Seeing Stars by Christina Jones Page A

Nothing rhymed. The villagers seemed to know it all off by heart and droned along in unison.
    Everyone, simply everyone, was staring up at the moon.
    Amber simply stared at Goff Briggs.
    He only had one eye! She hoped someone whose green-cheese wish wasn’t answered wouldn’t rush at him in a fit of pique and
     gouge out the other one.
    ‘Now bring on the Lucky Cake!’ Goff yelled. ‘Let’s all make our wishes!’
    Yet more foot stamping and clapping and hollering followed this announcement.
    Amber shook her head. It was the maddest thing she’d ever seen. Quite, quite insane.
    A tall, thin, bald man was wheeling a huge green cake across from the pub on what looked like an operating trolley. A knife
     glinted in his hand.
    Maybe this was the time for the sacrifices?
    With less than ruthless efficiency, Goff staggered down from his podium, seized the knife, and started hacking atthe cake. Everyone surged forward, holding their hands out for a sliver.
    ‘Ida’ll get ours,’ Gwyneth informed her. ‘She’s great at barging ’er way through. You should see ’er on pensioners’ bargain
     day at Big Sava in Hazy Hassocks.’
    Even though she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol – yet – Amber began to feel quite intoxicated. Maybe the scent of the burning
     broom and bracken was making her squiffy? It seemed a mere matter of moments before everyone had a piece of green cake and
     amid a great deal of laughing and shrieking, quite sensible-looking people were lifting their slices towards the moon and
     making wishes. Out loud. Without looking the least bit embarrassed.
    Ida handed her a slice, and on inspection, despite its livid colour, it looked like a feather-light cheesecake. Amber nibbled
     a crumb. Blimey! It was delicious.
    ‘Young Mitzi has certainly got the gift,’ Gwyneth mumbled through her mouthful. ‘She says she’d never cooked before she started
     this herbal magic stuff – but you’d never know, would you? Go on, duck, eat up and make your green-cheese wish.’
    Amber grinned. Why not? What harm could it do?
    She took another mouth-watering bite and looked up at the moon. Could she really do this? Talk out loud? To the moon? Still,
     everyone else was, and no one had laughed – yet. ‘OK – not that I believe in any of this stuff for a minute, of course, but
     – I wish that – oh … I wish that my life could get, well, sorted …’ She stopped. Maybe that was a bit vague. ‘I wish – I wish
     – that being in Fiddlesticks was meant to be. That being here is the start of the rest of my life and that it doesn’t just
     keep drifting. Oh, and that something wonderful is just around the corner …’
    Maybe that was far too many wishes. And wasn’t it all a bit me-me-me? Maybe she should have simply wished for world peace
     and prosperity? Maybe St Bedric wasn’t goingto grant wishes to the self-obsessed.
    Not that she had too much time to think about it.
    ‘Amber, duck!’ Gwyneth swallowed the last morsel of her cake and waved. ‘If you’ve finished wishing, I’ve got someone here
     who wants to meet you.’

Chapter Nine
    By the Light of the Silvery Moon
    ‘I’ve been
so
dying to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. Well, I mean, Lewis told us all about you when he’d picked you up – oh,
     does that sound tacky? Sorry … well, you know what I mean – and then everyone’s been talking about you being here – and to
     have someone new
and
young in Fiddlesticks is so amazing that I’m surprised the bloody
Winterbrook Advertiser
hasn’t got hold of it for the front page.’ The curvy girl with shaggy day-glo green curls, tight green shorts, an Ireland
     rugby shirt and mile-wide grin paused for breath. ‘I’m Fern.’
    Amber grinned back. ‘I’d almost guessed. Something someone said earlier about the hair …’
    Fern patted her curls. ‘Sprayed on about half an hour ago. Might be all over someone’s pillow in the morning if I get really
     lucky. Do you fancy a