The Garden of Stars Page 12

  Excitedly, I ran down the dark corridor to Rosie’s room. She was still fast asleep, but I had to show her. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and looked at me as if I was a fairytale character who had just stepped out of her book and into her room. She blinked twice to check she wasn’t dreaming then jumped up and threw her arms around me.

  ‘Where did you get that dress, Mummy? I love it.’

  ‘Don’t you recognise it, Rosie?’

  She looked puzzled, it was clearly familiar to her but, understandably, she couldn’t quite place where she had seen it, for which I was glad as I didn’t want people thinking I’d wrapped an old quilt round me to go out. When I told her she looked stunned.

  ‘That old thing? How did you make it so beautiful?’

  In all honesty, I couldn’t say what had driven me to make it.

  ‘You realise there’s one thing you’ve forgotten,’ said Rosie.

  ‘What?’ I asked, thinking I’d left a whole panel out of the back and was exposing myself.

  ‘Your mask.’

  Of course, she was right, I had completely forgotten. I sat on the bottom of her bed, disillusioned.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mummy, I knew you’d forget. That’s why I took matters into my own hands, and made this for you.’

  At this, she whisked a dazzling cat mask out of her wardrobe. It looked decidedly like Whisper, only the eye holes were surrounded by pale pink glitter and there were elaborate swirling patterns painted onto the cheeks and huge soft whiskers coming from either side of a pretty pink nose. It was cut away under the nose, to allow me to talk and drink. I knew I had the perfect pastel pink lipstick to finish off my feline fabulousness.

  ‘It’s amazing, Rosie. How did you do it?’

  ‘You were so busy running around yesterday, doing everything for everyone else, I knew you wouldn’t remember your mask and that you wouldn’t really notice if I spent a bit more time in my bedroom than usual. Miss M gave me the glitter, cardboard, elastic, and pens.’

  Miss M. I knew she had to be involved. I loved my little girl and wondered if others were as thoughtful as she.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, my darling. Come on then,’ I said, playfully tapping her on the bottom, ‘we’ve got things to do.’

  ‘But it’s still early, Mummy.’

  ‘I know but I’m making pancakes and cherry sauce for breakfast then you and I are heading down into town early for the carnival.’

  ‘Yes, pancakes and the carnival,’ shouted Rosie, jumping up and down. She’d been looking forward to it all week.

  When we arrived in town, wrapped up in our hats, gloves, and scarves, it was already bustling with people putting up their stalls and making the finishing touches to their floats. It felt like there was magic in the air; it was going to be a great day after all.

  The carnival was officially opened by the vicar; the mayor sadly had been unable to make it. During his address Mr Baker revealed news he had received in a letter that morning. The council had refused planning permission for new development in Ivory Meadows on the grounds that it was an area of historical significance.

  We were stunned: we had actually done it. We had saved our beloved town. Everyone cheered and hugged each other. Barbara and Gillian came running over to me, tears running down their faces.

  ‘We did it, Vivian, we did it!’

  We all danced around the streets, clapping and cheering. Men punched their fists in the air in delight. Visitors, who had read about little Ivory Meadows in the newspapers and travelled from far and wide to come to the carnival were coming up and shaking our hands.

  It was a spectacular moment.

  The vicar gradually quietened everyone down again.

  ‘Not only that, everyone,’ he added, with a smile, ‘the council has decided to issue a grant for further tourism developments in the town, too, so that the beauty of the original Ivory Meadows can be restored and enhanced for all to enjoy.’

  There were further whoops and screams. The whole place seemed to come alive with jubilation. Mrs Donaldson hobbled over to me, her husband in tow.

  ‘I knew I was right about you at the very start, Ms Mrytle,’ she said. ‘You’re a good girl.’

  ‘Come here,’ laughed Maureen Sprockett, clutching me to her chest, ‘As I said before, I’m sorry I got swept up in all the stories. We’re so thrilled with everything you’ve done.’

  ‘I think we all make a pretty good team.’ I smiled, grateful for their kindness and acceptance once again.

  The news couldn’t have come at a better time.

  This meant we could host the train rides, the markets, the nature trails, ghosts hunts, riverboat cruises that we’d dreamed of all those months before. At last visitors would come, not to see the accused butcher working in his shop, or the charred remains of the timber house, but to enjoy the town for what it really stood for.

  We had done it, we really had.

  That afternoon, Ivory Meadows became busier and busier. There were throngs of people, many with different accents, proving our message had been spread far and wide. The whole place seemed to buzz with excitement. Elderly people reminisced as they tucked into minced pies, tourists chatted to locals about what was going on in the town. Children danced and twirled, led of course by my own beloved Rosie, to the old-fashioned fairground organ that Jeremy had convinced one of his circus friends to bring along. Each of the shopkeepers put up a market stall outside their shop, offering Christmas gifts, food, wrapping paper, and handmade cards. The air was filled with the smell of roasted chestnuts and tiny silver bells sang a playful tintinnabulation in the breeze. Mistletoe hung from the trees and red, green and gold bunting zig-zagged across the streets. Gillian had a wonderful eye for detail when it came to making the town sparkle. She had come up with most of the ideas for the carnival floats too, and had spent yesterday afternoon visiting each and every one to add her finishing touches.

  At 3 p.m., a cheer rose as a spectacular brass band came marching over the bridge into the town, marking the start of the carnival procession. Then the first truck was spotted, with two schoolchildren dressed as Mary and Joseph and a ‘baby’ in a manger at their knees. Loud ‘aaahs’ could be heard from the crowd as they passed. They were followed by a truck bearing hobby horses dressed as reindeer, and another full of white-clad snowmen, dressed in top hats and dancing animatedly to a ghetto blaster blaring out Christmas tunes. There was a winter scene, with robins and squirrels made out of papier-mâché, which the children and their teachers had laboured over for hours at school.

  A fairy float followed, with Rosie and her schoolfriends waving wildly from the top. More music filled the air and there was even a bleating of sheep to be heard as Mr Taverner, the local farmer, brought some of his livestock on the back of his favourite truck. It had been so very kind of him to let us use his vehicles, and his barns to hide away our floats.

  Last, but definitely not least, came Father Christmas, stood at the top of an exquisite chimney, made out of cardboard. That had been Gillian’s pride and joy. She’d spent days painstakingly painting on bricks and wrapping ivy around it to make it look realistic. The more people cheered and whooped, the more Father Christmas waved and bellowed ‘ho, ho, ho’. I just hoped he didn’t overdo it and cause the chimney to topple over! I could see Rosie standing on her float, loving every moment. She clearly had no idea who the smiling, rosy-cheeked man was behind the costume.

  As his float reached the church, the music softened and the cheering lulled in anticipation. Then Barbara piped up: ‘Ten, nine, eight …’

  Everyone counted down until we got to one when, magically, all the fairy lights of the town came on, from the huge star on top of the Christmas tree to the lights strung from one lamppost to another. There was a slight delay in getting the lights to switch on across the bridge but no one minded; everyone was happy to repeat the countdown once again. Then there were gasps of delight as the lights’ reflection danced in the river below.

  A com
petition to crown Ivory Meadows’ beauty queen was won by a bashful Janice, the library assistant, who managed to trip up as she went to collect her garland.

  Apart from those very minor hiccups, the day ran smoothly. Everywhere I looked people were smiling, tucking into toffee apples, riding the carousel and Ferris wheel, laughing at the clowns and stilt walkers.

  We all joined together to sing carols around the tree, each clasping a mug of mulled wine. There was a winter garland for every visitor, provided by Gillian, and many people were enjoying Mr Shaw’s historical tours of the town, which he made slowly yet steadily on his stick, pausing to reflect on the remains of his own scorched house but happily revealing his pride in his new abode. Later, children played hopscotch while their parents huddled together round my stall, chatting as they soaked up my warming cherry gin and fairy cakes. I had ginger biscuits, hedgerow wine made with wild blackberries, walnut cake, flapjacks, pound cakes and scones, all the local delicacies Miss Metford had told me about, bar of course the infamous pigeon pie and stewed eels. I kept a look out for Mary but she didn’t show. I thought, just maybe, she might have ventured into town for a celebration like this. I knew she would be proud of the result.

  The carnival closed with an impressive acrobatic display by members of the travelling circus, and a grand finale by the brass band. I packed up my stall and Rosie and I sang all the way back up the hill to our home. We were delighted by the carnival, and the fact the town was really ours again. I had been so desperate to save it, to make something right in our lives at last.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rosie and I tumbled into our little cottage, both caked in icing sugar and me slightly merry on mulled wine. We snuggled up on the sofa in the kitchen with cups of hot tea and countless stories of the day. We talked animatedly about all that we’d seen, heard, smelt, and tasted, both of us high on adrenaline from our incredible adventure. After half-an-hour, I dragged myself away, telling her I really must change for the ball and that she ought to wash her face before Miss Metford arrived for babysitting duties.

  I rushed upstairs to take another look at my dress. It was more stunning than I’d remembered it, hanging there shimmering and delicate, like a true princess gown.

  I took a long bath, painted my nails, and pinned back my hair, trying to tame my unruly dark locks, which I normally wore loose. They had grown in the time I’d been here, and I hadn’t had chance to visit a hairdresser. I put on far more make-up than usual, I think because I knew no one would see it beneath my mask. It gave me confidence. I hadn’t slept last night but didn’t feel tired at all.

  Gently I took the dress off its hanger and carefully climbed through the nets, wools, silks, cottons, and lace of the skirt before gingerly buttoning up the bodice. I had made it strapless. Normally I never exposed my shoulders but then this wasn’t really me tonight.

  I looked in the mirror, wondering if I’d overdone it. But the dress smiled back at me. ‘If I’ve made so many other people happy,’ she whispered, ‘how could I make you sad?’

  Slipping on my pink heels, I tottered down to Rosie’s room to pick up my mask. The gown made me feel like a lady. I stood in the doorway and said, ‘What do you think, Rosie?’

  ‘Mummy,’ she exclaimed, stunned, ‘you look like the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.’

  I felt myself blush as I stroked her hair and put her to bed, telling her I wouldn’t be home late.

  ‘Fais de beaux rêves,’ I said, kissing her gently on her cheek.

  ‘Have fun, Mummy,’ she sighed, sleepily.

  When I got downstairs Miss Metford was at the door, waiting to be let in.

  ‘Little one asleep?’ she whispered, and I nodded.

  ‘Good, I can get on with reading my book. I take it everything went well today?’

  ‘More marvellous than I could have possibly imagined,’ I cooed as I swanned out the door, turning to wave as Mary rolled her eyes.

  Putting on my mask, I made my way down the hill. Tonight I would be someone else from the moment I stepped foot out of the door. I would be Cleopatra, Desdemona, Juliet, Lady Chatterley, Holly Golightly all rolled into one. By the time I reached the town it was getting late. There was an eerie smell of fire and sulphur in the air. The fairy lights had been moved from the bridge to the gates of the town hall. They danced in the dark sky, like entertainers in a ballyhoo, twinkling: ‘come in, come in’.

  A large banner had been put up outside. It read: ‘Ivory Meadows Masked Ball. Come As You Are If You Please, But As Somebody Else Is Better!’ Next to it were huge torches burning bright, throwing fighting punches into the moonlit sky.

  I blushed at the thought I might be the only feline in a gown. Then I glanced inside. Everywhere I looked there were strange creatures. Birds with great beaks, lions, tigers, wolves, foxes, a pelican, another cat, butterflies, eagles, owls, and even a unicorn. Some were strange souls of the underworld, creatures I had never seen before with eyes and ears in the wrong places, covered in glitter and feathers. There was even an elephant and an enormous, menacing bear. There was an exotic peacock with feathers all around her head and a pink flamingo, balancing on one leg.

  The dancing had already begun; the tired wooden floorboards of the old town hall transformed into a glamorous dance floor. Elaborate gowns swirled round and round like crinoline ladies on a mechanical jewellery box. The blur of colour, movement, and music was breathtaking.

  Most of the masks were outrageous handmade creations, made from cereal boxes, paint, and string. But by the flicker of the candlelight, they looked eerie and surreal. There were feathers, sequins, tiaras, wands, and long, satin gloves.

  I had only been there five minutes when I was approached by an eagle. He looked sinister and all-powerful as he took my shawl and whisked it away to the cloakroom without a word. There was something wildly attractive about this silent, masked man. As he returned I tried to get a better look at those piercing eagle eyes while hiding behind my own cat’s eyelashes and whiskers. I recognised them but couldn’t place them. They were hazel with sharp black lines around the iris, which made them look big and bold. I blinked bashfully as we danced round the dance floor, my dress making wonderful swishing noises and movements and turning from pink to azure to gold in the soft flickering light. Everyone around us seemed to stop and stare. Suddenly I didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to look him in the eye for fear he’d mistaken me for another pussycat and this wonderful moment was about to come to an abrupt end. I so wanted to be the lucky kitten.

  After several dances, we moved off the dance floor and the animals around us parted to allow us to walk through. He sat me down at a table for two in the corner while he went to the bar for drinks: beer for him, cherry brandy for me. Maybe I was the chosen feline after all. Eventually I felt I had to speak. The anticipation was full of electricity, I thought I could explode into hundreds of gold and azure sparks at any time.

  ‘You know if a black cat crosses your path, it’s supposed to bring you luck,’ I whispered.

  ‘I must be the lucky one then,’ he said.

  His voice gave him away; I knew it was Bill. He smiled sheepishly. All his might and intrigue seemed to dissolve in a second. The dark stranger was someone I saw every day. I was no longer the hunted woman, I felt spurned. And yet there was still something about him. His thick-set, eagle eyes, his scent. The smell of his aftershave was evocative, reminding me of love and good times.

  ‘Vivian,’ he said. My cover was blown; clearly Rosie’s disguise had been easier to see through than I’d thought.

  ‘The thing is, Vivian,’ he said, awkwardly clasping his hands on his lap, ‘the thing is there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time.’

  Suddenly it didn’t matter that it was trusty old Bill, reliable, kind-hearted, hot-headed Bill, Bill whose great big hands always reeked of raw meat and who didn’t care who he offended. Bill, who I loved dearly but had never thought of as attractive, Bill, who was not my type. No, the
creature sat before me was a completely different bird. And my feline instinct, in fact every fibre of my body, told me to catch him and gobble him up right now before the candles were blown out and the ball gowns packed away.

  ‘Er, excuse me, Bill,’ a sparrow tapped him on the shoulder, ‘you got a second, mate? We need a hand getting another cask up to the bar.’

  The eagle eyes looked hurt. The moment was gone. He apologised and followed the sparrow out of the town hall.

  I sat all alone. For the very first time since arriving at Ivory Meadows, I felt completely lonely. I knew people wondered how I coped in a remote rundown cottage without a husband but I’d always had Rosie and my beautiful house and I had felt no need for anything or anyone else. Suddenly that was no longer enough. I wanted more. And I didn’t want to be alone at a ball of dancing, whirling dervishes with fake sequinned faces. I got up to leave, making my way over to the cloakroom to retrieve my shawl.

  Suddenly, I was cornered by a wolf. He came up behind me and, without touching me, forced me away from the throngs of bejewelled and gowned people.

  ‘Hello, Cathy,’ he said.

  Cathy? It felt as if I hadn’t been called that in years.

  ‘You look amazing, the belle of the ball. You have no idea how pleased I am to see you at long last.’

  My dress felt tight. All its different fabrics became hot and uncomfortable, each fighting to be the most important, the most prominent. I could hardly hear him over the sound of my raging dress. I couldn’t breathe. I knew I had to get out so I fled deep into the darkness, back up the hill to the safety of my home and daughter like a hunted woman. I no longer wanted to be the belle of the ball. I wanted to be invisible.