Chapter Thirty
That night, I slept soundly. Maybe it was because I’d released a secret. One of two. A confession, as such. No Catholic priest had listened or absolved me, but I now felt lighter for letting the cat out of the bag, so to speak – even if my audience had only been that of a phantom.
Henry Rumbold might have been an upper-class prat, but he’d paid dearly for offering my boy a line of cocaine. With one anonymous phone call, I’d destroyed both the man’s marriage and his career. Even though I wasn’t a criminal, such action had left me feeling like one.
But you ARE a criminal, my inner voice piped up. What about the OTHER matter? Or have you conveniently wiped that from your mind?
I mentally stuffed the taunt into a box deep within my brain. For a moment I could almost visualise the lid jumping and jerking as the jibe fought to spar with my conscience.
Closing my eyes, I willed myself to stay calm. Nobody knew. Indeed, nobody would ever know. I was safe. The lid eventually became still. Mercifully, the sneering inner voice had withered to silence.
I had a tidy up – not that there was much to do now the twins were back at university – then sat down in the snug with a coffee and my phone.
A bit of mindless scrolling and relaxation was required before Tilly’s boss arrived.
Leslie would be doing a valuation. However, I’d let it be known that this was simply a precursor to Home and Hearth overseeing the immediate sale of Moonlight Manor.
Logging into Facebook – a place that, these days, only people of my age seemed to frequent – several notifications informed me that the page for Starlight Croft had been updated.
I tapped the screen and discovered that Cilla had been busy spreading the word about the Starlight Society. She’d also given the society’s objective – to save Starlight Hall from the clutches of developers.
The announcement urged everyone, both near and far, to attend this Saturday’s fundraising fete. Cilla had added all the names of the upcoming stallholders that would be in attendance, along with a handy diagram of who to find and where.
I was amused to discover that Cilla had named my stall Jen’s Jumble.
‘Do you see this, Peter?’ I said aloud. ‘Your precious belongings have been referred to as jumble. How funny.’
The air seemed to momentarily vibrate with dark energy, but I dismissed it as nothing more than fanciful imagination.
Taking a sip of coffee, I was pleased to note that Alice’s Artwork had been positioned next to my stand. Alice must have had a word with Cilla about our placements, so we could natter while flogging our wares.
I was quietly impressed at the number of pitches Cilla had managed to cram into the hall, and the high standard of what was on offer. This went way beyond an average village fete that offered fairy cakes or a tombola offering recycled bath cubes.
Cilla was aiming for a high financial return. I wondered if Liam Lancaster might show up. If so, he might realise what a force he was facing. Cilla would have charged several arms and legs to the visiting stallholders. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d also negotiated a percentage of their takings.
Cilla had also ensured Starlight Hall’s grounds were crammed with pop-up businesses. I fairly boggled at the list of external stands.
Visitors could sample vintage street food. This offered a mouthwatering menu suitable for weddings, parties and festivals and guaranteed to craft dishes for all cravings.
A gelato van promised posh ice-creams for all, including vegans, with tastebuds being tickled by flavours of salted caramel, stem ginger, honeycomb, and blackcurrants in clotted cream. I salivated at the description. Yum.
Other stalls offered genuine Italian pizza like Nonna used to make…
traditional jacket potatoes with special toppings…
hot drinks including tea, coffee, cappuccino and drinking chocolate…
cold drinks with every type of bottled water one could wish for…
burgers, hotdogs, donuts, candyfloss and slush drinks…
and, good heavens, Cilla had also attracted an inflatable fair.
Apparently, the latter would be setting up a vast bouncy castle, giant slides and even a bucking bronco.
My gaze returned to some blurb about the stands within the hall itself. Cilla assured visitors that they would be both impressed and enthralled by skilled individuals selling handcrafted artisan products that reflected both cultural traditions and unique craftsmanship.
I sipped my coffee while studying several arty-farty photographs.
Each showcased all manner of scented candles, toiletries, crystals, and even cosmetics.
There was also a pledge that – due to being produced in smaller quantities – there would be a greater attention to quality, thus distinguishing everything from mass-produced items. Wow.
I might be tempted to do a bit of shopping myself.
Last, but not least, was Hetty Cartwright’s stall.
I instantly wanted to snicker but equally felt a frisson of alarm.
Ever since Peter’s death, it was fair to say that Hetty had given me the collywobbles.
She’d made it very clear that she wanted to talk to me.
And not banal conversation about the weather or one’s next holiday.
Rather, chit-chat from beyond the veil. She’d even indicated that she had a message for me from Peter.
I mentally shuddered. No thanks. I wasn’t into conversations with dead people – at least, not unless it was my own imagination doing the narrating. Nonetheless, I read Cilla’s blurb about Starlight Croft’s oldest and apparently most intuitive resident.
Step into the mysterious world of Oracle Hetty.
Peer into the future with a glimpse of your destiny, love life, or lucky numbers.
Whether you’re a true believer or just curious, Oracle Hetty’s warm intuition and sparkling crystal ball promise a spellbinding experience.
Fortune favours the bold — dare to know what lies ahead!
Hetty’s stall would be given a wide berth by me. I liked my future to be one of stepping into the unknown. And preferably a pleasant experience. After all, the last surprise had been both nasty and shocking.
I swallowed down the last of my coffee just as the doorbell rang.
Placing my cup and mobile on the occasional table, I stood up.
For a moment I felt jittery, which was nothing to do with the caffeine I’d just consumed, but everything to do with the step I was about to take into that unknown future.
And I certainly didn’t want Oracle Hetty offering her guidance.