Janet went out quite frequently now. When she had first moved to London, she had been wary of leaving the house - both fearing and longing for an encounter with Trixie. (Slough was not that far away.) When she finally did start going shopping, she ‘saw’ Trixie at least once on each occasion. One time she ran after a blonde girl in a knitted beret and followed her all over C & A’s until the girl, who was not Trixie at all, threatened to call the manager.
But, eventually her apprehensions began to fade and if she saw someone now who even vaguely resembled her former friend she would look the other way until they had passed. Or even cross the road perhaps, to avoid a meeting. Time had put her former enthralment into a far saner perspective. She saw what a pathetic figure she must have cut and flinched at the memory. In the matter of day-to-day existence she was still not happy and still believed that such was never to be her portion. But she was not unhappy and occasionally experienced moments of contentment.
The tentative, awkward yet persistent beginnings of a friendship had sprung up between herself and Felicity. They would talk occasionally, sometimes at great length, about philosophical matters which puzzled Felicity and to which Janet had no answer. In the late spring they went to the open-air theatre in the park and once Janet suggested a concert at the Festival Hall. She chose a programme much lighter than the one she would have perferred, but Felicity had no knowledge of classical music and Janet was anxious not to put her off. She was delighted when, after borrowing various tapes and compact discs, Felicity expressed a liking for Palestrina. They had had supper one evening, sitting in the gathering dusk on Janet’s iron balcony, listening to the Missa Brevis.
Felicity’s appearance was much changed. She was plumper and her hair, left to its own devices, was now the colour of pewter and wrapped in a shiny French pleat. Her inward transformation, though continual, was of a daunting, hesitant and frequently alarming nature. But May’s hand was always present should Felicity stumble, which she did all the time.
They shared a house two doors away from Number 76 which had also been purchased with money from the sale of The Manor. This had raised over a million pounds, four hundred thousand of which had been safely and ethically invested, the interest being used to fund day-to-day running expenses, modest salaries, outreach projects and bursary assistance for the financially impoverished - of whom there seemed to be many. All four members of the organisation agreed that, although sending out the light was of the very essence, sometimes practical help was even more important. Very occasionally this kindness was abused but their serene and good-natured collective heart stayed steadfast through all adversities which, in any case, were minor compared to those in the recent past.
Arno had a garden flat in this second house, which was also home to an elegant tortoiseshell cat. Although a stray, it had the most exquisite manners - being both timid and refined. He named it ‘Calypso Two’ after the goat - now browsing, supercilious as ever, on a Welsh hillside.
Arno felt extremely blessed. In fact, as his joy increased, he sometimes felt he might burst under the strain. To his amazement and relief, his earlier florid declaration of undying love had not resulted in immediate banishment from May’s sight. And when, sober and desperately contrite, he promised unconditionally to withdraw his offer and never, ever refer to the matter again, he received only a kind and gentle chiding. He thought at first she was merely being sympathetic, for he was in considerable pain from the injury caused when the spike of her beloved cello had gone through his foot. But later conversations soon revealed that her affection, too, had been quite seriously engaged for some time.
Almost a year later, and on the day our story ends, four people gathered in the vestibule of Chelsea Registry Office. Felicity in a full-length rainbow dress and Janet, clad in lilac silk and clutching a nosegay of rosebuds. Arno wore his best suit, steam-pressed to a shining gloss. The bride arrived radiant, carrying an extremely large bouquet of flowers in every conceivable shade of blue.
As the shimmering column of white satin and lace, crowned by a wreath of orange blossom and foaming clouds of veil, sailed across the carpet and came to rest by his side, Arno tilted his newly hennaed beard to its most triumphant angle ever.
Five minutes later it was all over. Everyone kissed everyone else and the groom, happy beyond his wildest exaltations, led his lawfully wedded wife out to greet the world. May Cuttle (star name ‘Pacifica’) had finally and for ever become May Gibbs. And Arno’s Valkyrie queen.