by Jane Linfoot
So we both spent the best part of ten years resenting the other for not replying. I’m not sure there’s any easy way back from that. It’s not even as positive as a clash of coincidences. It’s more like a complete mismatch of disconnections. You might think it would be whoop-di-do, what the hell, let’s pick up from where we left off. But it’s not like that. At all. I’m someone else now. I’ve moved on with my life. And so has he.
‘Well, now we’ve cleared that up, then. Thanks for sharing… I guess I need to think about bridesmaids’ dresses.’ The way I’m clapping my hands isn’t like me at all. But at least a real problem might blank out the frustration. The screaming futility at the way I misread the situation back then. Banging my head against a wall wouldn’t begin to put it right. It’s so long ago, there’s not even any point kicking myself for my mistake.
‘Bridesmaids’ dresses?’ Johnny looks as bemused as I felt when he leapfrogged to talking about Jake.
‘We need four.’ I’m rattling now and it’s helping. ‘Don’t ask why, it’s just another crazy fuck-up, in this whole arse-up mess of a wedding. I’m going to raid the rails in the Bridesmaids’ Beach Hut. Fingers crossed for variations on cloud grey tulle. If not, I’ve got a lot of sewing to do.’
42
Friday, 23rd December
At Rose Hill Manor: Sparks, secrets and wedding nights
‘So how did it go with Dan?’
When I shove my way back into our bedroom, my hands are high in the air and I’m holding at least ten dresses. And Alice is on her own again, scrunched on the sofa. It’s not that I’m being nosey with this question, either. But given we’ve been to hell and back for this wedding in the last week, I’d say I’m invested. Bloody invested.
What’s more, I’ve checked on our parents on the way up and given them Alice’s excuses. They’re ensconced in the second-best suite, next to the Master. Alice’s choice. It said in the Huffington Post that no one ever manages sex on their wedding night these days, so the parents having the room next door to the bride probably isn’t that crucial. Not that I’d have put them there if this was my wedding. But it’s not. And thank Christmas for that.
In Alice’s words, our parents were the last people she could face when her wedding was on the skids. Well, that last part was me, but you get the idea. There are times when, much as you love them, you haven’t got it in you to deal with them. Once I took away the scented candles, checked my dad’s tie for tomorrow, tuned them in to Radio 4, found tumblers for their Gaviscon, and put new batteries in my mum’s camera, they were all good.
So Alice owes me. Given she’s my roomie for tonight, for payback I want her to talk non-stop, about anything at all. It’s the only way to block out the white noise in my head. If I think any more about Johnny I might just go crazy.
‘So…’ I prompt.
‘It was good at first with Dan… then not so good.’ She screws up her face.
Not what I need to hear. ‘Didn’t you snog and make up?’ I’m kicking myself that the crate of mistletoe is still untouched in the boot room. I seriously messed up by neglecting to hang a sprig from the bedroom beam in time for their reunion. Throwing open the wardrobe doors, I begin to hang up the dresses. Although at this rate they won’t even be coming out of their covers.
‘Snog?’ Alice’s eye roll is disparaging. ‘We’re not teenagers, Sera. Dan apologised very nicely. Then I said sorry too, although I’m not sure what for exactly.’ As she stares at the frosted swag draped across the fireplace, her look is wistful. ‘Actually it was lovely. I can’t remember the last time we curled up and talked. And for a while, even though the bags under his eyes were shocking, he actually looked at me as if he truly loved me.’
Exactly why we opted for vanilla not lavender. It occurs to me I should offer Dan’s excuses. ‘Those bags are probably because he’s been too upset to sleep.’ On balance that sounds better than saying he got rat-arsed on his way to find a post box. ‘So what the hell went so wrong?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She drags in a long breath. If she carries on twisting her bob around her fingers like that, hair and make-up aren’t going to have anything left to work with when they get here in the morning. ‘Everything was fine up until I mentioned the night with George.’
‘Oh my.’ My groan’s out before I can stop it. I don’t mean to be judgemental, but sometimes I despair of Alice. ‘How was spilling the beans about spending the night with your ex, who also happens to be your first love, supposed to help?’ Talk about hurling herself off a proverbial cliff.
Her sniff is starchy. ‘I couldn’t go forward to my wedding vows with a secret like that between us.’ She looks horrified that I thought she might. Then she sticks out her chin like she used to when she was taking on the world, when she was little. ‘If bloody Dan had turned up when he was supposed to, I wouldn’t even have gone to see George. It’s not as if there was a spark. Seeing George made me certain I wanted Dan.’
‘And did you get the zero spark bit across to Dan?’
She gives a snort. ‘Obviously not. He was too busy being sarcastic to listen to anything. One minute the lines of communication were blissfully open, the next he totally pulled up the drawbridge on me. And then he left.’
Be careful what you wish for. When I wanted to block out the white noise, I didn’t mean like this.
As I flop down next to her on the sofa and the downy cushions close around me, I make a mental note to buy one like this for myself, next time around. ‘Dan’s only upset because he cares about you,’ I say. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last. ‘When he takes time to think about George, he’ll see it for what it is. I’ll get Johnny to explain to him in the morning.’ I smile at her. ‘It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, you know.’
She doesn’t need me to tell her it’s the day she’s supposed to be getting married. That’s the trouble with weddings. When there are wobbles, the timeframe makes the pressure huge. Especially for the bridesmaids. I can already see I’m going to be rushing around like a fly with a blue bum from first light. Again.
As Alice prods at my Uggs her voice has gone all wobbly. ‘If there’s even the tiniest bit of frost, I’ll be so happy.’ The slippers are still on her feet rather than mine, obviously.
Hopefully there’ll be so much excitement tomorrow, she’ll forget the white Christmas part of her dream. Because there’s no way I can tell her it’s got warmer and she’s going to be disappointed. Instead I go to look out at the moonlight, to see if it’s as spectacular on the lake as it was on the sea earlier. The way the light splashes across the water, it almost is, even without the breakers. The moon is washing across the gardens too, but as I stare down at the ghostly blue grass, a small random fleck drifts across the view.
‘Alice.’
Then there’s another.
And another.
When Johnny said it was going to snow I really didn’t believe him.
Alice sits up. ‘That print really suits you, Sera. Is it flamingos? You should wear dresses more often.’
‘Thanks.’ Someone’s definitely been out with the fairy dust. I mean, when did Alice ever give a full-on compliment like that? If I wasn’t so shocked at what I’m looking at through the window, I might have fainted on the spot. As it is, there’s no time to be dramatic. ‘Alice, please, just you get yourself over here. Like, now, would be good. For fuck’s sake, just hurry up.’
‘What?’
I fling the window open and thrust out my hand, because I can hardly believe what I’m seeing here. Sure enough, when I wave my hand around, a flake lands on my palm. Who’d have thought one tiny fragment of ice crystals could make my heart whirl so fast. But I don’t want to spoil it. So I wait. As Alice pushes herself up off the sofa at approximately the speed of a snail, or, come to think of it, the speed of Jess on her way out of a bar, I’m asking myself exactly how much Pimms Alice has necked. It feels like a whole winter later when she arrives at my elbow and I nudge her. ‘Look.’
Even though the flecks are bigger now, it takes a few seconds for her to focus. ‘Snow?’ She sticks her hand into the cold night air, snatches a flake in her fist. Then rubs it on her face. And that’s all it takes to wake her up.
‘It’s a sign Sera. I am getting married. Of course I’m getting married. How could I ever think I might not be?’ She’s jumping up and down, flinging out her arms and hugging me in a way that’s very unlike her.
So at least we have a bride now. Or possibly a Snow Queen. Or with any luck, both. Whether we also have a bridegroom is another question entirely.
43
Saturday, December 24th, Christmas Eve
At Rose Hill Manor: Snow drifts and style icons
When the warble of Alice’s phone alarm wakes me at seven on Christmas Eve morning, two things hit me.
First – how the hell am I waking up? Because despite hitting the Winter Warmers last thing with Alice, after our mammoth session trying on dresses, with the mayhem in my head about Johnny, I didn’t ever expect to fall asleep.
And second – the silence outside. Rose Hill Manor is in the country, but even at dawn there’s always the noise of a distant tractor or a passing car. As I open one eye, although the light from the dawn sky is already seeping across the ceiling, apart from Alice’s gentle breathing from under her quilt, it’s as if there’s a blanket of quiet over the world.
Only one thing makes that happen.
I slide down off the bed, pulling a cardi over my pyjamas, as I head for the window. ‘Alice, there might be…’ When I look outside the lights on the terrace below are washing across the garden. ‘Oh my… did you wish for snow, Alice?’ There’s so much of it, someone must have. When I made my wish for snow, I distinctly remember specifying a dusting. An inch at most. Not a bloody avalanche. And this isn’t any ordinary amount. Where there were trees and bushes and lawns before, now there’s only whiteness. The kind of deep drifty whiteness that brings life to a total halt.
If I saw that view on any other day, regardless of my Johnny stress, I’d give a little whoop of excitement at the novelty, then dive straight back under the covers to grab a few more zeds. As it is, the kick of adrenalin in my chest has me running for my boots.
‘Snow?’ Alice is doing one of those slow-motion wake-ups you see in fifties’ movies. She rolls over, wrist above her head, dark hair spread out over the pillow, a beatific grin on her face. ‘Really? That’s wonderful.’
It could be wonderful. It would be. If a hundred-plus guests weren’t trying to reach her wedding in rural Cornwall. And despite Alice’s three-year insistence that her wedding was going to be a whiteout, there isn’t a single contingency plan in the wedding manual for snowy roads. How come Alice, empress of the risk assessment, has managed to overlook this? Whatever happened to snow chains for the registrars and a hundred and fifty pairs of wellies for the revellers? And someone needs to sort this. Leaving her cooing, I wrench my way out to the landing and hurtle down the stairs. Then, as I burst out of the front door, I run straight into a knee-high snow drift.
‘Arghhhhhhh’ I gasp as the snow spills over the tops of my boots and collects in clumps around my bare ankles. Talk about brain freeze, this is so cold it burns. Except, as I stand, legs in two holes, marooned in my snow pile, I realise this isn’t a drift. This is it. The snow is the same even depth for as far as I can see. It’s plastered against tree trunks. Clumped along branches. It’s not even like something off a Christmas card, because it’s pretty much obliterated everything.
‘Talk about Scott of the Antarctic… what do we do now?’ I’m still muttering to myself, when a distant rumble makes me stiffen. It gets louder as I listen. A tractor? As its lights speed into view, it’s threading its way between the trees on the lane, lumps of snow flying off its huge wheels. Somehow it’s forging a way down the drive, thrusting the snow to one side as it travels. As it blasts around the front of the house with a deafening roar, I let out a scream as I’m pelted with snow spray. Then a second later, the engine cuts out and the sound of Freddie Mercury singing ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ bounces off the trees. The music stops, the tractor door opens, and Rafe jumps down, followed by Poppy.
‘Woohoo, amazing or what?’ Poppy’s cheeks are pink where they’re peeping out over the top of her scarf. ‘We’ve come to tell you not to worry.’ It’s alright for her to say that. She’s wearing red-spotted wellies, not short biker boots. And her sister isn’t trying to get married and have a Christmas house party to boot.
Rafe raises his eyebrows and grins. ‘That was quite a snow dump, but there’s definitely no need to panic. We’ve got this covered.’
Panic? They read my mind, then. ‘How come you’re out so early?’
‘Farmers are always up at the crack of dawn because they never go to bed.’ Poppy laughs. ‘Anyway, first things first, we can’t do anything until you admire my new Barbour jacket. It’s a present from Rafe that was supposed to be for tomorrow, but Santa delivered it today due to the weather.’ As she comes towards me she holds out her arm for me to sniff. ‘Doesn’t it smell fab?’
‘Very smart,’ I say, as I have a quiet swoon over the delicious scent of wax oil. If that had been the kind of early Christmas present Quinn had in mind, we might have been doing business. ‘Does this mean you’re a proper country girl now?’
Rafe laughs. ‘She’s practically an honorary farmer.’
Poppy gives him nudge. ‘I’m not sure I’d go that far.’
‘And in return I got a London T-shirt with a picture of The Shard.’ As Rafe opens his own Barbour, and lifts up his jumper for a T-shirt inspection, his ear-to-ear grin gives away how pleased he is. These are his own ears too, not fake elf ones like Quinn’s.
‘Top marks for style, both of you.’ I’m truly hoping they aren’t judging my cardi, jimjam shorts and biker boots in return. Although realistically, as a bridesmaid, until I put my dress on, this is pretty much me for the morning.
Poppy gives Rafe a teasing nudge. ‘Anyway Mr Fashion Icon, get over yourself and tell Sera where we’re up to with the wedding.’
‘Okay.’ Rafe gives a cough. ‘So the council are clearing the main road to St Aidan, the local farmers are out doing the smaller lanes, we’ll sort out the drive here, clear a parking area and make a turning circle for the carriage.’ He rubs his hands together. ‘And the guys from the farm are meeting the sleeper train from London with our fleet of four-by-fours and Land Rovers. They’ll bring guests from the station to the cottages. And then they’ll bring them on here.’
I’m amazed that the problems I’d envisaged are melting away, even if the snow isn’t. ‘Brilliant. Thanks so much for all this.’
Poppy grins. ‘Given you’ve filled the cottages to bursting over Christmas, it’s the least we can do. Then we’ll bring the cake over here too. And Rafe will pick up the registrars.’ She’s making it seem easy. ‘The only bad news is that the hair and make-up team from London rang the farm to say they’ve only made it as far as Sussex. I let Jess know and she’s rounding up her crew. They’ll be here as soon as they can be.’
‘That’s awesome.’ I’m so relieved. With yesterday’s complications I never got around to making a list for today, but it seems like they covered most things there.
‘Anyway, we’d better get off. Snow at a wedding is a first for us.’ Rafe laughs. ‘We’ll think of it as practice for when we do weddings all year round.’
‘We certainly won’t need the snow machines,’ I say. Which reminds me of one last thing to check. ‘Any signs of life from the guys’ cottage yet?’
Poppy smiles as she clambers up into the tractor. ‘They were out early. Quinn was heading off for a swim in the sea, but decided to build a snowman instead.’
I can’t help rolling my eyes at that. ‘No surprise there, then.’
‘And Dan was out pacing,’ Rafe adds as he swings up into the cab after her. ‘I’d take that as a good sign. Pacing is what grooms do before breakfast on their wedding
day.’
At least he hasn’t run away. Yet.
I hold up my arm to stop them as I have a last thought. ‘A very important message for Johnny. Tell him, if there are any problems at all, to come and find me. I’ll mostly be in the top-floor bedroom.’ For once I don’t give a damn about the bedroom innuendo and ‘fingers crossed’ the next time I see Johnny is when we help Alice into the carriage.
44
Saturday, December 24th, Christmas Eve
In the bridesmaid’s bedroom at Rose Hill Manor: Tangles and envelopes
After the early start, there’s plenty of time for the bridesmaids to make the final touches to the ballroom and the winter-garden ceremony area while we wait for the beautifying ladies to arrive. While Alice gets to laze in her bath, the four of us bridesmaids zoom in all directions downstairs. We soon have the place cards, candles, jars of flowers and favours spread around the tables. As we put the buttonholes out for guests to collect on their way in, next to the replacement post box, I cringe at the trouble it caused. As for the flowers, Jess has done wonders with the bouquets. Alice has the simple bundle of white rose buds she’d set her heart on. And the bridesmaids’ gypsophila posies are like mini snowstorms as they sit waiting in their Mason jars, when we take them upstairs with us to get ready.
However good Alice’s own hair and make-up team are, let’s face it, they’re stuck in a snow drift. Which frankly is as much use to us as a waterproof teabag. Jess’s hair and make-up team are legendary and, luckily for us, they’re here.
At long last we’re perched on the beds and the sofa, sipping prosecco, and nibbling on tiny smoked-salmon blinis, and pancetta and cherry tomato tartlets that fellow bridesmaid and caterer Hetty has brought up. After a couple of glasses of wine on an empty stomach, everyone suddenly cares a lot less than they did.