Cupcakes and Confetti

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘How about I make pancakes while we wait for Immie? Or better still, muffins.’ I grab a bowl from the stack on the shelf, and I’ve cracked the eggs and added the oil and milk before she can argue.

  Cate, Immie and I grew up together, breathing in the delicious smell of my mum’s baking. Cate’s mum worked at the bank and paid my mum to look after Cate from when she was a baby. Immie and her brothers all piled into the cottage next door where their gran lived, but from the day Immie learned toddle, she invariably ended up at ours. Not that my mum minded. She was on her own with me, so two extra made us more of a family.

  ‘Chocolate or blueberry?’ I ask, knowing Cate takes her five-a-day very seriously. She’ll always go for the healthy choice. As I whisk in the sugar, the batter begins to turn creamy.

  Cate leans forward to sneak a finger into the mixture. ‘Pops, are you sure you’re okay with all my wedding stuff?’

  As I tap my hand on the side of the sieve, the flour lands in a dimpled pile on the batter. ‘I work with brides every day, I can hear the word wedding without getting break-up wobbles.’ The funny thing is, when weddings do give me that lump in my throat it’s more because my mum isn’t here, than because Brett and I broke up. ‘It’s not as if Brett and I were even engaged,’ I say, to emphasise the point.

  ‘You may not have had the ring, but you were together a long time.’ Cate’s pats my hand on the way in for another dip. I’d have banned her from the kitchen for putting her fingers in the mixture if I were baking for a customer, but this morning I look the other way.

  ‘The trouble with the break up was when Brett went, my whole life went with him.’

  I push a couple of baking trays and a stack of muffin wraps towards Cate. She knows how it feels to get dumped, so she goes out of her way not to flaunt the deliriously happy bride thing. Even though she had her heart truly trampled back in the day, she never gave up on love. Now she’s found Liam, who’s truly her Mr Right, she deserves a wonderful day. Cate has booked her dream wedding at Daisy Hill Farm just outside Rose Cross, where Immie looks after the holiday cottages. When they started doing weddings last year Cate was first to book. Believe me, she’s going to need acres for the size of wedding she has in mind.

  ‘Blueberry then?’ I grab a handful from the fridge.

  ‘How did you guess?’ She passes me the tins.

  I spoon the mixture into the cases, then there’s a rush of hot air from the oven as I open the door, and push in the muffins. ‘Twenty five minutes, then we’re good.’

  Her eyes light up expectantly. ‘Can I lick the bowl out?’

  ‘One condition.’ I grin. ‘No pink bridesmaids dresses. When you’ve got orange hair like mine you have to be very careful what you put it next to.’ Taking the scissors to my blonde ponytail was my way of rebelling after the break up. But I still get palpitations every time I catch sight of my spiky pixie cut. As for the home colouring, it’s nothing like as easy as it looks on TV. Last time I missed pillar box, and ended up vermillion. Seriously, Johnny Rotten in the butter advert was not the look I was aiming for.

  Cate tugs her fingers through her layered bob as she ponders. ‘Pink dresses would look fab in a hay meadow, but there again …’ She grabs the mixing bowl. ‘Okay, you’ve got a deal.’

  Cate’s still scraping her spoon around the bowl five minutes later when there’s a clattering on the stairs, and Immie bursts in.

  ‘Dean, drunk and disorderly, no charges, enough said.’ She throws her bag onto the table. ‘Sorry I’m late … can I smell muffins?’

  ‘Blueberry ones, they’ll be ready in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Okay, so where are these dresses then?’ She’s already got her ‘disgusted of Rose Cross’ face on. ‘With my short legs and my beer gut, I know I’ll look like a duck’s arse in most of them.’ She gives a determined jut of her chin. ‘Although Freda from the Goose and Duck says I’ll be fine so long as we stick with navy.’

  ‘Right.’ Cate purses her lips. ‘Blue is out because the boys have nabbed that.’

  Immie gives a groan, and I’m ashamed to say I’m doing silent cheers. Navy’s not really my colour.

  ‘Actually there’s something I need to tell you before we get onto dresses.’ Immie’s frown lines deepen. ‘I’m so sorry, Cate, you might want to sit down. The word at Daisy Hill Farm is that Carrie the wedding planner has quit.’ Immie leans back against the work top, hands on her hips, to let the news sink in.

  ‘No.’ Cate’s face falls.

  Immie’s looking grave. ‘It gets worse. Big boss Rafe is talking about pulling out of weddings altogether … as of now.’

  Under her blusher Cate’s cheeks have gone three shades lighter. ‘He can’t … can he? We’ve already paid the deposit?! The wedding’s barely seven months away.’

  Immie shrugs. ‘Who knows? The wedding planner went back to London for Christmas, and she’s decided not to come back.’

  ‘She took her time, it’s February now.’ Cate lets out a moan.

  Immie carries on. ‘Rafe’s tried to replace her, but there aren’t many bookings, and the hours are erratic. Not to mention he’s not the easiest person to work with. Anyone decent runs a mile.’

  Cate’s sigh is long. ‘Right. I’m not giving up on this. This is my wedding day.’ Her mouth hardens into a determined line. ‘I need to find someone to save the day and fast. I need a wedding coordinator.’ She turns on Immie and me. ‘Who do we know?’

  This is why Cate has zoomed up the ladder at the council in her day job. She won’t take no for an answer, and when the going gets tough, she fights.

  I screw up my face and think. Who could take over the wedding coordination at the farm? Jess would be amazing but she’s got her hands full with the shop. I come up with zilch. As I open my eyes again, Immie and Cate are both staring at me.

  ‘It’s obvious.’ Cate says.

  ‘It bloody is,’ agrees Immie.

  I blink at them. ‘Am I missing something here?’

  Immie rounds on me. ‘You’re the perfect person for the job.’

  What? It’s a moment before I take in what she’s saying. ‘But why me?’

  Cate jumps in now. ‘I need the help, please Poppy. I work a fifty hour week in a highly stressful job at the council, and I’ve got a house and four kids to look after. And Liam, and the dogs too.’ She looks desperate. ‘This is my wedding day at stake.’

  I turn to Immie. ‘Well you’re at the farm now anyway, managing the cottages, why can’t you just add in weddings too?’

  You know those no-can-do stares that builders have? That’s what Immie rolls out here. ‘No way.’ She folds her arms. ‘I love you Cate, and I want your wedding to be perfect, but Morgan’s running wild now he’s fourteen. If I’m not around he’ll be balls deep in trouble in no time. Then there’s my degree. Final year is full on. I’ve got all the holiday cottages to manage and clean. Plus my stand-in shifts at The Goose and Duck. Weddings would be the last straw.’

  I try once more. ‘Your final year at uni isn’t until next year.’

  She dismisses that. ‘I’ve still got assignments coming out of my ears.’

  As I look from Cate to Immie, I can’t help feeling they’re ganging up on me.

  ‘Whatever.’ Immie shrugs. ‘You know you’d be awesome at this, Pops. You’ve always loved weddings.’

  ‘And you’ve had so much experience with the brides at the shop.’ At least Cate has the grace to look guilty about pushing me into this. ‘Not just with your cakes either. You know the wedding business inside out. It could be the perfect career move.’

  Immie chimes in again. ‘Out of all of us, you’re the one who could nail this.’

  When they put it like that, I need to go on the defensive.

  ‘I can’t organise weddings. I’ll end up ruining them!’ There’s a squeal of panic in my protest. ‘I left my London job years ago.’ Once upon a time I was a food designer, working in food development. Remember hedgehog flavour crisps?
They were my baby. And my salmon en croute for a certain famous supermarket scooped all the awards. As did one extra special luxury Christmas pudding, with almonds and Cointreau. And my Huggie Bear Birthday Cake was a huge best seller. But that was another life. Since I moved back to Cornwall all I’ve done is run around after Brett and play at making cakes.

  Immie jumps in. ‘You could easily fit the Daisy Hill job around your cakes, and the extra cash would come in handy.’ As a single mum at uni, Immie knows all about juggling jobs to make ends meet. And she’s not wrong about the money either. I’m ashamed to admit how much I’d come to rely on a well-paid boyfriend.

  ‘Seriously, Poppy, you could do this in your sleep. You deal with brides all the time.’ Cate’s tone is persuasive. ‘It’s only until the autumn. And I need you.’

  My mind flashes back to the fields in Rose Cross, and the mud. A job on a farm would be my worst nightmare, even if it did involve weddings.

  ‘But I’ve got no actual experience.’ I might as well point it out.

  Cate brushes that aside. ‘If we’re going to save my wedding you’re damn well going to have to blag it.’ Her cheeks are flushed now. ‘You’ve had the insiders view from so many brides, you’re practically an expert already.’ She gives a triumphant shake of her fist.

  ‘Exactly.’ Immie is cheering her all the way. ‘And I’ll be there for back up, if it all goes tits up.’

  ‘Tits up?’ I echo. If I had any sense, this is the moment I should have run. But Cate is my best friend, and she needs me.

  The look Cate flashes Immie for the tits up mention is filthy. ‘We’re talking a few tiny weddings here. There won’t be any problems.’ Her voice is soothing. ‘Please Poppy, give it a go, just for me?’

  Cate’s been like a big sister to me all my life. The last few months she’s really looked after me, and this is one way I can show how truly grateful I am. I need to man up, and save the day for Cate.

  4

  At Daisy Hill Farm: Nothing personal

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve been working up here all this time and you haven’t visited before.’ Immie is hurrying across the cobbled courtyard of Daisy Hill Farm to meet me, as I clamber out of my car next morning. She’s arranged an interview for me with the owner of the farm, Rafe.

  ‘Maybe it’s because I avoid farms like the plague.’ I point out. ‘Fields and cows and windy days are why I live in town, remember?’

  Immie and Cate weren’t going to hang about. They abandoned all thoughts of bridesmaids’ dresses yesterday, and got straight onto beautifying my CV. But whoever heard of an interview on a Sunday?

  Immie flashes me a grin. ‘So don’t mind Rafe, he’s like a bear with a sore head, but it’s nothing personal.’

  ‘What?’ If she’d leaked this information any earlier I might have had an excuse to resist. She’s hurrying me past a faded Georgian farmhouse, with rows of dusty sash windows, towards a range of stone out-buildings.

  ‘He doesn’t do charming, but don’t let it bother you.’ Immie, telling it straight again. ‘No need for nerves, you’re going to walk this.’

  I give a shrug. Even though I’m going to give this my best shot, I’m not worried. I know I don’t stand a cat in hell’s chance here. However much they tarted up my CV before they emailed it over to this grumpy Rafe person, it’s obvious that icing is the only thing I’m qualified to smooth over.

  ‘The office is in here …’ Immie pauses outside a grey painted plank door. ‘Play your cards right, and he’ll probably offer you a cottage to live in too.’ She raises an eyebrow, clicks the latch, and pushes me into a warm, white-washed room. ‘Rafe, this is Poppy, I’ll leave you two to it, have fun.’

  She sweeps out, and as the door slams shut behind her I take in a desk that looks like a recycling skip got tipped out on it, a guy in a grey jumper standing by the filing cabinet, and a black dog lying in the corner, giving gentle wags of its tail. My heart beat is louder than the wagging thumps as I wait by the desk. As the guy whips around and holds out his hand I choke.

  Oh.

  ‘Poppy, great to …’ His voice grinds to a halt. From the way the guy from yesterday’s ditch is suddenly lost for words, I’m guessing we’re both equally gob smacked to see each other again. When he said ‘see you around’, I’m sure he didn’t intend it to be this soon.

  I dig deep. Actually I’ve nothing to lose here. There’s no need to give a damn at all. I simply have to spend a few minutes not getting this job, and I can be off.

  ‘Hi again.’ I jump forward, and grasp his hand. ‘No mud wrestling today for me.’ I get that in early and throw out a tentative smile, hoping my smartest black jeans and the white shirt Immie lent me will cut it. With Cate’s borrowed wellies to show I mean business, now I’ve got this far I might as well go for broke. ‘And I left the labradoodles at home too.’ Hopefully he won’t recognise the Barbour jacket is Immie’s too.

  I turn my full beam smile onto him, and try to put the brakes on any babbling. ‘Brill, shall we get on with it then?’

  He takes back his hand, rubs his chin and gives a deep sigh. ‘Remind me again why you’re here?’

  The dark circles under his eyes suggest he’s as tired as he sounds. Probably knackered from having sex all night. Not that it’s anything to do with me. I shove that thought away, and try to pick up my bounce where I left off.

  ‘The wedding coordinator job … Immie sorted the interview …’ Given he isn’t reacting at all, I recklessly go on. ‘Immie emailed you my fabulous CV yesterday?’ My ‘tada’ arm flourish wilts as he fails to react, although it does get a raised eyebrow from the dog.

  ‘Weddings … right.’ He shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I’ve been in the barn all night with a difficult calving.’

  Fine. So now we know there wasn’t any hot sex.

  ‘And how did that go?’ I toss in another smile.

  Land Rover Guy exhales again loudly, and drops into his swivel chair. ‘We lost the calf.’

  I carry on smiling, determined to see the positive side here. ‘Great. Or at least it will be when you find it again.’

  ‘Lost, as in died. The calf died.’ He says, as if on remote control, and leans back and taps on his keyboard. Finally getting round to reading my application.

  I kick myself for that blunder. ‘Sorry.’

  He clears his throat, but doesn’t look up from the screen. ‘It happens. There’s a big vet’s bill, but at least we saved the mother.’ If he’s reading my CV, I take it from the way the corners of his mouth are turning down that he’s spectacularly unimpressed.

  He looks up momentarily. ‘Okay, you’re hired. Welcome to the team.’

  ‘What?’ If my voice has gone all high, it’s because I’m astonished. Even the dog has pricked up his ears in shock.

  ‘Start tomorrow …’ He’s already focusing back on the screen in front of him. ‘How does nine sound?’

  Talk about bish bash bosh. ‘This isn’t how you interview people.’ I have to tell him, I can’t let this go. ‘Excuse me for asking, but what part of my background and experience makes you think I’m qualified to be a wedding coordinator … on a farm of all places?’

  ‘Your background?’ He stares vaguely, then looks at his computer screen and his lips twitch into some twisted kind of sardonic grimace. ‘I’m not reading about you here. I don’t even know where your CV is.’

  Worse and worse. ‘So how do you know I can do the job?’

  He finally bothers to turn his attention to me. ‘To be honest, I don’t.’ He rests his chin on his knuckles, and pauses long enough for that blinder to sink in. ‘But Immie thinks you can, and I trust her.’ He sits back, locks his fingers behind his head. ‘And to be brutally honest a second time, you’d have to be a complete imbecile to make a bigger mess of the weddings here than they are in already.’

  I take in the way his voice resonates over the word trust. Those hazel flecked eyes. And that scar on his right cheek bone. Then I move on swiftly, and f
ocus instead on a gaze that is as direct as any I’ve ever met. My breath catches.

  ‘Thanks for coming.’ With one swoop he’s on his feet and grasping my hand again. ‘But I have to rush. I’ll deal with contracts and questions in the morning, although from what you’ve said I doubt if you’ll be in any position to bargain, given your lack of experience.’

  If he wasn’t already out of the door, I’d shut my gaping mouth and call him on that. As it stands I’ll have to wait until tomorrow. He’s still shouting as he disappears across the yard.

  ‘Oh, and don’t look at this as long term, it’s strictly temporary and it definitely won’t develop into anything more permanent.’

  And that’s fine by me. The sooner it’s over the better. I just hope Cate appreciates what I’m doing for her here.

  5

  In the office at Daisy Hill Farm: Comfy chairs and neat freaks

  ‘So the previous wedding coordinator, Carrie, didn’t have an office, and she shared the desk and computer with you?’ Despite me swivelling in Rafe’s swanky up-market chair, and him perching on the inferior – folding Ikea, in case you’re wondering – chair opposite, by the end of the first morning I’m beginning to see every reason why the wedding business is in trouble.

  Rafe frowns. ‘I’m rarely here, and this way you can cover the phone too. Think of it as hot desking.’

  Hot desking? If he’d said that with the tiniest bit of humour, I’d have laughed. As it is his morose expression hasn’t cracked once, although every time I mention Carrie, his scowl gets worse. Whatever Immie’s psychology books say about body language, I’m picking up tension over the absent Carrie.

  Lunchtime has arrived without me noticing, and as my stomach rumbles I finally take a slurp of cold tea and a bite of the carrot cake I got out for elevenses. ‘As for hot desking …’ I’m spluttering through my crumbs. ‘We’re in rural Cornwall, not central London.’ Pointing out the obvious here, but sometimes you have to. And space is definitely not at a premium, given there are out buildings as far as the eye can see. ‘And hot desking only works if you follow strict rules.’ I scowl at the paperwork piles collapsing across the table. ‘Like tidying up, for example.’