Star yawned as she made her way inside STAR Crystals & Jewellery, the market unit she had rented and run in Ferry Lane Market for the past six years. Gagging at the sweetened coffee, she then cranked up the heating. She hated the winter, mainly because it reminded her of those freezing days living in the static home with her mother and a young baby. The memories of all three of them cuddling up together under a blanket were not quite as romantic as the version her mother had fondly recalled. Probably because Estelle Bligh had been warmed through with brandy or cannabis at the time, Star thought grimly. The experience had done one thing: made her determined that, as soon as she could afford a place of her own, she and her beloved only child Skye would never be cold again.
Oh, how hard she had worked to create her own little business and forge her way in the world. Steren Bligh had always been a grafter. As soon as she was old enough, she had put herself on the bus to work on Saturdays and after school at Sibley’s, the newsagent in Penrigan that was owned by her great-aunt Florrie and her great-uncle Jim Sibley.
The childless churchgoers had always looked out for their pretty little fair-haired assistant. And when she became pregnant at just sixteen years old, despite their Christian beliefs – or perhaps because of them – they had not turned their backs on her; on the contrary, they had taken care of both her and the baby. The couple had kept Star’s job open, and they’d also made sure that, when Estelle was working at her ‘witchcraft’ as they called it, and couldn’t babysit, Skye was fed and cuddled in the flat upstairs. Their great kindness allowed Star to carry on working her regular shifts without having to find money for childcare.
Their generosity also meant that Star could save up her wages to buy beads, silk threads and fastenings. Then, staying up as late into the night as possible before her eyes shut without her permission, she would make bracelets and necklaces to sell on Penrigan Beach and along the pier on a Sunday to the many visiting holidaymakers. Putting Skye in a makeshift papoose and ably managing to dodge the council do-gooders, the young entrepreneur did excellent business, with her little white-haired bairn proving a valuable attraction. To the coos of ‘what a gorgeous baby’, her basket full of trinkets was soon empty, and her money belt was full.
This routine continued until she finished her exams and began helping out more in the newsagent. By then, Flo and Jim were allowing her to sell her handmade jewellery from a stand next to the magazine rack, and she also sold her wares at as many arts and craft fairs as she could fit in around her shifts.
Everything changed when her beloved great-uncle Jim dropped down dead the day before he and Florrie were due to retire. He was just seventy-five.
The Sibleys’ retirement plan had been to close down their business but stay living in their modest flat above the newsagent and donate the space below for charitable and church causes. It wasn’t until they had both passed away that their heirs – Star, Skye, the RSPB, and the local church – would receive their legacies. However, after Jim’s untimely passing Star received her generous legacy in advance: the sum of £20,000, which Jim, with the full support of his wife, had left Star in his will.
When the lease of the much sought-after unit on Ferry Lane Market came up for sealed bids, Star’s dream of a shop and a home of her own came to fruition far sooner than she could ever have imagined. With the money, she put down a deposit and six months’ rent to start with, and was able to buy everything she needed to set up her business.
STAR Crystals & Jewellery was sandwiched between her best friend Kara’s Passion Flowers florist shop and the Hartmouth Gallery run by Glanna Pascoe. The feisty stallholder not only exhibited the works of some quite well-known local artists but she also painted seascapes herself. And it was with inward delight that Glanna now acknowledged that the tourists who religiously came to Hartmouth for their holidays had started collecting her work, too.
Here in Ferry Lane Market, Star was completely content. She could get everything she needed from the shops and stalls. The rich variety of products made sure you could fill up your shopping bags here for a bargain price and have plenty of choice – as well as banter from the Dillon family’s fruit and veg stall opposite at no extra cost.
Ferry Lane Market was like having the whole world in one small community, and she loved it with all her heart.
Star often thought that if it hadn’t been for the passing of her dear great-uncle, three generations of Bligh females would still be living all on top of one another in the small park home up on Hartmouth Hill. When she had inherited the gift of money from a man she had looked up to and loved, and with the blessing of his dear wife, she felt that the universe had been listening to her dreams and that she really did have a guardian angel.
Turning on the display window lights against the gloomy autumn day, Star’s phone beeped with a text. My battery went last night, sorry, mum. At work, can’t talk. C u later xx
Star let out a deep breath of relief. If the world were powered by the angst teenagers caused their parents, there would be no need to worry about global warming ever again, that was for sure. As the heater at her feet began warming her up, she set about unpacking the new order of precious stones and crystals, which she would use to make jewellery for her sparkly new winter and Christmas gift collection.