Seeing Stars (21 page)

‘You can’t sit there, duck!’ A woman dressed in a union jack two-piece and plimsolls screeched as Amber had found an empty
space. ‘That’s Sandra’s seat!’

‘Oh, right … sorry …’ Amber had stumbled into another vacant seat further up the bus.

‘Not there!’ A middle-aged man who had one long eyebrow and bits of bloodied lavatory paper dotted about
his chin, snapped. ‘Mr Emsworth always sits there.’

‘Right …’ Amber had swayed even further along and looked hopefully at a vacant seat towards the rear. ‘Anyone sitting here?’

‘Do it look like it?’ Across the aisle, a box-shaped lady with post-menopausal acne and a moustache, pursed her lips. ‘It’s
empty, innit?’

As the bus turned a particularly sharp corner at that point, Amber found herself catapulted into the seat.

Mrs Spotty-Moustache glared across at her. ‘And don’t sit by the window. Our Flintlock always sits opposite me. He gets on
just afore Bagley and he gets travel sick if he can’t see out.’

Our Flintlock, thin and grubby and with a strange glint in his eyes, galloped onto the bus at the Bagley stop, scrambled over
Amber and beamed at Mrs Spotty-Moustache. ‘Morning, our Peaches.’

Peaches?

Amber tried not to breathe in as Flintlock and Peaches updated family information across her. Peaches clearly chewed recreational
garlic. Flintlock probably hadn’t been in close contact with deodorant since 1967.

By the time the bus reached the outskirts of Hazy Hassocks, none of the passengers had shown the slightest inclination to
leave, and neither of the seats reserved for Sandra or Mr Emsworth had been taken.

‘You could ’ave sat down there,’ Flintlock nodded down the bus, ‘if you’d wanted. Sandra’s on holiday in Bulawayo and Siddy
Emsworth died last Feb.’

Amber stood up as the bus careered towards Hazy Hassocks High Street. Last time, she’d got off outside The Faery Glen pub
and made her way to Mitzi’s shed. It hadn’t taken long at all.

‘If you wants the library end, you don’t want to get off ’ere,’ the woman in the Union Jack two-piece bellowed down the bus.
‘It’s quicker to wait until you gets past Big Sava.’

Amber sat down again.

Several shops including Big Sava flashed past.

‘Missed it!’ Peaches shrilled. ‘You should ’ave got off at the pub.’

Amber pinballed down the aisle and fetched up by the driver. ‘Er, can you stop somewhere soon, please? Near the library?’

‘We don’t stop near the library!’ the bus chorused.

‘You’ll have to wait until we reaches the dental surgery now, sweetheart,’ the driver grinned. ‘And a word of advice if you
travels with us again – you don’t want to take no notice of them back there. They’re all barking.’

Once safely on High Street terra firma with everyone on the bus waving to her as they sped away, Amber vowed never, ever to
take public transport again. She’d have to hope Mitzi insured the Hubble Bubble van sooner rather than later.

The shed shimmered in the morning heat. The workaday traffic crawled along the High Street adding to the hazy effect. Amber,
exhausted and irritable after a fairly sleepless night and the early start, tried the door.

It was locked. As there wasn’t a bell or a knocker, she rapped smartly on the flaking green paintwork with her fist.

The door creaked open a fraction and Amber caught a glimpse of a thin, elderly face topped by a vibrant plastic cycle helmet.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s me. Amber. Mitzi asked me to come into work early and—’

The door was pulled open.

‘Hello, young Amber. Come along in. Do you remember me? We met at Bertha Hopkins’ funeral?’

Amber smiled at the elderly lady. Vaguely. One of Mitzi’s neighbours? Name escaped her. The cycle helmet never would. Mitzi
had explained how the Banding sisters had been told months ago, by her daughter’s paramedic boyfriend, that cycle helmets
could save lives, and had
taken to wearing them constantly ever since, even though neither of them had a bicycle.

‘Lavender Banding.’ She held out a wizened hand, liver-spotted and recently in close proximity with marmalade. ‘I’m looking
after things this end while my sister Lobelia deals with the other things back at the house. Feeding Richard and Judy, things
like that.’

‘Richard and Judy? Er – are they staying with Mitzi?’

‘They live with her, silly.’

‘Er – do they?’ Humour her, Amber thought swiftly, in case she reaches for the bread knife. ‘Really? I thought they lived
in London.’

‘No, bless you. They’ve always lived with Mitzi. Well, since she rescued them from the garage, of course.’

Oh, of course.

‘And – um – Lobelia’s feeding them? Can’t they get their own breakfast then?’

‘Of course not!’ Lavender’s cycle helmet nodded in scorn. ‘How are they going to get their little paws round the tin opener,
for heavens sake?’

Paws?

Lavender chuckled. ‘They’re very spoiled cats are Richard and Judy.’

Amber breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Ah, yes, of course – er so Mitzi isn’t here, then?’

‘No. That’s why I am. She’s left you a list. She says it’s only a very little soirée this morning and you’re a capable girl
and –’ Lavender rummaged in her pockets and produced a much folded piece of paper. ‘Here we are … Young Mitzi said she’s very
sorry but she knows you’ll understand.’

Amber unfolded the paper.

Amber folded the paper again. OK, it all sounded straight forward and at least she had the van. She’d coped with more difficult
things than this, and if – big if of course – she was going to make her permanent home in Fiddlesticks and her career with
Hubble Bubble she’d have to go solo at some point, wouldn’t she?

‘Is it all straightforward?’ Lavender peered at her. ‘Not too complicated?’

‘No, it’s fine, thanks. I’ll just have to find what I need and get the plates and doilies and napkins sorted out. It shouldn’t
take too long. Er – do you mind hanging on while I do it, then you can lock up behind me? Um – is Mitzi ill?’

Mitzi certainly hadn’t sounded ill over the phone. If she’d taken to her bed it had to be more to do with that fabulous dentist
than a virus.

‘She’s gone to the hospital but she isn’t ill,’ Lavender chortled. ‘She’s gone to be with her daughter, Doll.’

‘Her daughter? Goodness – what happened?’

‘Doll started her pains in the early hours. She’s having her baby. It’s a few weeks early.’ Lavender beamed proudly. ‘We’re
going to be a grandmother!’

Seventh Star

‘Can I come in?’ Zillah popped her head round the door of the Hayfields flat. ‘Er – not interrupting anything, I hope?’

‘Nothing carnal,’ Lewis grinned. ‘Unfortunately. Great to see you. This is a rare treat, Ma. Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?’

‘If it wasn’t ten in the morning I’d go for a double helping of the last, but coffee will be fine, thanks. Jem not here?’

‘Just dropped him off at the joinery. His hangover was a corker. And in this heat I pity the poor bloke who’s supervising
him on planing and sanding this morning. Won’t be long.’

Zillah watched her son, long legged in denim, move with that heart-tuggingly familiar inherited stride into the small kitchen,
then having cleared a pile of washed but unironed jeans and T-shirts to one side, flopped onto the sofa.

The flat, on the ground floor of Hayfields, was a bloke’s paradise. Both Lewis’s and Jem’s clothes were strewn everywhere,
lads’ mags were discarded across the tables, beer cans and pizza boxes made an artistic statement by the fireplace, and the
room was dominated by a plasma screen and dvd player, and a pile of silver stereo equipment that wouldn’t have looked out
of place in NASA. There were no
feminine touches at all – no cushions or pictures or plants – nothing, which to Zillah would have softened the edges and made
it a cosy home.

However, the sun-sprinkled view from the window across Hayfields’ extensive and well-stocked gardens running down to the tree-fringed
river, was sublime.

‘Thanks love.’ She took the mug, not looking too closely. Neither Jem nor Lewis were too careful about washing up, despite
the dishwasher installed in the tiny kitchen. She knew they relied on Fern, Win or Martha, Hayfields’ House Mother, to pick
up on the worst of their lack of domesticity.

‘So? Is this simply a social call?’ Lewis slumped onto the low sofa beside her with an easy grace. ‘Or have you come to check
on whether Sukie stayed for bed and breakfast?’

Zillah sipped her coffee. ‘Don’t be sarcastic.’

Lewis raised his eyebrows. ‘Sarcastic? You’ve been the morality police for as long as I can remember. You must be the only
ma in the world who actually wants her son to find a nice girl and settle down sooner rather than later.’

She grinned at him. ‘Well, is she? A nice girl?’

‘Very. I like her a lot. We had a great time last night. And disappointingly virtuous. I walked her home to Bagley as I’d
drunk too much to drive, and left her with a chaste peck on her doorstep. We may or may not see one another again depending
on who else crosses our paths in the meantime. We might meet up for a drink if and when we’re both free. All very friendly
and casual. There – full story. Maternal curiosity satisfied?’

‘Not really,’ Zillah stared out of the window. ‘But it’ll have to do.’

‘So, why are you really here?’

She told him. She’d realised as she’d walked from Chrysalis Cottage that he was the only person in the whole world that she
could tell. She had plenty of friends, good friends, but no one else – apart maybe from Mitzi – who would understand. Of course
she couldn’t tell him why
Timmy’s choice of Cornwall made it a doubly awful idea, and hoped he wouldn’t ask.

‘Bummer,’ Lewis sighed when she’d finished. ‘But wouldn’t you like to return to the land of your fathers? OK! I gather from
the “I’d rather pull my toenails out with rusty pliers” look that that’s a no. Sometimes, I wish you’d tell me about Cornwall—’

‘Nothing to tell,’ Zillah said quickly, ‘nothing at all. It’s where I was born and I left and I never, ever want to go back.’

They stared at one another for a moment.

Lewis shrugged. ‘OK – but I don’t think you should be too hard on Amber in all this. It was hardly her fault. She only did
what Timmy asked her. She’s a newcomer so she doesn’t know anything about the set-up between you, does she? And she certainly
wouldn’t know about Cornwall … She has no idea that you don’t reciprocate Timmy’s feelings, either. She probably thought it
was a dead romantic thing to be doing – especially on Cassiopeia’s.’

‘You would defend her.’ Zillah placed her empty mug strategically over a magazine cover displaying more of Jodie Marsh than
she wanted or needed to see. ‘But, maybe you’re right … Still, that doesn’t change the situation, does it? What the hell am
I going to do?’

‘Tell him no,’ Lewis smiled at her. ‘Now – before he makes any more plans. Let him down gently, which you will anyway, but
tell him. Thanks, and you’re very flattered but you simply can’t accept. He’ll be hurt – but not half as much as he will be
if you play him along and then tell him later. And if you accept this dirty weekend—’

‘It’s not a dirty weekend!’

‘Whatever –’ he grinned ‘– but if you agree to go then you’ll be giving him false hope. Unless you’re prepared to accept the
whole package of course.’

‘I’m not. I can’t. But if I tell him, then we can’t go on working together, can we? He’ll hate me and I’ll just feel sorry
for him and that’ll be awful. He’s so nice – he deserves more than sympathy and second-best.’

‘So do you. And Timmy’s a great bloke – but given the choice I wouldn’t want him as my stepfather. Far too straight. But honestly,
Ma, you knew all this, didn’t you? You didn’t need me to tell you.’

Zillah sighed again. Lewis was right. He’d voiced her own thoughts. She knew she’d have to tell Timmy and take the consequences
– even if it meant leaving the pub.

‘OK,’ she struggled to the edge of the sofa. ‘Thanks. You’ve helped a lot. A girl needs someone to talk things over with –
even if she already knows what she’s going to do. But I’m still going to ask Amber to keep her nose out of things that don’t
concern her.’

Lewis laughed. ‘Treat her gently, then. I think there’s a well-meaning and vulnerable lady hidden underneath all that slap
and phoney celeb clone glamour.’

Zillah raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that some sort of hint that you’re not as disinterested in Ms Parlsowe as you pretend to be?’

‘I’m growing very fond of her if you must know.’ Lewis gave her a challenging look. ‘We get on well and she’s a friend – becoming
a good friend – but how can it be any more than that? I’ve got as many issues with relationships as you have …’

‘I’d noticed.’

‘Yeah, well – you know my reputation – none better. So many girls, so little time and all that … What do you want me to say?
Amber is nothing special to me? Isn’t that what you want me to say? She surely can’t be your idea of the ideal permanent fixture?
And what do I know about permanent fixtures anyway? Love ’em and leave ’em, that’s what I do best.’ Lewis stood up and pulled
a quizzical face at her. ‘Like mother like son, I guess. After all, isn’t that what you did with my father?’

Amber was practically tearing out her scrunchied hair. The room was stifling, the food, so carefully arrayed, was
becoming warm and runny, and the HHLL were, well, simply hell.

Having carried out Mitzi’s instructions to the letter, she’d made several dummy runs round the quieter Hazy Hassocks roads,
getting used to driving again, and found the Hubble Bubble van reasonably easy to handle and having had no difficulty locating
the address, parking or unloading, the rest had so far been a nightmare of cliched proportions.