TRISHA ASHLEY
Wish Upon A Star
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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First Published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Copyright © Trisha Ashley 2013
Trisha Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Source ISBN: 9781847562784
Ebook Edition Wish Upon A Star © 2013 ISBN: 9780007535156
Version: 2019-04-04
This book is dedicated to all my wonderful readers my stars to steer by.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue: 2001, The Return of the Native
Chapter 1: A Star is Born
Chapter 2: The Night Watch
Chapter 3: Lardy Cake
Chapter 4: Christmas Pudding
Chapter 5: Falling Star
Chapter 6: Hasty Pudding
Jago
Chapter 7: The Cult of Perfection
Chapter 8: The Happy Macaroon
Jago
Chapter 9: The Blue Dog
Jago
Chapter 10: Sweet Perfection
Aimee
Chapter 11: Flaky
Chapter 12: Fruitful
Jago
Chapter 13: Sad Cake
Chapter 14: Stellas Stars
Chapter 15: What the Dickens?
Jago
Chapter 16: Puffball
Chapter 17: Honeyed
Jago
Chapter 18: Pinkers End
Chapter 19: Gone, but Not Forgotten
Chapter 20: The Proof of the Pudding
Jago
Chapter 21: Is There Honey Still for Tea?
Jago
Chapter 22: Princess Possibilities
Chapter 23: Mincemeat Mess
Jago
Chapter 24: Tart
Aimee
Chapter 25: Horse Feathers
Chapter 26: Jumbled
Aimee
Chapter 27: Nearer, My God, to Thee
Chapter 28: Taking Stock
Chapter 29: Nesting
Chapter 30: Plagued
Chapter 31: Cooking Up a Storm
Chapter 31: Cooking Up a Storm
Chapter 32: A Random Lot
Chapter 33: Up the Pole
Aimee
Chapter 34: Babes in the Wood
Chapter 35: Fêted
Aimee
Chapter 36: Surprise Package
Chapter 37: Nuts
Chapter 38: On the Edge
Jago
Chapter 39: To Infinity and Beyond
Jago
Chapter 40: Flying Pigs
Jago
Chapter 41: Boston Beans
Jago
Chapter 42: Piece of Cake
Chapter 43: Celestial Bliss
Recipes, Wish Upon a Star, Trisha Ashley
Acknowledgements
Read on for an exclusive extract of Trishas next novel Every Woman for Herself
About the Author
By the same author
About the Publisher
Prologue: 2001, The Return of the Native
It was early evening in the village of Sticklepond and the bar of the Falling Star was almost empty, apart from a couple of locals whod dropped in on their way home from work, and the shoe salesman in the corner who had booked a room for the night and was now studying racing form in the paper as if his life depended on it.
As Florrie Snowball slapped a hot, limp, microwaved sausage roll and a pint of Middlemoss Brown Ale in front of Pete Ormerod, who farmed up by the edge of the Winters End estate, she said, I hear theres an Almond moved back into the village.
Thats right, he agreed, poking the middle of the sausage roll with the end of a gnarled finger as if unsure what might pop out. News gets around fast.
Someone saw her theres no mistaking an Almond, and anyway, weve seen Martha come and go over the years, right up till her mother died, havent we? Not that she didnt keep herself to herself, just like her parents did.
They had cause enough, didnt they?
Im not one to think the sins of the fathers should be visited on the children, poor innocent mites, and only us old ones remember the whole story now, Florrie snapped. And anyway, Marthas parents were no more than cousins, so it wasnt really anything to do with them.
They still felt the shame, though, Pete Ormerod said heavily, and went off to Australia with the rest of the family, even if they were back within the year.
Well, you did all right out of it, didnt you? she pointed out tartly. Buying Badgers Bolt farm gave you twice as much land and they were in such a hurry to get away, I bet you paid less than it was worth.
It was enough to buy them a sheep holding in Australia and thats what they wanted though the sheep were what Jacob couldnt abide. But there was never a better cattle man than Jacob Almond and I was more than glad to give him his old job and cottage back.
I always thought the whole clan of them upping sticks and emigrating was a bit of an over-reaction myself, Florrie said. Came of them being Strange Baptists from that chapel that was over in Ormskirk, I expect. The young ones these daysd think nothing of what happened they see worse on the soaps every night. So now Marthas back living in the very same cottage she grew up in, its surely time to forgive and forget.
Not exactly the same cottage, Pete said through a mouthful of sausage roll, the last people who had it built a big garden room at the back with a bedroom over it and tarted the place up no end.
Well, you should know, you were the one who sold it off to them in the first place. And its just as well its been done up, because it was no more than a hovel before, and after being married to that London doctor Martha must be used to something different and come to think of it, shes not an Almond now, shes Martha Weston.
Shell always be an Almond as far as some of us are concerned, theres no getting away from it, Pete said, shaking his head, and seeing he was set in that conviction she said no more, though she did severely admonish him for having the bad manners to talk with his mouth full, before leaving him to the rest of his sausage roll and pint.
It had been sheer serendipity that the house where she was born should have come up for sale just as Martha Weston had started her search for a new home. Now, unpacking books in the almost unrecognisable cottage, she neither knew nor cared whether the locals were talking about her or not she was just glad to be back where she felt she belonged.
Although she didnt know all the ins and outs of it, Martha was well aware that one of her relatives had somehow blotted his copybook and been expunged from the family records in the dim and distant past (Never mention Uncle Esau to your father, her mother had always said), an event that had precipitated the entire Almond clan taking flight like a flock of startled birds.
She barely remembered Australia, except that it had been hot and smelled of sheep, but her parents had been even more insular on their return and she became a solitary child, happy in her own company, who could often be seen sketching in the countryside.
Shed gone to grammar school in Merchester and then, after being taken up and encouraged by Ottie Winter from the big house (who was even then getting a name for her sculptures), went off to art school in London.
Marrying a doctor and staying there hadnt been any part of her plans, but love plays tricks on us all. Still, as soon as his death released her, she had flown like a homing pigeon back to the village where she was born.
She belonged in Sticklepond, but since both nature and nurture had made her solitary she often walked in the gloom of the evening when few were about and did most of her shopping in the nearest town instead of the village.
But strangely and without her being aware of doing it, whenever her way took her past the war memorial on the green, she would avert her eyes and quicken her step, just as her mother had always done.