’clock, Amber reckoned. Everywhere was still, with only the noises of the night creatures disturbing the silence. And warm, too, for September, the darkness sweet-spiced by wild garlic and thyme and grass crushed beneath hundreds and hundreds of stomping feet.
The Harvest Moon still hung in the sky, the silver of the stars dwarfed tonight by its golden majesty.
It had been a wonderful, wonderful night on all counts.
She suddenly stiffened in the darkness, her ears, now accustomed to the country sounds, picking up something … someone … crossing the green. Holding her breath, Amber listened. Definitely footsteps. Probably a late-night reveller still staggering home. She shrank back into Moth Cottage’s shadows.
The footsteps came nearer. Then stopped. So did her heart.
‘Amber?’
‘Lewis?’
He paused at the gate. ‘What are you doing?’
She smiled in the darkness. ‘And shouldn’t that be my question?’
‘Couldn’t sleep. Jem went out like a light. I simply couldn’t settle.’
‘So you thought you’d stroll round the village, did you? In the wee small hours?’
Lewis shook his head. ‘I’m not sure … and no I’m not drunk. I just wanted … needed …’ He looked at her. ‘Do you fancy a walk?’
‘Oh, yes, nothing I’d like better. I always wander around Fiddlesticks at this hour. No, sorry … OK.’ She joined him at the gate, smiling up at him in the moonlight. ‘And what the heck are you carrying?’
‘Oh, this,’ Lewis, looking slightly embarrassed, let a handful of shingle trickle to the ground. ‘Er – I actually thought I might chuck them at your window … oh, sod it, Amber. I needed to see you. To talk to you.’
She tried to rein in her beam. Fairly unsuccessfully.
They walked slowly, side by side, across the road and onto the green. The stage still loomed in the distance, but everywhere was silent.
‘Today,’ Lewis said, ‘has been amazing. With Ma and Clancy getting married, and then the show tonight and yet
They’d reached the rustic bridge. Amber leaned against the flaking woodwork, listening to the rush of the now refreshed stream gurgling beneath them. Her earlier beam faded as rapidly as the stars at sunrise.
Lewis didn’t look at her. ‘We – we never have any time to ourselves, do we? Not
to say anything much? Just snatched conversations. There’s always something, someone, else making demands. And I do need to say this to you. Now. While we’re alone.’
Amber was relieved that he couldn’t see her face. She’d been dumped before; she knew the signs. She’d cope. Hopefully. It was, however, desperately galling to be dumped by someone she loved more than life but, sadly, wasn’t even going out with.
‘Look –’ she decided to make it easy ‘– I know what you’re going to say. And I do appreciate you doing it now, privately, without the usual Fiddlesticks audience. And I promise I won’t be a pain. I know, because I’m staying in the village, you might find it difficult – but I promise I’ll leave you alone and—’
Lewis frowned. ‘I’m not sure I understand. Are you telling me—’
‘That I’m fine with just being friends,’ Amber nodded. ‘Yes. Right from the start, when you collected me at Reading station, I knew you weren’t interested. I knew, and OK, maybe I—’
‘Amber,’ Lewis interrupted, ‘when I saw you waiting at the station I thought you were probably the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life, but—’
Amber sighed. There it was. The but bit.
‘… but,’ he continued, ‘you were so – so well, cloned. Oh, God, I don’t want to insult you. But your clothes, all the make-up, the bone-straight hair – you looked like a million other girls. Like a uniform. And gorgeous, glamorous women like that, like you, like I thought you were, only want celeb lookalikes, to be a footballer’s wife or something
‘Excuse me?’ Amber frowned at him. ‘I’ve never wanted to be a footballer’s wife – or any other wife come to that—’
Seeing Stars Page 30