Christmas Promises at the Little Wedding Shop

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘Rory, what a lovely surprise to see my favourite boy here.’ Marilyn pushes straight past me and practically sweeps her favourite off his feet as she clamps her lips to his cheek. Then she steps back and begins to stroke his hair, her bracelets clinking. ‘I hope you’re taking good care of that poorly head of yours? And how’s your wine business and your lager making? I hear you’ve created Seth some all of his own?’

  Rory finally seizes a gap to reply. ‘We’re certainly doing Seth and Katie their own extra- special beer labels for the wedding.’ Having sprinkled enough sparkle on that, he springs back to a safe distance behind the table and turns to me. ‘Seth and I go way back. So how can we help you today, Marilyn?’ If he’s stealing my lines, I’m not about to complain.

  Marilyn leans in as close as the tabletop will allow, talking in a dramatic, confidential whisper. ‘I need to borrow Katie’s dress for half an hour, to organise a last minute surprise. There are some darling fur jackets and I want to see which goes best.’

  Knowing the unwelcome shocks Marilyn’s previous surprises usually turn out to be, I’m hesitating. ‘I think I’d need to check that with Sera or Poppy first. And they’re not here yet.’

  As Marilyn draws in a breath her nostrils flare and her light purr changes to a growl. ‘I’ve already paid for the dress. Personally. In full. I fail to see how I need anyone’s permission to take it where the hell I want when it’s actually my property.’ She fumbles in her bag, then slams a piece of paper on the desk. ‘Here’s the receipt. You can’t argue with that.’

  Rory’s pointing at his phone. ‘If we could possibly speed this along? We do have a wedding to get to, Berry.’

  As Marilyn butts in, she’s stabbing the air with her finger. ‘My car’s blocking the mews. No one’s going anywhere until I have my dress.’ No pressure there, then.

  ‘Okay.’ Put like that, I’m not sure what else I can do. ‘I’ll get it now.’

  I dash into the room next to the kitchen, where it’s hanging in its cover, ready for steaming, and check the label, and that it’s the right one.

  As I whoosh back into the White Room Marilyn’s beatific smile returns. ‘Good girl. Well done for that, Berry.’

  I have to correct her. ‘Sorry, I’m not Berry, I’m Holly.’

  She’s beaming as she wrenches the hanger out of my hand. ‘But Berry suits your rosy complexion and shiny nose so much better. Don’t worry, I’ll have it back in a twinkling.’ And a moment later she’s stamping out past the Christmas tree, dress bag flying behind her.

  As the shop door slams shut, Rory picks up the bags. ‘Right. Lights, camera, action?’

  I put my hands to my face, cursing myself for skimping on the Red Alert layers. ‘Maybe I need more …?’

  He cuts in. ‘No time for toothpaste today. Or icing. You’re fabulous just as you are. Come on, let’s run.’

  As the crisp morning breeze off the sea blows into my face as we step out onto the Mews, I can’t help smiling when I notice the scarlet lipstick splash smeared across Rory’s cheek. Nothing to do with Rory’s throwaway compliment either. As far as that goes, he’s full of bollocks. End of story. It’ll just make a change for me not to have the reddest face in the car for once.

  Chapter 26

  Friday 15th December

  The double wedding at Rose Hill Manor: Zoo animals and cool running

  Sophie and Saffy marry Taylor and Travis

  Three weddings in, I’m beginning to realise that each one is very different. As I make my way up the wide stairs at the Manor, even though I’m whooping inside because the centimetre of snow is still on the ground outside, my legs are so heavy it feels like it should be the end of the day, not the start. When I reach the first floor bedroom suite where the brides are getting ready, it’s mayhem. The tasteful taupe and white decor is obliterated by strewn clothes, far flung suitcases, and more cosmetics and shoes than on the entire ground floor of Johnny Loulou’s. But when I look through the viewfinder the mess captures the whole atmosphere of the morning so well, I lose no time in getting to work.

  With six bridesmaids, two brides and at least as many again on hair and make-up you’d expect the excited chatter to be loud. When you add in the volume that comes from six empty Champagne bottles, all overlaid with a pounding dance music sound track, it’s head splitting. Which reminds me, I never asked which hangover headache Marilyn was talking about when she rubbed Rory’s head. But there’s no time to think about that now. The good thing is, everyone’s so preoccupied with eyeliner and hair tongs, they aren’t taking any notice of me or my camera, so I snatch some lovely candid shots.

  I’m quickly onto the dresses, shoes and the gorgeous flower posies. Christian Louboutins in the shop make my chest go tight. Coming across them outside the shop, times two, my heart misses a whole series of beats. The white lace and leather platform sandals, with silver threadwork, are Sophie’s. Whereas Saffy’s are elegant suede courts with diamond strings tracing out flower patterns, and slim heels that are so high they practically reach to heaven. As for the bouquets, the white roses and anemones with black centres, tied with black and white striped bows with trailing ribbon ties are pretty and striking at the same time. And the dresses, although very different, both have Sera’s signature details of exquisite beading and the most amazing silk, lace and tulle. Cue more fabulous close-ups.

  Even though they’re still in their matching flowery silk dressing gowns, the bridesmaids are mostly wearing heels. They’re so much taller than me in my leopard print flats, when I look up at the undersides of their perfectly made-up chins I feel like a dumpy elephant who took a wrong turn and ended up in the giraffe enclosure. That would be the young giraffe enclosure, by the way – these twenty-something goddess-girls seem light years younger than me. If I wasn’t in such a rush, I’d stop and ask myself, when the hell did I get so old?

  Air kisses in the mirror is the closest I can get to the super-glossy Sophie. Saffy, who’s a lot less shiny and much more friendly, sends me a smile and a little wave as she peeps out from behind a hairdresser. There’s a pile of blonde hair on a pop-up table, which she’s somehow weaving into Saffy’s own. As if she didn’t have enough already. As soon as I’m sure I’ve taken a good selection of shots, I hurry downstairs, to make the most of the spaces before the guests arrive.

  ‘Rory’s completely right when he says that weddings at the Manor are a gift,’ I say, as I come across Poppy, setting up her two cakes side by side on matching vintage dressing tables. I stop and watch as she adds the colourful fruit to the perfect ivory stack, with its buttercream smoothed into almost-stripes round the outside, then pounce with my camera.

  She looks up as she moves across and scatters icing sugar over the towering chocolate cake, with its bulging cream filling. ‘If you’d like a mini cupcake, help yourself from the tin.’

  I don’t need to be asked twice. ‘This is one perk of the job I can live with.’ I dive in and in the time it takes her to shake her sugar dust, I wolf down four. Then blame the numbers on the stress adrenalin.

  Poppy looks up from arranging flowers on top of Saffy and Travis’s cake. Her face breaks into a satisfied grin. ‘There you go. I knew you’d start to love weddings if you came to enough of them.’

  That makes me wrinkle my nose. ‘So long as there are cupcakes, I adore them until the people arrive. Then I’m a lot less enthusiastic.’

  Poppy hustles me away. ‘Off you go.’ She calls over her shoulder as I wander off. ‘Don’t worry about the kids either. Immie and Gracie were settling down to a Frozen fest as I left. Go and have fun with your empty venue. The Winter Garden is astonishing.’

  The ceremony room she’s talking about is every bit as beautiful as she promised. Poised and waiting, with its rows of chairs, and a snowstorm of rose and gypsophila posies tied to the row ends with black satin ribbons. There are huge glass and stainless steel lanterns with flickering candles and two lots of tables for the register signing, both with the word LOVE i
n big letters lit up with fairy lights. As I move into the ballroom next door with its fairy light clouds hanging from the high beams, I’m gasping at how pretty it is. There are long tables, and black and white flowers in narrow wooden boxes along the centres, with candles in jars clustered around them. And the black tablecloths, with white damask overlays, look stunning against the silver cutlery and shining glasses.

  It’s so peaceful as I photograph the table settings with their single white roses, and favour parcels tied with black and white bows, it almost feels like being in the studio at work. There are fifteen blissful minutes when I’m just thinking I might be able to do this, then there’s a distant clatter of feet and the sound of laughing men. Next thing I know, a whole load of very familiar wedding suits are bursting in, headed by Taylor and Travis, with Rory coming at the end. I could have done without my stomach lurching at the sight of him in a tux. When I finally wrench my eyes away from him and look past them into the crowded room beyond, it’s as if most of the guest list has followed them in from the car park. As I envisage bodies on all the seats, all needing to be captured in pixels, suddenly there doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the air.

  As Rory comes forward, he sweeps me into a squeeze that’s as unexpected as it is unwelcome. ‘Hey, Holly Berry, just the woman we’re looking for. The guys want you to grab a few of their bromance poses out on the jetty. Please don’t let them fall in the water. While you do that, I’ll go and find the girls’ mum, ready for the zipping-up shots.’ I should tell him that hugs are off the table, and that anything other than that particular body spray would make life way easier for me. But before I get the chance, he’s gone again.

  That’s the thing I’m getting to know about weddings. There are total mad times, where you get carried along by the whirl of events almost as if you’re in a time slip. And then everything stops, and you’re suddenly jerked back into real time again. The next time I drop to earth, we’ve done the brides getting dressed and caught some lovely shots coming down the Cinderella staircase, and we’re outside on the drive. Everyone’s ready, the guests are all waiting in the Winter Garden. I’ve taken what feels like a thousand shots of the girls and their dad getting into the very same cart I careered around town on two weeks ago. Only this time it’s covered in flowers with the fairy lights. It looks fabulous being driven through a snow whitened landscape by Ken and Gary in their groomsmen suits and sharp overcoats, against the backdrop of the lake and the black and white hills above. Pulled by Nuttie, with bells on his harness, it’s completely magical. With their flowing blonde hair and snowy dresses, snuggled in their fur wraps, the brides and their jacketed coachmen couldn’t be any more picturesque.

  We’re within fifty yards of the ceremony when Sophie puts up one lace-gloved hand and makes Gary stop – no easy thing, as I know. Then she jumps down from the cart, with a shout of ‘fag break!’ Once I’ve got over the surprise, I hurry across to grab a few ‘making it real’ shots with Sophie, elbow against the cart in her own personal smoke cloud, while her dad stamps his feet beside her, his breath steaming in the air. Despite the freezing day, I’m making the most of this unscheduled breather, leaning against a tree at the back of the cart, panning round with my viewfinder, when I catch sight of Saffy tiptoeing towards me. As she goes right on past me, I call out to her in a low voice.

  ‘Watch out for the mud, it’s wet under the snow over there, Saffy.’ It’s the first thing I can think of to get her attention. Luckily it stops her.

  As she teeters to a halt and stares over her shoulder, there’s a glint of desperation in her eyes. ‘What?’

  ‘It’d be a shame to get dirt on those lovely Louboutins.’ She was pale on the stairs, but now she’s ghostly. ‘Are you okay, Saffy?’ I already know she isn’t.

  As she stops and turns, her face is haggard. ‘Sophie hasn’t smoked since she was eighteen, and she’s the brave one. I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do this. I think I’m going to slip away while I can.’

  Exactly what I thought. ‘Before you go …’ My heart sinks as I rack my brain for what to say. If I had to choose between a bride with cold feet or a dictator, I’d take the bridezilla every time. ‘Just come here and talk to me.’ If it takes a runner to recognise a runner, this one’s already well on her way. ‘So run it past me, remind me why you’re making a mistake?’

  She’s hugging her arms around herself as she hops from foot to foot. ‘When I woke up this morning I wasn’t sure I could do it. Now I know I can’t.’

  I’m sure she probably knows this already. ‘I once ran away from a wedding related moment, so I might understand.’ I’m thinking of all the questions that have flooded through my mind since I ran away from Luc’s proposal. ‘If you’re scared of committing to one person for your whole life, it’s completely understandable. It’s a huge thing …’ At least it was for me. I might as well bring it out in the open.

  She gives a sniff. ‘No, it’s not that.’

  When she doesn’t say any more, I prompt her. ‘So maybe you don’t love Travis? Or you think he doesn’t love you enough?’ Another crucial one.

  Saffy pushes a strand of fair hair off her forehead. ‘No, I love him even more now than I ever have, if that’s possible. We make a great team. And he’d do anything for me.’ She gives a sigh. ‘I’m just not sure I can do all … this …’ As she stares down at herself, I completely get where she’s coming from. If you’re not seeing wedding gear every day, it comes as a complete shock when it’s all on at the same time.

  ‘From where I’m standing, so far it’s all sounding good.’ Maybe this is a problem we can get over. I push her a bit more. ‘So it doesn’t scare you to think of waking up next to Travis every day for the rest of your life?’ Another from my personal checklist.

  A slightly dreamy look crosses her face. ‘Not at all.’

  I blow out my own mental sigh of relief and go in for the big one. ‘And how would you feel if you woke up tomorrow and you realised you and Travis were actually married?’

  She purses her lips as she thinks. ‘Also okay. Actually, I’d be bloody relieved because it was all over.’

  Now we’re making progress. ‘So it’s just the wedding part you’re having doubts about, not the marriage itself, or the groom?’

  She nods quietly. ‘The whole big double wedding was Sophie and Taylor’s dream, not mine and Travis’s. They’re the boss twins. We’re here because obviously they couldn’t do it without us. I thought it would be fine, but now it’s happening, it’s just so scary and such a big deal when I’m not that kind of person. All I want to do is run as fast as I can in the opposite direction.’ I have a feeling I might have been exactly the same if Freya and I had ever got to do a double wedding ourselves.

  I’m not sure how well she’ll run in what have to be seven-inch heels. ‘So the bit you’re dreading isn’t the rest of your life, then? It’s the day ahead.’ To judge by the smoke plumes billowing up from the other side of the cart, whatever Saffy thinks she’s not completely alone with the eleventh hour jittering here.

  She pushes a slipping diamond clip back into her hair. ‘Actually … it’s the next half hour I can’t bear to think about.’

  ‘Well done for that, Saffy.’ I’m so happy on her behalf, I could almost cry. ‘Half an hour is the smallest time to go through to get to the rest of your life on the other side. And I have a feeling you’re going to make Travis so happy if you can get through it. Don’t think of it all together. Half-minute-size bites are so much easier.’

  She’s frowning. ‘So you’re saying to take it a little bit at a time?’

  I nod. ‘Scared is good, because it means you’ve thought it through and you’re still daring to do it. Tiny steps are what you take to get you there. Break it down and only concentrate on the next thirty seconds. That’s the way you’ll get through it.’ This could be my own mantra for the day.

  She lets out a breath. ‘I think you might be right.’

  I smile reassuringly. �
��You’re strong enough to do it, Saffy. Because that’s what’s right for you and Travis.’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘You two are really lucky to have found each other, you know. Not everyone who gets married is as certain of each other as you two are.’ Somehow I feel I’m taking as much from this conversation as Saffy is.

  Despite the mud, she rushes across and wrenches me into a hug. ‘Omigod, thank you so much for that.’ Her fingers squeeze so hard, her stick-on wedding nails go right through the sleeves of my fake-fur jacket. ‘I think you just saved the entire double wedding.’

  I pull a face. ‘I’m not sure I’d go that far. My pleasure anyway.’

  ‘So I guess it’s back in the carriage, then?’ As she puts her diamond clad toe on the step, she hesitates, and turns to me. ‘How the hell do you know all this, Hols?’

  I give a shrug and try to look like a wise, but not too ancient, photographer. ‘When you go to as many weddings as I do, you get to know when a bride should run and when she should stay.’ If I tell her the real truth, about Luc and me, we could be here for hours, and no one wants delays that long. I send her a wink. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t bear to see you waste those lovely shoes of yours.’

  ‘Sophie?’ Saffy’s up now and leaning across from the high seat to the other side of the cart. ‘Can you please put that effing cigarette out and get the hell up on this cart. Some of us have a wedding to get to.’

  Ken leans forward and gets out his phone. ‘Any of the brides-to-be like a selfie with the coachman before we set off again? And mind where you’re putting your feet, ladies, please. Muddy shoes are usually banned in this cart. We’re only making an exception because they’re Louboutins.’ If they wanted a well-mannered coachman, they should have chosen someone other than Ken. As Sophie climbs up and sticks her head beside his, he gives an impatient cough. ‘Holly, we’re waiting, can you get this please?’

  And okay, I know taking pictures of people taking selfies is way too much. But just this once, I do it anyway. This one’s not for Sophie and Taylor, or Saffy and Travis, or Ken, or Gary or Jules. This one’s completely for me. It’ll go nicely in my best bits frame when I go back to London, next to my own selfie with coachman Santa. To remind me of what has to be my craziest Christmas holiday ever.