by Jane Linfoot
‘Fine,’ I say, ‘if you’d like to follow Immie …’ As I give Immie the nod, I’m wishing I’d chosen something more refined for refreshments. I’m not sure a lemon drizzle cake, made at top speed before I left the shop, is going to come up to Princess Nicole’s expectations, even if I have brought matching yellow serviettes.
‘Buttercup Cottage is where most of our couples spend their wedding night, due to the spacious layout,’ Immie explains. As she shows us straight through to the bedroom, I can tell she’s on her best behaviour too. I mean, when does Immie ever use the word spacious?
One glimpse of the four poster with its gauzy muslin drapes is usually enough to have couples clamouring for it, but today we’re not so lucky. I can already see Nicole’s nose is wrinkling.
‘It seems a bit pokey.’ Ignoring the acres of floor and the four substantial posts, instead she gives the quilt a doubtful prod. ‘Checked bed linen is so very eighties, don’t you think?’ Without waiting for an answer, her attention turns to the walls. ‘It’s all so rustic and dreary, Chas, I’d hoped for a foil paper at the very least.’
‘Annie Sloan’s chalk paint lime wash is very now,’ I say. No idea if these particular walls are painted with it, but whatever.
‘Really Chas,’ she hisses, ‘I’ve seen better thread counts at Premier Inn.’
Chas turns to me with a bemused stare and an apologetic shrug.
Personally I’m gob smacked she got beyond the car park of anywhere so down market. ‘Why not see what you think of the bathroom?’ I suggest, thinking she might be impressed by tiles from Fired Earth.
Without even looking, Nicole’s straight back at me. ‘Is it en-suite?’
Crap. She’s got me there. ‘It’s immediately adjoining,’ I offer, knowing I’m trying my hardest and failing.
‘Technically it’s á coté,’ Immie says, sniggering behind her hand.
When did she get good at French?’
‘You could say it’s more of a cul-de-sac location,’ Chas adds, with a big grin.
It’s not that funny, but he and Immie both fall about giggling. It’s amazing what nerves can do to people.
Nicole dismisses that with a sniff, and resumes her quick fire assassination. ‘Hot tub on the patio?’ She peers out of the window with a grimace, completely overlooking the pretty table and chairs.
‘Currently no hot tub or jacuzzi, I’m afraid.’ I sigh.
‘American fridge?’
I ignore Immie mouthing fucking hell at me. ‘There wasn’t one the last time I looked.’
‘Wouldn’t fit through the door, so we sent it back’ Immie adds, unhelpfully.
‘Complimentary drinks?’
At last I have something to smile about. ‘Champagne on ice.’ In my head I punch the air because I’ve finally got something right.
Wrong. Nicole’s face crumples. ‘Champers is so very last year,’ she says with a disgusted eye roll. ‘Everyone knows that cocktails are the new Bollinger. As for hideous cartoon animal pictures …’
And finally she’s made a good point. I’m with her on that one. The decor is down to Rafe’s mum, and the pictures in question are truly awful. ‘We could definitely take those down,’ I offer, then think again. ‘Actually, some of our more refined couples do choose to move on to hotel accommodation for their wedding night, have you considered that?’
For the first time Chas jumps in. ‘No way am I going to a hotel.’ He sounds adamant. ‘All our friends are camping in the field, if I had my way we’d be down there too. We’d booked our own luxury tipi, are you sure you won’t reconsider that option Nic?’
‘Those big tipis with furniture are so romantic.’ Immie gives a sigh that’s a lot too dreamy for her own good.
‘How many times do I have to tell you …?’ Nicole’s snap turns to a bellow. ‘Don’t call me Nic!’
Putting the perfect event together can be very stressful, a bit of pre-wedding friction is inevitable. And with every passing wedding, I’m having my idealistic impressions of true love blown right out of the water.
‘Anyone for tea and cake in the office?’ I say, in an effort to take the pressure off.
The look Chas sends me could not be more grateful. ‘Brilliant suggestion,’ he beams, then sends us a wink as he links arms with Nicole. ‘If we set off now, we might be there by morning.’
Thanks to Chas powering Nicole along, we make good time crossing the courtyard, but as we change direction there’s a sudden shriek from Nicole.
‘There, that’s it!’ Happily when she’s yelling very loud she sounds a lot less like royalty and a lot more normal. Her long silver nails are flapping around so fast, she could be a body double for Edward Scissorhands.
‘What’s what?’ Chas says, patiently, pulling out of range of her nails with a swift twist of his torso that has Immie’s eyes out on stalks. Living with Nicole, this guy must have to channel his inner saint for a large proportion of every day.
‘That’s the cottage where I want to spend my wedding night,’ Nicole says, one determined square-end nail pointing straight at the farmhouse.
Chas blows upwards so hard his fringe flips into mid-air. ‘That’s not a rental cottage, it’s the big house where the farmer lives.’
‘Which sadly is little more than a shell,’ I explain, hurriedly, trying to blank that I’m currently trying desperately to relocate the other half of their double booking to the garden area. There’s no way their big camping wedding would squeeze in up here. ‘It might look amazing from the outside, but inside I promise it wouldn’t tick any of your boxes, Nicole. There’s no jacuzzi or wallpaper or furniture, there’s only flaking paint and lots of dirty rooms.’
‘But I’ve set my heart on it,’ Nicole wails. That would be all of five seconds ago. ‘It so looks like my kind of place, it’s the sort of location everyone at work stays on their wedding nights.’ Her voice rises to a wail. ‘And you want me to stay in a tent …’
As Nicole’s bottom lip comes, out Chas swoops in to kiss her. ‘I know it doesn’t happen often, but this time it really is a “no” to the big house, which is why the cottage is a great compromise.’ Chas pauses, perhaps because compromise is an alien concept for Nicole. ‘So let’s go and get this tea and cake.’
In an effort to keep things light the rest of the way to the office, I begin to talk them through the lemon drizzle recipe, but I’ve only got as far as grating the lemon zest when a shout goes up from Immie.
‘Crap Poppy, Henrietta’s out.’
Sure enough, the board Rafe had propped across the doorway is flat on the floor in front of the open door, and Henrietta is strutting towards the farm house, followed by more cheeping chicks than I can count.
‘Head her off, Immie, send her back towards us.’ I’m yelling instructions, even though I know diddly squat about chickens.
‘Keep calm, I’m a fireman!’ Chas leaps forwards. ‘I’ve got this …’ As he dashes down the yard, carefully circling around Henrietta, there’s an angry squawk from Nicole.
‘Hey Chas, you can’t take my Gucci!’ But she’s too late, it’s already gone.
Before we can say Angry Bird, Chas has reached the escapees, Gucci bag waving wildly. In a flash he’s got the bag unzipped, and he’s dropping in chicks. Next thing he’s striding back towards us, beaming triumphantly, complete with Henrietta wedged in the crook of his elbow, a startled look in her beady eyes.
‘In here I presume?’ he says, heading for the office. Two seconds later, the board’s back across the doorway, and he gently deposits Henrietta, then the chicks, on the floor. ‘There you go, job done, no panic necessary.’ Standing behind Nicole, he slides her bag back onto her arm, and gives her a squeeze. ‘Thanks for the loan of the bag, you’re a star, Nico.’
As Nicole tugs away from his caress, she elbows him hard in the ribs. ‘How many times do I have to tell you … my name’s Nicole …’ she bellows.
Her perfectly pencilled brows have turned into Z bends across her
forehead, and she’s snarling through her teeth now. ‘We’ll talk about my ruined bag later …’ She turns and begins to power away. ‘… in the car.’
Immie, Chas and I watch in silence as she stamps towards Chas’s 4x4.
‘Let’s do the tea another time,’ I suggest, trying to smooth things over.
Chas blows. ‘Phew, I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse Nic, she’s under a lot of pressure.’ He swipes his fingers across his brow. ‘She’s a beautiful person, but sometimes she sees things completely differently from everyone else I know.’
Immie gives Chas a friendly pat on the back. ‘Don’t worry, she’ll be fine when it’s all over, weddings are well known for making sensible people wappy,’ she says, reassuringly. She sends me a secret grin from somewhere behind his shoulder. ‘It could be a lot worse. Our best friend’s just ordered a complete fairground for her Daisy Hill wedding, imagine that.’
I can’t help shrieking. ‘Cate’s done what?’ Surely she hasn’t.
‘Yep, she rang this morning.’ Immie gives a shrug. ‘Helter skelter, big wheel, roundabouts, the lot.’
I shake my head. ‘Crazy.’ I wonder if she’s told Liam yet. I have an inkling that this may finally send Cate’s long suffering and sensible husband-to-be over the edge.
‘Completely mad.’ Immie agrees.
Chas frowns. ‘There isn’t much danger of a fairground, a helter skelter wouldn’t be Nic’s thing at all, she hates heights. We met on a St Aidan Singles walk when she had a panic attack on the bridge across the creek going into Padstowe.’
‘But that bridge isn’t high,’ Immie points out, with a dismissive nose wrinkle she really shouldn’t be using with clients.
‘I know, but that’s exactly why I’m such a lucky guy,’ Chas says happily. ‘Talking Nic onto dry land that day was the best thing to happen to me in ages.’ As the slamming of his distant car door echoes between the buildings, he gives a grimace, and hurriedly holds out his hand to say goodbye. ‘I’d better go, but thanks for today, it went better than I expected. I’ll chat to Nic and be in touch.’
Immie and I stand waving as Chas winds his way back to the car, and Nicole.
‘That went better than expected?’ Immie gives an appalled eye roll. ‘How the hell does he stay so chilled in the face of that?’ she asks, biting her thumbnail as she inclines her head to Chas’s car. Immie’s making no attempt to hide that her eyes are glued to his bum as he leaves.
‘Firemen are trained to deal with worst case scenarios and crises’ I say. ‘Plus the guy’s completely besotted, there’s no hiding it, he’s head-over-heels in love.’ It must be amazing to have someone who adores you that much. When I think back, I can’t ever remember a time Brett was half that crazy about me. Even when he asked me to leave London and live with him, it was all to do with train timetables and heavy weekend traffic. It was never because he specially wanted to be with me.
‘If you ask me, Fireman Chas is going to get more than his fingers burned there,’ Immie sniffs, disapprovingly.
‘No-one did ask you, Immie,’ I point out, because someone has to tell her. ‘It’s definitely not our job to be judgmental.’ As for admiring the pants off a groom, I’ll have a stern word about that later, when she’s less flushed.
‘In heat terms, he needs to get the hell out of that particular kitchen, and fast.’ Immie says, completely ignoring me. ‘In psychological terms, he’s temporarily blinded by the happiness chemicals linked to infatuation. What’s going to happen when he comes out on the other side of happy-land and finds out he’s married the bitch queen from hell?’
‘Not our problem, Immie. Really, really, not our problem,’ I say, firmly.
Nicole might be dishing it like a diva, and I might be a teensy bit touchy that she’s getting married in a dress that reminds me of mine. Yes, it’s irrational to think ‘that should have been me’, and getting that sour feeling in my stomach isn’t helpful either. But seeing the cottage through her eyes has made me wake up to the fact that there’s a lot more that could be done with the rentals. With a small amount of input those cottages could appeal to a more up-market clientele, which would, in turn, bring in a lot more income. But that’s for another day entirely, and that’s probably not my problem either. There’s another much more pressing problem, which I’m sure will immediately take Immie’s mind off firemen. ‘So what’s this about Cate wanting a fairground?’
JULY
36
At Brides by the Sea: Cupcake towers and helter skelters
Even though it’s amazing by the sea in summer, the magical glisten of the waves, and the fabulous surf rolling over hot sand don’t always transfer to the inside of the shop. Today has been the kind of baking hot day where you have to peel the dresses off the brides, and we’ve had every disaster cliché in the wedding shop book. Bride’s mums in floods of tears, bridesmaids coming to blows, and the worst, worst, worst of all, a bride who’s changed her mind on the dress. Rather than being a day when the fizz flowed, and laughter echoed, I’ve been handing out endless cups of strong sweet tea and giant sized slices of comforting iced walnut cake.
‘What a bloody afternoon,’ Jess says as she rubs the sweat off her brow with her fist, then piles the last lot of plates and cups onto a tray. ‘Many more like that, and I’d give up.’
‘Thank Christmas for sugar.’ I say, wafting the hem of my black blouse in an attempt to get some tepid air to my tummy.
‘There’s something here that might make our day end on a high.’ Her lips are twitching as she draws her phone from her pocket. ‘A text from Sera just came in …’
‘Wow,’ I breathe, because this is big. Sera’s in London making the final final final adjustments to Josie Redman’s dress, before her mega celebrity wedding next week.
Jess looks as if she’s about to burst. ‘And there’s a photo …’ Squeaking really isn’t Jess’s style, but she’s making an exception here. ‘Top top top secret, obviously,’ she says, sliding the screen towards me. ‘Sera knows if it wasn’t for you and me saving her that first day when Josie came in unexpectedly, she wouldn’t have pulled this off.’
‘Of course,’ I mutter, as I lean in. As my eyes lock on the photo, I gulp down so much air that I immediately cough it back. Talk about déjà vu. This is like a re-run of Nicole’s reveal, but this time Josie’s head has been carefully left out of shot, so seeing her in a dress that’s could almost be mine is slightly less jarring. ‘Gorgeous.’ I manage to splutter. ‘It’s very like …’
Jess’s face is close to mine and her hot breath hits my cheek. ‘Like yours?’ She’s straight on my case. ‘It is. And how do you feel about that?’ Her hand lands on my shoulder.
Maybe because I’ve been through this all before in Bristol, the urge to bring up my walnut cake is less urgent. Although when I squint more closely, Josie’s dress has less all-over lace, so it’s more like mine than Nicole’s. ‘I guess from Josie’s reaction when she tried my dress, I knew she’d be going for something similar.’ It’s true. This is less of a kick in the guts than with Nicole.
Jess pulls a tissue from a nearby box, and pushes it into my hand. ‘Lucky you, it’s the last one.’
We’ve never run out of tissues before, and although I sniff into it to show I’m grateful, I haven’t got any tears to mop up. It’s as if all my dress emotion was used up last time. Although I’m dreading Nicole and Chas’s actual wedding, for now, so long as I don’t see my own dress again in the flesh, I just feel numb.
‘We’ll talk about this later.’ Jess’s phone is back in her pocket. ‘Your five thirty’s here.’ She nods to the door.
It’s not strictly an appointment. Liam’s popping in to talk cakes, which I suspect is Cate’s ploy to take his mind off those controversial fairground rides.
‘So, cakes …’ I say, once I’ve shoved Liam well out of eye shot of Jess, and sat him down on a squishy sofa with the last piece of walnut cake, and a bottle of the Fentimans Rose lemonade we usually keep
for brides’ mums who don’t like alcohol. ‘Cate thought it would be great if I found out about your cakey likes and dislikes.’ If I’m hedging round the subject, it’s because we’re both aware that in reality Cate would never delegate anything to do with the design of her wedding cake.
‘This is delicious.’ As Liam lifts up his cake I notice there are dark circles under his eyes.
‘Thanks, wait ‘til you see these, they’ll make your mouth water too.’ I spread out a few pictures of cupcake towers on the table in front of him. ‘Some people have cupcakes as well as the main cake.’ Let’s face it, a cupcake tower is the only outlet Liam’s likely to get for his ideas, with Cate behaving like an autocrat. ‘So I need to find out your favourite kind of cake, and what kinds of icing you like.’
Liam gives a long sigh. ‘To be honest Poppy, I think it might be better if I cancel the cake altogether.’ Under his tan his skin is almost grey.
‘What?’ I shout. ‘Why the hell would you want to do that?’ I didn’t see this coming.
He gives a grimace. ‘The way things are going, I’m not sure we’ll be able to pay for it.’
Oh crap. The way Cate’s been carrying on, the budget was bound to blow at some point. It could be worse. At least he isn’t getting cold feet.
‘As far as the wedding cake goes, it’s my gift to you two, and you can have whatever design you want.’ I say, suddenly thinking that maybe I should be listening more to Liam, and not only to Cate. ‘No size limit either,’ I add, remembering the guest list, as I flop down on the sofa next to him. ‘Do you want to talk about the rest? I know Cate’s been thinking … big …’ To put it mildly.
Liam leans forward and puts his plate on the table. ‘Cate’s the accountant, she earns way more than me, so I left it to her. Until today …’ He leans forward and puts his chin in his hands. ‘… when I accidentally opened the invoice for the balance on the marquee hire.’ His eyebrows hit the ceiling at this point, and he lets out a long low whistle.