by Jane Linfoot
As Rafe walks into a beam of light that’s slicing across the gloom, for the first time I get the full benefit of his sculpted cheekbones. My stomach clenches, but it’s probably just nerves for what I’m about to ask. Who’d have thought I could have missed those all this time? And luckily for us, he’s still clean. He could put the groom’s suit straight on.
‘You looking for me?’ He hoists a sack up onto his shoulder, and the muscles of his back ripple through his ragged T-shirt. As he turns, his mouth stretches into an unfamiliar grin. ‘Bit late for pyjamas isn’t it?’ he laughs. ‘What’s with the pink horses, I thought you didn’t like animals?’
Sniggering at my My Little Pony dressing gown is low. I decide not to retaliate about the slogan on his T-shirt, telling me that Farmers Do It In Wellies, because I need to concentrate on the job I’m here for.
‘Yes, I am looking for you.’ The breath I drag in goes on forever. I grit my teeth, try to ignore that I’m standing here in my slippers with him towering over me, and brace myself. ‘You’re needed in the kitchen. Like, right now.’
He narrows his eyes. ‘I’m just feeding the chickens …’ He’s going to need a much better excuse than that to wriggle out of this one.
Despite feeling like I’m jumping off a cliff, I launch in. ‘We’re short of a guy in a suit for the shoot. No arguments, you have to step in … step up … whatever …’ To show him I mean business I put my hands on my hips. Big mistake, as my dressing gown gapes, exposing most of my strapless bra, plus a fair amount of the cake I was eating earlier. The plus side is, the view leaves Rafe speechless, so at least he can’t protest.
Brushing the crumbs off my boobs as best I can whilst being gawped at by a burly farmer, I take a moment to adjust my belt, then carry on. ‘Obviously you’ll need to get someone to cover for you out here.’ If I’ve learned one thing about farming, it’s that animals, like men, need their meals regularly. My attempt at one of Jules wide smiles ends up as a grimace, but I carry on regardless. ‘This is going to take all day. Make your way to the kitchen, I’ll follow you.’
27
Out and about at Daisy Hill Farm: Going downhill fast
‘Bloody hell, I wish your mother was here to witness this Rafe.’ Immie’s shaking her head, and laughing as Cate and Rafe run hand in hand down the hill, in what Jules calls a ‘background horizon’ shot.
‘Okay, got that,’ Jules shouts, as he scrambles up from his prone position. Some shots can only be accessed while lying down apparently.
‘It’s a shame the grass isn’t longer,’ Jules says. ‘I’m not really getting the deep-meadow effect I was after.’
‘If he wanted long grass, he should have come in June.’ Rafe snorts, as he comes to a breathless standstill next to us bridesmaids, and lets go of Cate’s fingers. ‘Don’t get any ideas, this is a one off, I’m definitely not doing this again.’
Cate laughs. ‘I just hope the sky is this blue when I’m marrying Liam. If he scrubs up half as well as my groom today, I’ll be happy.’
Cate’s got a point. You know how sometimes a suit transforms a guy? When Rafe stomped through the kitchen wearing his jeans and a scowl, people barely noticed him. Three minutes later, when he came back in a snowy white shirt and sharp navy suit, rubbing that stubble of his, and fiddling with his belt, the girls’ jaws dropped. I’m not exaggerating, the oestrogen surge in that kitchen was like a bloody tidal wave. When Jess suggested he needed help straightening his tie, there was practically a stampede. And let’s face it, if she hadn’t been holding five bouquets and the props box at the time, she’d have definitely been over there, doing it herself.
Rafe gives Cate a nudge. ‘Make sure you get your first choice of groom, not a stand-in like today.’
That’s another thing. Sure, we had to jolly Rafe along at first. If it hadn’t been for Immie joking around in the first hour, I’m sure we’d have lost him. But once he stopped taking himself so seriously and began to relax he’s been much less of a pain in the bum. At times he’s even been funny, and he’s been constantly considerate to Cate. A couple of times back there, when Jules was going for blurry togetherness shots, a teensy bit of me wished I’d gone with what Jules suggested, and been the bride myself. I mean, who wouldn’t want to see how it felt to have strong hands like those on their shoulders? Especially when it’s all fake anyway.
Jess’s dulcet tones crash through my day dream. ‘Okay, time for a wine break.’ She’s thrown rugs down on the grass, and now she’s diving into her hamper for fizz and plastic champagne flutes. ‘There’s pasties and strawberries too.’
Being good bridesmaids, Immie and I help Cate down onto her own rug, shroud her in serviettes, then deliver her refreshments on a tray, at a safe distance. As we go off to the other rugs, she takes a bite of pasty, and settles back in the sun.
‘This is such a gorgeous dress,’ she sighs, as she runs her hands from her tiny nipped in waist and down over the gathers of her full skirt. ‘I didn’t know tulle could be this soft.’
Jess and I both know it’s one of Sera’s designs, which Jess brought not only because the size was right, but because it photographs so well. We also know Cate is set on buying from a much bigger name for herself, so we are keeping quiet here.
Cate examines the delicate lace edging on her wrist. ‘I’d never have thought of anything long sleeved either, but this lace is so light it’s barely there.’
‘It’s a good choice for a spring wedding,’ Jess says casually, as she passes out the wine, ‘or a September one come to that.’ The woman is such a pro.
‘So do you have many more shots in mind?’ Cate stops Jules on his way past her rug.
Given she’s been photographed on top of practically every wall and every gate on the farm, with every kind of animal, run either up or down every field and hollow, frolicked by the stream, and climbed on the trees, and been snapped doing all that from every possible angle imaginable to man, with and without bridesmaids, I can’t see how there’s much left to do.
‘I’d like to go back to the farm again,’ Jules answers, whisking his wine out of Jess’s hand. ‘Just to capture the textures of the buildings around the courtyard, now the sun’s changed position.’
Jules is such a perfectionist. Not only that, but he’s also making a bee line for our rug. But a second before he gets here there’s a thud on the ground behind me. Next thing I know, Rafe’s delicious aftershave drifts past my nose, and Jules is glowering down at Rafe who is apparently sitting right beside me. If he didn’t have his hand full of pasty, Rafe’s black expression suggests he’d leap up and run Jules off the farm.
Jess is straight on top of the situation. ‘No fighting over seats, boys. Come over here Jules, there’s plenty of room for the birthday boy to snuggle next to me.’
Rafe cuts in. ‘Jules taking every excuse to hang around for longer, how does that sound familiar?’ He gives a sniff, then goes on jubilantly. ‘Can’t leave his scarf today though, because he’s not wearing it.’
I could say, ‘Rafe taking every opportunity to snipe about Jules, how is that familiar?’ but I don’t. Instead, in an effort to ignore that Rafe’s blue suited legs are appearing on the left of mine, I begin to examine my dress. ‘This flowery bridesmaid dress print works so well in grey and white and lemon doesn’t it? It’s kind of vintage country, yet sophisticated isn’t it? And a long dress lets you wear wellies underneath if you need to. It goes so well …’
A sharp dig in my right ribs stops me in mid flow. Thank you, Immie.
‘Shut up, you’re babbling,’ she hisses. ‘Embarrassing yourself in front of both your bo …’
Holy crap. I say anything to cut Immie off, because I’m certain the next word she’s about to say is ‘boyfriends’.
‘Don’t the dresses look lovely with the white daisies in the posies?’ I grin round at everyone like a crazy lady, and pray for someone to pick up the conversation and say something sensible.
The delicious smell of Rafe
is suddenly much closer, and the next moment his blue suited sleeve is clamped up against the bare flesh of my arm.
‘The dress is definitely a big improvement on your horsey dressing gown.’ Rafe gives a low laugh. ‘Although what do I know?’
As the pressure on my arm eases, and he moves away, I gasp. Shit. That was just a nudge then. A nudge and a stupid fucking joke, about my My Little Pony dressing gown. It wasn’t even funny. Why the hell am I all dizzy because of a nudge? Talk about oestrogen rushes, and the power of a suit.
I’m just getting my breath back, when the scent is back, but this time it’s his temple that’s tilting against mine. ‘Cut all the jokes about scrubbing up, truly, you do look lovely, Poppy.’ He stays there for long enough to make my heart bang like a hammer drill, and my cheeks to go puce, dammit, and then he pulls away. Next thing you know, he’s smiling at the girls on the next rug, and lifting his glass. ‘A toast to all the bridesmaids, really, you all look fabulous today.’
Talk about a smooth operator. Whatever happened to bad mood bear Rafe? Where did he go?
Never one to be missed out, Immie is reaching across me. ‘Nice one, Rafie,’ she says, patting him firmly on the knee. ‘You can tell me I look fabulous whenever you like.’
When the hell did Immie start calling him Rafie? Rafie’s almost as bad as Ben calling Lara Panda.
Jules is on his feet again, glowering in front of us, waving his wine glass around. Whoever thought wine would be a good idea needs to think again.
‘A toast to the bridesmaids.’ As he wafts his glass in an expansive arc a shower of wine drops shine like diamonds as the sun catches them. He goes on. ‘And to today’s lovely, and most obliging and beautiful bride Cate.’ His glass goes in another arc, and a second slurp of prosecco splashes across the grass.
If he carries on like this he’ll have spilled most of his fizz. As for Jess’s motto, ‘fizz makes happy brides’. From the sneer on Jules face, it seems to have made this photographer pretty unhappy.
He lifts his glass again. ‘As for the groom, it looks like this one’s hell bent on acting like a proverbial best man, and getting off with the head bridesmaid.’
If Brett had made a remark like that, I’d have ignored it. If someone else had made a remark like that when I was with Brett, I wouldn’t have liked it, but I’d probably have let it go too. But for some reason, the Poppy that comes to Daisy Hill Farm doesn’t let things go. And I’m not happy to sit here, and stay silent. Jules is way out of line here, and even if it is his birthday, I’ve got to tell him. Jess is standing up and coming over, but I’ve already sprung to my feet.
‘Jules, you’ve done amazing work all day, for which we’re very grateful,’ I’m sending him one of his own big smiles, but I’m growling with anger at the same time. ‘But you are way out of line here.’
I turn to Rafe. ‘Thank you for stepping in Rafe. We are all very grateful to you.’ I raise my head to everyone. ‘Thank you to everyone, for fabulous work, and a fabulous day. We’ll call that a wrap. Now let’s all go back to the farm, it’s time to go home.’
MAY
28
At Brides by the Sea: Bumpy roads and amnesia
‘So, that’s my moving boxes finally sorted. I just dropped the last load off at the charity shop.’ I give a silent cheer as I hurry into the shop, and find Jess, flicking through the appointments book, waiting for her next bride.
‘You’ve been keeping the Cat Rescue shop going single-handedly. How many bags did you take them in the end?’ Jess asks. She always likes to quantify everything.
‘Probably about a hundred,’ I laugh. It’s an exaggeration, but I can’t help grinning. The sun’s out, I’ve got that light, walking-on-air feeling, that you can only get after a good de-clutter. Especially one that somehow symbolises throwing away my old life, which also implies I’m ready for a fresh start. Better still, after two months of climbing over mountains of stuff every time I wanted to sit on the sofa, I can see my living room floor again.
Jess walks across to the window, and glances out at the street. ‘No sign of my eleven o’clock, but Ella, from your next wedding, is here for you.’ Absently, she tweaks the satin bow on the back of the display dress. ‘She had her first fitting for her Madelaine yesterday.’
Madelaine’s a gorgeous empire line dress, with cascades of soft lace, perfect for pregnant brides. ‘How’s Ella’s bump?’ I ask.
‘Neat, but growing. I’m pleased we ordered the fourteen not the twelve.’ Jess says. ‘Is the dark good-looking one her fiancé?’
I have to smile at Jess’s man antennae. ‘Ella’s brought Jack to show him the final cake designs,’ I explain, as I open the door, welcoming them in, and lead them through to my cake display table. ‘And I’m guessing any groom who comes to talk cakes will be interested in a taste?’
‘Got it in one,’ laughs Ella, as I cut them two generous slices of a small icing sugar covered sponge I baked this morning.
‘The real one will be much bigger and taller of course, more like the picture here.’ As Ella and Jack bite into their sponge, I point to a mouthwatering photo of a towering four tier cake. ‘One I made earlier,’ I smile.
‘Wow, and wow.’ Jack mumbles, nodding first at the picture and then at the cake in his hand, his voice thick with raspberry jam and vanilla butter cream filling.
‘And for the decoration around each tier, Ella decided on a mix of real pink roses, and strawberries.’ I point to a water-colour sketch I’ve done of the finished design. ‘And it’ll be presented on a platter which is basically a slice of tree trunk.’
‘A tree trunk? That’s cool.’ Jack licks his fingers.
‘It goes so well with the Daisy Hill venue.’
Ella and Jack are my second wedding couple at the farm. But for me their wedding is worse than the last one, because they’re having the ceremony there as well as the reception, and have booked out the cottages too.
Ella turns to Jack. ‘Is that all okay for you?’
‘Perfect.’ He grins, then hesitates. ‘Except …’
‘Yes?’ I say, aware of Ella rolling her eyes behind him.
Jack gives a guilty shrug. ‘I love raspberries. Could we possibly have some raspberries on there too?’
I look to Ella for confirmation. It took her weeks to decide on strawberries and roses.
She smooths the crumbs off her bump, and gives a reluctant sigh. ‘Okay then, let’s have raspberries too.’
‘Not long now,’ I smile, trying to crush the fear that’s making my stomach clench.
‘No,’ Jack gives a huge sigh, and pats Ella’s tummy. ‘Six weeks from now I’ll be a dad.’
Ella laughs, and shakes her head. ‘Poppy doesn’t mean the baby, Jack, she’s talking about the tiny thing that’s happening first … your wedding.’
Oh my. I’m guessing for a guy it’s maybe natural that becoming a parent is such a huge and terrifying life event, that it could easily make you forget your own wedding.
‘So two weeks today,’ I say, beaming at Ella to hide that my heart is already hammering. This must be the human flight response Immie goes on about. My subconscious brain thinks I should be running away as fast as I can, and I’m pretty much in agreement.
‘It sounds really close.’ Ella hugs herself, brushes her blond bob out of her eyes, and gives a shiver that I hope is excitement. ‘So long as Jack remembers to turn up, that is.’ She gives a nervous giggle.
‘I might just.’ He gives Ella a playful nudge. ‘I’d never forget something this huge, it’s going be mega.’
‘A whole tipi village clustered around a mother tent, and the oldies in the cottages, it should work well.’ Ella counts them off on her fingers. She’s remarkably calm, considering. ‘And then there’s all the camper vans and extra tents too.’
Shit. I keep my smile in place. I knew this was a humdinger of a wedding, but this is the first I’ve heard of camper vans. I’ll have to check we have a space for them later.
‘And, of course, the biggest cake in the universe.’ Jack gives me a nod.
‘With raspberries, and strawberries.’ I say, ‘but definitely no blueberries?’
‘No!’ They shout. ‘We both hate blueberries.’ Despite Jack accidentally overlooking the small matter of their wedding, these two are heart-warmingly together.
‘So that’s it, unless …’ I see Jack eying the cake longingly. ‘Anyone for another slice?’
29
In the fields at Daisy Hill Farm: One sceptical eyebrow
A week later, I’m in my shorts and my festival wellies, running up hill, panting hard enough for my lungs to burst. Talk about feel the burn, I’m so hot I might just spontaneously combust. Don’t worry, I haven’t gone on a fitness kick. Jeez, you know I’d never do that. I’m currently on a mission to hunt down Rafe, who’s been A.W.O.L. from the office for so long that I can’t put this off any more. And thanks to important intelligence about his soft spots, discovered accidentally the day of the photo shoot, I’m armed with a powerful new weapon – a Cornish pasty.
There’s a tractor parked at the top of the next field, which is a sure sign that Rafe won’t be far away. Squinting into the sun, I scan the field edge, and spot a figure, moving by the wall. He’s heaving rocks around, and crap, just my bad luck, he’s stripped to the waist. I take a deep breath, scramble over the wall from the lane, and dash towards him.
‘Rafe, Rafe …’ If I arrive at the speed of light, waving and yelling, I might just be able to pretend I haven’t noticed that broad back, gleaming in the sun.
I’m twenty yards away from him when he turns, and his face is like thunder.
‘Did you just climb over the wall down there?’ he snaps.
I’m getting the feeling this was the worst thing to do. ‘Yes,’ I shrug, baffled. ‘How else was I going to get into the field?’ I’m kicking myself for the bad start, because I’m desperate for this to go smoothly.