strategically placed
pots. At home both cooking and gardening were looked on as irritating necessities to be dealt with as quickly and easily as
possible.
At home … feeling suddenly overwhelmed, Amber swallowed her goat’s cheese quickly and put down her knifeand fork. Home no longer existed. She had to forget about home right now. She’d have to do a Scarlett O’ Hara and deal with
it later.
‘OK, duck?’ Gwyneth leaned across the table and patted her hand.
‘Mmmm, oh, I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful – it probably sounds daft, but I was just feeling a bit homesick.’
‘Understandable, duck, I know. But you’ll soon settle in. Have you ’ad enough to eat? ’ere have some more peas.’
Amber sighed. She was being pathetic again. ‘Sorry, yes and thank you. This is all so delicious. I don’t think I’ve ever had
real peas before.’ Amber picked up her fork again.
‘That’s a good girl, you eat up. You’ll feel better when you’ve had something to eat and drink and a bit of a sleep.’
While they ate, Gwyneth chattered about her youthful friendship with Amber’s Gran, and about the village and its seemingly
zillions of inhabitants, and about various upcoming social functions and a lot about the moon and stars, and strangely about
someone called St Bedric.
Amber let it all drift over her in a contented way. There’d be plenty of time to meet the Fiddlestickers in the next few weeks.
She’d never remember the names anyway.
‘… so, have you got anything green to wear for Saturday night, then Amber, duck? I really should ’ave checked before you arrived
’cause I know you’ll want to join in.’
Green? Green was
so
last year.
‘We all have to wear green on St Bedric’s Eve,’ Gwyneth continued. ‘Saturday night, it is. St Bedric’s is always fun. Luckily
you’ve arrived bang in the middle of the really good astral celebrations.’
For the first time Amber felt a slight pang of unease. So far Gwyneth had seemed so – well – normal. But despite her apparent
youthful outlook, she was after all extremely old. Could she possibly be suffering from some sort of dementia?
‘Have I?’ she said carefully. ‘That’s lovely. But I’ve never heard of St whatever his name is.’
‘St Bedric’s our patron saint and he was the first person to point out the moon is made of green cheese.’
Oh, pul-ease. Amber laughed. ‘But it isn’t.’
‘No,
we
know that. We’re not daft, duck. But ’undreds of years ago people didn’t know that, did they? They were scared stiff of the
moon and its powers. People and animals are still affected by the moon, even now, but then it was regarded as an all-powerful
deity. Everyone was terrified. Scared for their very lives. St Bedric was a kindly soul who took the fear away. Made people’s
lives happier. That’s why we celebrate ’im and why we wear green. To honour him and the cheese thing.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Amber said. ‘I think … But surely, what with space exploration and everything, no one these days can possibly
believe that the stars and moon can harm them or make any difference at all to their lives, can they?’
‘Don’t you sound so doubtful, duck. Everyone in Fiddlesticks knows that the moon and stars can change things. Make things
happen. You wait and see.’
Amber smiled kindly. She didn’t want to upset Gwyneth. ‘Er – right. I’m not sure I’ve got anything green to wear, though –
but I’ll have a look when I unpack.’ And if the whole village was going to be skipping around like something out of the
Faery Queen
come Saturday then Lewis might be there too which would be a mega plus. ‘Um, does everyone get involved in these starry things,
then?’
‘Ah. Everyone. All through the summer right up to September. There’s Cassiopeia’s Carnival, and Leo’s Lightning and Plough
Night and oh, loads of them. Then at the end we have a right old shindig come the Harvest Moon –
pots. At home both cooking and gardening were looked on as irritating necessities to be dealt with as quickly and easily as
possible.
At home … feeling suddenly overwhelmed, Amber swallowed her goat’s cheese quickly and put down her knifeand fork. Home no longer existed. She had to forget about home right now. She’d have to do a Scarlett O’ Hara and deal with
it later.
‘OK, duck?’ Gwyneth leaned across the table and patted her hand.
‘Mmmm, oh, I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful – it probably sounds daft, but I was just feeling a bit homesick.’
‘Understandable, duck, I know. But you’ll soon settle in. Have you ’ad enough to eat? ’ere have some more peas.’
Amber sighed. She was being pathetic again. ‘Sorry, yes and thank you. This is all so delicious. I don’t think I’ve ever had
real peas before.’ Amber picked up her fork again.
‘That’s a good girl, you eat up. You’ll feel better when you’ve had something to eat and drink and a bit of a sleep.’
While they ate, Gwyneth chattered about her youthful friendship with Amber’s Gran, and about the village and its seemingly
zillions of inhabitants, and about various upcoming social functions and a lot about the moon and stars, and strangely about
someone called St Bedric.
Amber let it all drift over her in a contented way. There’d be plenty of time to meet the Fiddlestickers in the next few weeks.
She’d never remember the names anyway.
‘… so, have you got anything green to wear for Saturday night, then Amber, duck? I really should ’ave checked before you arrived
’cause I know you’ll want to join in.’
Green? Green was
so
last year.
‘We all have to wear green on St Bedric’s Eve,’ Gwyneth continued. ‘Saturday night, it is. St Bedric’s is always fun. Luckily
you’ve arrived bang in the middle of the really good astral celebrations.’
For the first time Amber felt a slight pang of unease. So far Gwyneth had seemed so – well – normal. But despite her apparent
youthful outlook, she was after all extremely old. Could she possibly be suffering from some sort of dementia?
‘Have I?’ she said carefully. ‘That’s lovely. But I’ve never heard of St whatever his name is.’
‘St Bedric’s our patron saint and he was the first person to point out the moon is made of green cheese.’
Oh, pul-ease. Amber laughed. ‘But it isn’t.’
‘No,
we
know that. We’re not daft, duck. But ’undreds of years ago people didn’t know that, did they? They were scared stiff of the
moon and its powers. People and animals are still affected by the moon, even now, but then it was regarded as an all-powerful
deity. Everyone was terrified. Scared for their very lives. St Bedric was a kindly soul who took the fear away. Made people’s
lives happier. That’s why we celebrate ’im and why we wear green. To honour him and the cheese thing.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Amber said. ‘I think … But surely, what with space exploration and everything, no one these days can possibly
believe that the stars and moon can harm them or make any difference at all to their lives, can they?’
‘Don’t you sound so doubtful, duck. Everyone in Fiddlesticks knows that the moon and stars can change things. Make things
happen. You wait and see.’
Amber smiled kindly. She didn’t want to upset Gwyneth. ‘Er – right. I’m not sure I’ve got anything green to wear, though –
but I’ll have a look when I unpack.’ And if the whole village was going to be skipping around like something out of the
Faery Queen
come Saturday then Lewis might be there too which would be a mega plus. ‘Um, does everyone get involved in these starry things,
then?’
‘Ah. Everyone. All through the summer right up to September. There’s Cassiopeia’s Carnival, and Leo’s Lightning and Plough
Night and oh, loads of them. Then at the end we have a right old shindig come the Harvest Moon –
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