Sequins and Snowflakes

by Jane Linfoot

  On balance, I should have picked up my bags before I let rip. That way I could have flounced out and let the door bang shut behind me. As it is, I take a few minutes to gather what feels like a hundred carrier bags. Then Johnny ends up opening the door for me and holding it as I squish through with all my bags. Having to say ‘Thank you’, then ‘Sorry’ as I accidentally brush my bum on his leg is diminishing.

  When it comes to being assertive, I’m a no-hope amateur. Next time I’ll definitely do better.

  24

  Wednesday, 21st December

  In the yard at Daisy Hill Farm: Cold nights and gold spots

  Some days just go on and on. Today felt like it should have been over when we came back from the island, but that was almost ten hours ago. And it’s still not finished yet. As I pull up by the farmhouse, Poppy and Rafe are coming out into the yard.

  ‘Hi, Sera, how’s it going?’ Rafe asks, as he zips up his Barbour jacket and slips his hand onto Poppy’s shoulder. ‘Found your groom yet?’

  Shit. Somehow I thought he was going to say ‘boat’. With everything that’s been going on, I never even thought about Dan. I suppose I should be grateful he isn’t cheeking me for getting stuck on the island.

  ‘Have you got a minute?’ Poppy’s trying not to smile, but it’s bursting out. ‘I promise it’s something nice.’

  ‘Nice?’ At this very moment my dream would be to sink my teeth into one of her coffee cupcakes, with mocha buttercream swirls and a topping of toasted almonds. But there’s no hope of that, because she’s heading away from the house.

  ‘You’ll have to come with us.’ Jet the dog is rubbing on her legs and wagging his tail as they wait for me.

  A moment later, instead of heading towards Alice in the holiday cottage, we’re hurrying in the opposite direction, down the yard.

  ‘It’s going to be really cold tonight.’ Rafe’s breath is steaming in the night air as he rubs his hands and looks up at the sky. Between us, it’s starrier than anything Alice could have ordered.

  ‘Here we go.’ As Poppy pushes through a stable door her voice is squeaking with excitement. ‘You’re so going to love this.’

  Unless it’s high-fat, high-sugar, with a mega-calorie count, and a caffeine burst thrown in too, I can’t imagine being that ecstatic about anything on a farm. But the stable I follow them into is warm and dim.

  ‘Over here.’ Poppy gently closes the door and leads the way to where there’s a light shining in the gloom.

  As we peer over the wooden panel I can’t help smiling too. ‘Baby pigs?’

  In the light pool there’s a huge black-and-pink-spotted sow, lying on her side in the straw. Along her stomach, under a stronger light, there’s a line of piglets, all suckling.

  ‘This is Pandora. Her piglets were born yesterday.’ Poppy whispers. ‘Aren’t they so cute?’

  The babies are clean and golden, with black spots, and they’re totally huggable.

  ‘I didn’t know this was a pig farm.’ I’m wondering where the rest of the pigs are.

  ‘It’s not.’ Poppy laughs. ‘Rafe’s started a pig family. So far he’s got two mums both with babies. We’re building up a variety of animals for the weddings. Guests love to see them and they’re great for the photos too.’

  Rafe scoops up a piglet, which is barely longer than his hand. ‘Here.’ He holds it so I can see its face. ‘They grow really fast. When they’re a few weeks old they’ll be running around completely independently.’

  ‘Whoa.’ I step back as a speckled hen flutters out of nowhere, lands on the rail, and begins to peck at Rafe’s hand. As farms go, this is a fast-forward introduction.

  ‘Don’t worry, this is one of Henrietta’s children.’ Poppy scratches the hen on the head. ‘Henrietta’s the office chicken and her children hang out anywhere they can around the farm buildings. The only place they refuse to roost is in the hen house.’

  I lean my chin on the rail and count eight babies. ‘I could watch them all night. You’re going to need lots of names.’ It’s so calm in the half light of the stable, but hanging out with the pigs rather than with my sister maybe isn’t the best plan. ‘I better go and see how Alice is.’

  ‘I popped some coffee cupcakes into the cottage earlier.’ Poppy puts the hen down on the straw. ‘After this morning I thought you might need them.’ She pulls a face. ‘I hope Immie didn’t put her foot in it too much about Quinn and the runaway boat. She’s world-famous for talking first and thinking later.’

  ‘No worries.’ Whatever Immie said about Quinn in the past, I’m sure today was an accident. ‘And thanks for the cupcakes, they might just save me.’ As I tiptoe out of the stable and back to the cottage, I’m wondering what Alice is going to say about it all.

  25

  Wednesday, 21st December

  In Alice’s cottage: Drifting in the Atlantic

  ‘Hi Alice, I’m back.’

  After everything that happened earlier today, I’m bracing myself as I open the door to Alice’s cottage. As I throw down my jacket and my bag and make a beeline for the tin on the kitchen counter, I notice an open bottle of Pimms. ‘What are you drinking?’

  Her reply comes from the open bathroom door. ‘Winter Warmer. Johnny gave me this lovely cordial. You put a big slurp in a glass, top it up with hot apple juice, then wind down and warm up. All at the same time.’

  Where have I heard that before? Although Alice doesn’t usually do alcohol.

  She emerges, flops on the sofa, drops her full glass onto a coaster on the table and tucks her feet up under her bathrobe. ‘I think I almost prefer it to my Bottle Green lemon grass and ginger. It’s even nicer than their festive spiced-berry cordial too.’

  Alice is the only person I know who can keep fluffy snow-white bathrobes looking pristine for whole days, rather than five minutes. Especially when drinking coloured squash. Although if she’s comparing those to Pimms she’s hardly comparing like with like.

  ‘You do know what Pimms is?’ From where I’m standing, the word ‘brandy’ figures high up on the list of ingredients.

  ‘Obviously.’ Only Alice can say one word and wholeheartedly imply that I’m an idiot. But then she has had thirty years’ practice. ‘It’s that lovely long summery drink with mint leaves you get at Henley and the Chelsea Flower Show. This is the Christmas version and it’s not only delicious, it’s very relaxing too.’ She holds her glass up to the light. ‘It must be the special herbs they put in.’

  Just for now I’m not going to enlighten her, but I grab an orange. ‘Like a slice of citrus in there?’ All those fruit bowls are coming in useful after all.

  ‘Thanks,’ she holds out her glass for the orange. ‘I borrowed your robe, by the way. Given you don’t seem that keen on baths or lounging.’

  So maybe the secret to looking like a washing powder ad is simple. Take someone else’s dressing gown. And ask about it later. Note to self: Watch and learn.

  Alice picks up a pencil and a book, which catches my attention because it’s the first time I’ve seen her looking at anything other than a wedding list for ages.

  When I realise what she’s doing, I do a double-take. ‘Are you colouring, Alice?’

  She pauses and looks up. ‘Actually colouring’s not as relaxing as you’d think. The pressure to finish is immense.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Only Alice could make colouring a high-stress activity. The way she’s tapping her crayon on her teeth could get quite annoying if she’s going to do this a lot. ‘What’s the theme, then?’

  The look she sends me is another of the ones where she despairs of my intelligence, or rather my lack of it. ‘Our wedding. Obviously.’ That thought softens her expression. ‘I had the books specially created to send out with the invitations. I’m surprised you haven’t brought yours with you.’

  Oh my. Something else I’m missing from that damned A4 embossed envelope. My excuse is the first thing I can pluck from the air. ‘I had no idea we’d have time for colouring
…’ Catching Alice’s horrified frown I try again. ‘We’re very behind here with social trends. Colouring therapy hasn’t hit St Aidan yet.’ I’m onto a winner this time, judging by her eye roll.

  ‘That figures.’ She’s surveying her page with a critical eye. ‘It’s such a backwater. And so dull. Seriously, I have no idea how you survive here full time.’

  And we’re back on track again. Finally, I brace myself to ask. ‘So how’s things?’

  As she selects her next pencil, she lets out a sigh. ‘Not good.’

  ‘Any sign of…?’

  She fills in her own blank and cuts me off. ‘No.’ There’s a snap and her pencil point skims across the floorboards. Without comment, she pulls out another crayon.

  Given she wrecked her crayon, I presume we are both talking about Dan here. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, determined to do my job as bridesmaid, and offer positive support. Regardless of my own panic, or doubts. ‘I’m sure he’ll be along as soon as he can be.’ Let’s face it, if he doesn’t damn well hurry up, he’s going to damn well miss his own damn wedding.

  She lets out a bitter laugh, then bites her lip. ‘Apart from that, Quinn says the disco floor’s a write-off. And Hetty plus her entire catering team are stuck on the tarmac at JFK. Grounded by a blizzard in New York.’

  ‘Shit… fuck… bollocks…’ I’m working through for a suitable Alice-friendly expletive. ‘I mean “bells”. Hells bells, even.’ At least someone’s got snow.

  ‘I know.’ She runs her fingers through her bob. ‘It’s only thanks to this Pimms stuff I’m not losing it completely. It’s a total godsend. Like bloody rescue remedy. Only stronger. And longer.’ She holds out her glass. ‘Be a sweetie and pour us both some more before you sit down.’

  Given Alice is being nice enough to call me that, I assume she’s well on her way to alcoholic oblivion. So I deliver her a stiff drink to make sure she reaches her destination a.s.a.p., and get a plain apple juice for myself. As I flop down in front of the log burner, I’m half worrying we’re going to struggle to find things to talk about, but she gets in first.

  ‘I told him exactly what I thought, you know.’

  Oh dear. This isn’t sounding good. I summon my inner confident bridesmaid again. ‘Really?’ Maybe this is why Dan’s still AWOL.

  As she goes on there’s a note of triumph in her voice. ‘Finally, after half my life, I have closure on my first relationship.’

  And the penny drops. How slow am I? She’s not talking about Dan here at all, she’s talking about George. And what went down along with the spicy crab canapes at The Shark and Shrimp. Or was it The Shrimp and Shark?

  ‘You have no idea how good it made me feel, Sera.’

  I’m pleased one of us did. I was worried sick all day. But it seems too long ago to bring that up now. ‘You stayed over?’

  ‘I blamed the weather, but that wasn’t the whole story. There was so much to say, we stayed up all night.’

  Those few Pimmsy alcohol units are acting like a truth drug.

  My happy inner bridesmaid is withering by the second. ‘You stayed up all night? With your ex?’ If my voice is going high, it’s because I’m shocked. Appalled even. I suppose it’s marginally better than going to bed with him. But all the same, right now I’m feeling like one of those judgemental, narrow-minded people who write to the papers and sign themselves ‘Indignant, of St Aidan’.

  ‘We had so much to talk about.’ She isn’t even apologetic.

  From what she’s said so far, we’re lucky she’s come back at all. Sorry, it might be nothing to do with me, but I have to ask. ‘So what was the outcome?’

  ‘It was wonderful.’ The more she’s gushing, the more my heart sinks. ‘He was so easy to talk to. It was as if fifteen years never happened. Although, obviously it did. He has kids now, and an ex. The woman he went on to after me.’

  More and more dangerous. And, not wanting to take the spotlight off Alice, but so different from me and Johnny, and our awkward half lines.

  ‘You didn’t want to…?’ I can’t bear to say the words.

  Alice fills in. ‘Get back with him? Not at all. That was why it was so awesome from my point of view. All these years I’ve wondered about this parallel life I might have been living, with the guy a tiny part of me never gave up loving. And yesterday made me see that it wasn’t something I’d ever have wanted at all.’

  I’m open-mouthed at what I’m hearing.

  ‘What’s more, I saw why we’d never have worked. George was lovely, and clever, but he was so ordinary. So lacking in style. And so happy with his country town lot. Believe me, I wouldn’t have lasted two minutes as a GP’s wife in deepest Cornwall.’

  My thoughts exactly, but I can’t say that. So I just say, ‘So was he hoping to get back with you?’

  She thinks long and hard about that. ‘Maybe. At first. But by the end he realised it was the fantasy of first love he was hooked on rather than me. Me in the flesh, years older, wasn’t the person he thought he loved at all.’

  ‘Don’t you think it was a risky game?’

  She purses her lips. ‘I believe if we’d worked as a couple, we’d still be together. We had our time when we were teenagers. It ended when we grew into different people. I was pretty confident of that before I went to meet up. But it’s still nice to have set myself free, after all this time. Him too.’

  Note to self: If we’d worked as a couple, we’d be together. I mentally underline that. Twice. And stick it in my pending box. Where I can see it clearly, with every blink of my mind’s eye.

  ‘Clever old Alice.’ I give her a thumbs-up, and waggle my glass at her. This is why she’s so successful. Because she’s so damned smart and has so much self-knowledge. ‘And what a great way to go forward to marry Dan. With that one tiny doubt wiped out.’

  That’s what’s so funny with sisters. How one can be so damned perceptive – Alice. And the other hasn’t a clue – moi. Although that reminds me, I’m better at pidgin French than she is, but that’s the only area I beat her in. And it’s only because of our au pairs. It’s the same with the drive. Alice has enough for both of us and it passed me by entirely.

  ‘I’m not exactly sure about the going-forward part.’ The way she’s rubbing her nose is a sure sign she’s not a hundred per cent happy.

  ‘So where’s the problem?’ She spent the night with her ex, found out she’s marrying the right guy. How could it possibly be any better? People say every cloud has a silver lining. But I’m not sure which is the cloud here and which is the lining.

  ‘When George and I talked, it was easy. We couldn’t stop. But it reminded me how it used to be with Dan.’

  ‘And it isn’t like that now?’

  The pencil is rattling on her teeth again. ‘Dan and I haven’t talked like that for years. These days we barely see each other, let alone talk.’

  ‘You’ve been busy planning a wedding.’ For three years that I know of. ‘And working to afford it.’ I miss out the bit about it being gratuitously enormous, and the strain that must bring. I’m sure she doesn’t need me to rub that in.

  ‘Seeing George might have been good to lay the ghosts to rest. But if I come back seeing there’s a bloody great chasm between Dan and I, that wasn’t so damned clever after all, was it?’

  Oh my. It’s like she’s been taking swearing lessons from Immie.

  ‘Some days I feel like the wedding is bigger than the relationship. As the wedding grew, it strangled the love. Like I’m marrying a stranger.’

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Any one of those statements would be a bombshell. But three in the same breath? What is the insightful supportive bridesmaid’s reply to that lot? Is this the Pimms talking? Or the bride who’s shitting herself with pre-wedding nerves? Or the smart, insightful woman who’s had a moment of clarity? And do I agree and talk her out of the whole thing? Or try to change her mind and talk her into a loveless marriage? Talk about being out of my depth here – more like I’m drifting in the Pacif
ic. Or maybe the Atlantic? I’m still no nearer deciding how to answer when Alice saves me by going on.

  ‘I’m not sure about the bridesmaids’ dresses either.’ Her voice is small and shaky. And it’s such a relief she’s moved on to this more tangible problem.

  ‘Really?’ Great. Empathy. I know exactly where she’s coming from on that one. Although I wouldn’t advise her to change anything as radical as dresses at this point.

  ‘I haven’t seen the dresses against mine. I’m not sure they’ll go together. I’m not sure I even like my dress.’ She’s getting pretty whiney now, as the negativity snowballs.

  ‘First thing in the morning, we’ll try them.’ It’s the best this sub-standard bridesmaid can offer, for now. And then I spy it. The cake tin on the side. How could I have got side-tracked enough to forget Poppy’s cupcakes? I thunder across to them and grab some plates. And a fork. I can’t see Alice proceeding without, can you?

  A second later I’m wafting nuts and mocha buttercream right under Alice’s nose. ‘I guarantee this cupcake is going to make everything feel better.’ Which may be asking a lot of a cupcake – but it’s my only hope.

  As I bite into mine and the bitter-sweet flavours of coffee and dark chocolate fuse on my tongue I know this will hit the spot for me. I’m just not so sure Alice’s problems are the kind that can be wiped away with a sugar rush.

  26

  Thursday, 22nd December

  At Brides by the Sea: Zip codes and parental boxes

  Bringing Alice’s London designer wedding dress into Brides by the Sea was pretty much top of my ‘not to do’ list. Frankly, as bad ideas go, it’s scoring top marks. When Alice woke up this morning, luckily for me she wasn’t talking about loving – or not loving – Dan. But she was still wanting to see the bridesmaid’s dress next to hers. Alice’s dress is so minimalist it travels in the kind of slender cover that is barely there. Whereas my bridesmaid’s dress is so huge and humungous now it’s fully fluffed out, it pretty much requires its own removal van for transportation. So, despite my better judgement, by nine on the dot we’re creeping into the shop. I’ve warned Jess we’re coming and flagged up that we’re wobbling. So if Jess isn’t happy, just this once she’s going to have to suck it up.