Seeing Stars (18 page)

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 despite 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.’

‘OK,’ Amber sighed. ‘I’ll see what I can do. You go back into the bar and keep Zillah out of here for as long as possible.’

‘You’re a star,’ Timmy gave her a hug. ‘I won’t forget this.’

Bugger, bugger, bugger! Amber cursed as she started to Google. It would take a hell of a lot more than a bit of haphazard
astral-magic to sort this one out. So much for her trying to get Timmy and Fern together tonight, not to mention Zillah and
whoever it was in Fiddlesticks that made her go all dreamy-eyed … never mind introducing Lewis’s long-lost father into the
mix.

It was clearly a recipe for disaster.

After ten minutes she had printed a list of suitable properties for Timmy. All promising weekends of everlasting love and
luxury. All within a few hours’ driving distance. All with phone numbers.

Amber surveyed the list and sighed again. She’d been tempted to sabotage the search and tell Timmy the computer had crashed
or something – but she couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair. Who was she to interfere in the course of true love, smooth or not?
Mitzi had warned her against trying to pair Zil and Timmy off, but what could she do to prevent it? Cassiopeia might be able
to sort out star-crossed
lovers, but Amber felt it was way beyond her own remit.

Just as she was about to log off, she remembered her own quest for live music. With her laptop still not unpacked, why not
make the most of having Google at her disposal? It would only take a few moments. Could she remember the names of those old
soul bands on Zillah’s LPs? She typed in various combinations with varying results, scribbling everything relevant on the
back of a handy pile of paper napkins, then pushed them into the back pocket of her jeans. She’d ring them tomorrow and get
some availability and prices.

‘How’s it going?’ Timmy popped his head round the door. ‘Any luck?’

Amber waved the sheaf of printed paper. ‘More love nests here than anyone could ever want. Er – shall I switch the computer
off now?’

‘I’ll see to it,’ Timmy was beaming ear to ear. It creased his thin face in a pleasant way. ‘Thanks a ton, Amber. I’ll get
on to these places straight away and tell Zil all about it at midnight. I can’t wait to see her face.’

Neither can I, Amber thought sadly, shoving her way through the crowded pub again and out into the garden.

‘What on earth have you been doing in there?’ Fern grinned. ‘Changing barrels?’

Amber felt unbearably disloyal. Oh, God … Poor Fern.

‘Nothing much – just helping Timmy out with a computer problem. It’s sorted now. Oh – you must be Win. Hello. It’s lovely
to meet you at last.’

Win, tall and middle-aged, with a baby face, very auburn hair and a beatific smile, raised her gin and tonic. ‘Hello, Amber.
Fern said you were pretty. And you are.’

‘Thanks. So are you. And that’s a lovely jumper.’

‘Made it myself,’ Win continued to smile. ‘I knit a lot.’

Looking round for Lewis and Jem, Amber scrambled back on to the bench.

‘Jem’s just gone to the toilet.’ Win nodded, enthusiastically sucking her slice of lemon. ‘With Mr Motion.’

God – surely Slo wasn’t trying to nick fags off Jem now, was he?

‘And Lewis?’

‘No,’ Win shook her head. ‘Just with Mr Motion. Lewis had to see someone. Ah – here he is … Hello, Jem.’