by Jane Linfoot
‘Ahhh … The marquees …’ All four of them.
Liam blows out his lips. ‘Then I went and looked at the paperwork on the desk, and I’m sure that’s not all of it.’ He’s shaking his head. ‘She’s got completely carried away. I need you to help me make her see reason. We can’t afford the deposits, let alone the balances. And she’s ordering more stuff every day. This week she’s booked a petting zoo, an outdoor cinema and a gypsy caravan.’
‘Shit,’ I say, truthfully. ‘I didn’t know about those.’ The fairground paperwork obviously hasn’t made it onto the desk yet.
‘It’s funny’ he says, leaning back and drumming his fingers on the sofa arm. ‘You think you know someone, you have a child together, and then something like this happens, and you realise you didn’t have a clue.’
It makes my chest ache to hear him sound so bleak. ‘I’m sure you and Cate will be able to work this out.’ I give his hand a squeeze. ‘Cate’s not the first bride to have got carried away with her wedding plans. All she wants is for everyone to have an amazing day, but the numbers are so big they start to lose all meaning.’ Liam’s left Cate to get on with it, which was what she wanted, but even with Immie and me, she’s thrown out every suggestion to rein things in. I’m thinking back to the five thousand pounds worth of bridesmaids’ dresses, which thankfully she hasn’t ordered yet, but only because she hasn’t been able to get all eight bridesmaids in for a fitting. It’s only down to Nicole that Cate didn’t splurge nine grand on a dress.
‘There are so many zeros we’ll need a second mortgage.’ Liam’s laugh is perturbingly bitter. ‘I’ve put my car up on AutoTrader. I can get an older one, but it’s still not going to cover it.’
‘I’d just assumed Cate had a handle on it.’ I bite my lip, kicking myself, because I feel partly responsible for the mess. Immie and I should have challenged Cate earlier, or at least checked that Liam knew the situation.
‘I trusted her, and she’s messed up big time.’ Liam’s tugging at his hair.
This is not what I want to hear from my best friend’s soul mate. ‘There are lots of areas where you can cut back and make big savings.’ I say. ‘But you need to take responsibility too. You need to stand up to Cate, and work out something more realistic.’ I look into his eyes. ‘Together. As a couple.’
‘Right,’ he says, a lot more doubtfully than I’d like. With any luck he won’t ever need to know about the fairground.
‘Immie and I will back you up, I promise. You’ll still have a wonderful day.’ If I chew on my thumb any more, I’ll draw blood. I’ve changed my life to make this wedding happen. Hell, I’ve already endured six months of Rafe and his black moods in order for Cate to get her fabulous day.
And I’m not about to give up on it now.
37
In the garden at Daisy Hill Farm: Rose thorns and thick fog
‘Immie was telling me that a groom-to-be caught Henrietta’s chicks in a handbag.’ Rafe says, as he marches around the side of the farmhouse. ‘She was impressed enough to mention it twice.’
I’m psyching myself up for my tour of the grounds behind Rafe’s house. First I have to check that the smaller double-booked wedding will actually fit into whatever space is there. And then, if the space is suitable, I’ll be faced with the huge task of persuading Rafe to actually let it happen.
‘Immie only mentioned it twice?’ I say, amazed. We should be concentrating on Cate’s wedding cut backs, but Immie refuses to move on from chickens. And IMHO as they say on Facebook, it wasn’t the method of chicken capture or the end result that made an impact, it was the person doing it. And as he couldn’t be more spoken for, she needs to shut the frig up about him and get a life of her own. I mean, whatever happened to surfer boy from Jaggers? ‘It’s summer, he left to go surfing’ is no kind of answer.
As I follow Rafe towards a door in a high stone wall, I pull my notebook out of my bag so I have all the information to hand, and send a silent mantra to the god of double bookings to do his best for us. When Rafe opens the door to the garden, for a moment I’m too nervous to look. As I slowly open my eyes and see the view beyond Rafe’s faded T-shirt, my heart misses a beat. I’m opening and closing my mouth, but no sound comes out, which doesn’t matter, as Rafe is in full flow.
‘The ceremony’s in the local church, so we don’t have to worry about that.’ He waves an arm to the area beyond the garden. ‘Parking would be on the field, accessed from the lane, guests would come straight into the garden from there. We’ll take the fence down, obviously.’ He crosses an extensive terrace made of old bricks, and steps out onto wide lawns. ‘I’ve checked and an open sided marquee for forty will fit on the grass on the left.’ He turns to me. ‘And …?’
‘Gr … eat,’ I say, glancing at my now redundant notebook. Sounds like he’s covered everything, but how the hell he’s done that, I don’t know. ‘You found the details then?’ Part of me wants to be cross, but all I can see is the flower border running the length of the wall. It’s a mass of pinks and blues and reds clashing in the sunlight. Cornflowers and poppies are tangled with rampant jasmine, holly hocks entwine with climbing roses, and the scent of honeysuckle hangs in the warm air.
‘I started with the bookings calendar, and after that it was easy.’ He grins. ‘Your filing system is remarkably clear and accessible. Well done with that, it’s a remarkable turnaround.’
‘Great …’ I murmur again, wandering towards the flowers because that’s the only way my feet will go. As I reach the border I lean forwards and trail my fingers across a swathe of pink roses. There’s something softly familiar about the scent of the blooms. I stoop closer and breathe in deeply and before I know it, my eyes are pricking.
‘So what do you think?’ he says.
Grabbing a tissue from the pocket of my jeans I scape away the tears. ‘Sorry …’ I blow my nose loudly, and swallow a mouthful of saliva.
‘Is something wrong?’ He’s walking towards me, frowning.
I sniff into my hanky. ‘It’s the garden …’ I gulp, biting my lip to force back the tears. ‘The border’s so like the one my mum had.’ I’m not sure why that would make me cry.
He pads across the grass, and stops in front of me. ‘No blue poppies though.’ Putting a hand on each of my shoulders, he stares down at me.
‘Are those Albertine roses?’ I ask, trying to divert his attention away from my out-of-control weeping.
‘Yep, planted by my grandmother.’ He smiles down at me. ‘She loved her garden too. The farm guys and I try our best, but it gets away from us a bit, especially in wet summers.’
Maybe it’s the heat, maybe the tangle of plants, but for a minute I’m right back in the garden behind my mum’s rented cottage in the village. I can’t ever bear to think what happened to the garden afterwards, when the new tenants moved in.
‘My mum died quite a few years ago.’ If I stare very hard at the swallows sitting up on the telegraph wire I can keep my voice steady. ‘The strangest things bring it back, I’m sorry, it’s very unprofessional of me …’
‘Bollocks to professional. Come here.’
The next moment, my face crashes against his T-shirt, and my nose fills with the scent of warm skin, as his arms close round my back. Clamping my eyes shut, all I can think about is the thud of his heartbeat against my cheekbone, the strength of his back muscles under my fingers, and how amazingly safe I feel. I have no idea how long I’ve been clinging on for when I force myself to push away.
‘She had breast cancer, but she hid it from me. I only knew the last few weeks, and by then there was no time left for anything.’ It comes out in a rush, to fill the gaping space that’s suddenly there between us. I twiddle with the pink twist of ribbon pinned on the strap of my bag. ‘She was trying to protect me by not telling me, but in the end the shock was …’ Horrific. Awful. Mind blowing. I don’t remember much. Being too numb to cry. Cate and Immie helping me talk to the undertaker. And being so confused I wore my black coa
t for the funeral, even though I know my mum would rather I’d worn red instead. How there were snowdrops in the churchyard. And Brett being tied up in Dubai on a month long sales initiative, and then finally flying back, and missing the funeral because of fog over Zurich.
‘However it happens, it’s tough.’ Rafe reaches out, snaps off a rosebud, and gently winds it through the strap of my bag. ‘My dad collapsed haymaking in the bottom meadow. Bad enough, but it’s easier when there’s family all around to help. Thank you for sharing that with me.’
‘Back at you.’ I say, and when I look up into his face, his hard lines have softened. ‘Thanks for the hug,’ I say, because it seems polite, given we’re saying thank you, but then I’m floundering. ‘I didn’t have you down as a huggy person.’
His face creases in amusement. ‘Me neither.’ Then his smile fades. ‘I didn’t mean to cross boundaries. You just looked very vulnerable … and alone.’
Which is exactly how things are. And how they’re going to be. Which is absolutely fine.
‘So you’ve nailed the wedding plans then,’ I say, swallowing, because we might as well get on with what we’re here for. ‘All your suggestions would work brilliantly to keep the two weddings separate. Although how would you feel about …’ I’m thinking on my feet, which is not always a good idea.
He’s straight back at me. ‘About what?’
I twist one foot behind my ankle. Getting carried away because Rafe suddenly looks all approachable is only going to lead to disappointment. ‘Thinking of ways to sell this to the double booked bride so she really won’t refuse the offer.’ I hesitate, because there’s a possibility this will send Rafe straight into one of his rages, and we’ll be back to square one.
‘And?’
‘Is there any chance of offering a small room in the house for the bridal party to freshen up?’ I stare at the swallows, this time because I can’t bear to see his face go all black and thunderous again.
‘Good thinking.’ His voice is level and collected, and horribly sexy.
‘Sorry?’ I can’t believe what I just heard. As for the sexy part, scrub that. If Immie were here, she’d have some psychological explanation about falling for the person who rescues you. Which I’m totally not, obviously.
‘No idea which room, but I agree, it could be a good sweetener.’
My mind is suddenly racing, as I look along the terrace to the beautiful, cobweb draped orangerie. If Rafe’s in a good mood, we might as well make the most of it. ‘If we offered a downstairs reception room and the orangerie for use in case it rains, then they really wouldn’t say “no”.’ When I notice that Rafe’s eyebrows haven’t furrowed like a ploughed field, I push on. ‘Immie and I could all help to clean the rooms, and you know how wet this summer has been. This way you’d save churning up the lawn if it rained.’
I watch his face crumple as he agonises for what seems like forever. Then suddenly he relaxes. ‘Okay, let’s go for it. So long as the insurers will run with it, offer the bridal party the lot.’
I feel like I’m a champagne bottle and my cork just popped. ‘Thanks Rafe, that’s bloody brilliant.’ Next thing I know, I can’t help it, I’ve flung my arms around him, because I’m so damned happy, and I’m hugging him like a demon, until I accidentally lose my flip flop, and almost fall over.
He stands and laughs as I stagger backwards, then he slides me a sideways grin. ‘I didn’t actually have you down as a huggy person either.’
‘I’m definitely not huggy,’ I say. Unless Nicole is making such a bee line for me I can’t avoid her. ‘But it’s not every day someone makes a turn around like yours.’ On balance, I decide to miss out the word crucial. Not that I’m suspicious, but I have to ask. ‘Any particular reason for the change?’ I try to make the question as light as I can.
He rakes his fingers through his hair, and blows out his cheeks. ‘Before Jack and Ella, I was very opposed to weddings, full stop.’ Pausing, as if he can’t quite believe the change either. ‘But the night the baby arrived I stopped seeing the brides and grooms as cardboard cut outs I’d rather keep off the farm, and began to see them as real people.’
‘Nice one Rafe,’ I say, even though I’m ever so slightly appalled by his admission. Although it would be hard to live through the trauma and relief of Ella’s labour and feel no after effects.
‘The day they brought Rafaella round to see us, I realised how happy Daisy Hill Farm can make people. It’s down to us to make every couple’s day the best it can be.’
And finally. ‘Exactly,’ I say. Immie and I are still cursing that we weren’t here for that baby visit, not because we like babies, but just because we missed seeing Rafe cooing over his namesake.
‘So shall we take a look in the orangerie?’ He’s sounding dangerously enthusiastic about this.
As I scoop up my notebook from the grass where it fell, I get a full frontal view of the slogan on his raggy T-shirt – Cornish Farmer, A Rare Breed. ‘Good thinking, Rafe,’ I grin. ‘Welcome to the Wedding Team.’
38
At Brides by the Sea: Déjà vu?
Women in wedding shops, drinking prosecco? Again? Well, yes … and no.
Like the other time we were all here, it’s after hours. It seems like a lifetime ago that Cate, Immie and I were last in Brides by the Sea, shrieking and groaning over bridesmaids’ dresses, and today’s atmosphere is as different from that as it could be. Cate’s slashed budget, not to mention her big show down with Liam when he finally confronted her about her spending, has taken the edge off her delirious bride mood. But I’ve changed a lot too. All those months ago, I was taking my first shaky steps towards making a life on my own, and hating every minute. Being forced to go and work at Daisy Hill Farm, not having the first clue what I was letting myself in for was hard. Arriving and finding the chaos was worse. As for the first few weddings, I’ve never been more terrified. But I lived through the fear, and thanks to the help and support of all my friends, I’ve come out the other side with more confidence. Weddings at the farm are happening regularly, and I’m sailing through them. If there are hitches we work through them together, as a team, and even Rafe’s mellowed. So whereas Cate is temporarily in a worse place than she was, I couldn’t be better. And it’s Cate we’ve come to the shop for today.
We’ve been called here as part of a joint intervention by Sera and Jess. In honour of the gravity of the occasion, Jess has added gin and elderflower cordial to the usual prosecco. So we’re all sitting in our summer florals, sipping her version of English Garden cocktails, waiting to see what the hell she has to say.
You can always count on Immie to break the ice. ‘We love the window displays,’ she says, waving her frosted tumbler around, and prodding at her mint sprig. She’s talking about the explosion of lace and photographs in every opening on the shop’s perimeter, celebrating that earlier this week Josie Redman said ‘I do’, wearing Sera’s gorgeous dress. Immie and Cate have no inkling of how I had to scrunch up my eyes every time I came home to see so many versions of Josie, all looking like I once dreamed I would.
‘Jules came through for us, with the pictures.’ Jess’s smile oozes pride and delight in equal measure. ‘He played with the official publicity shots they sent through, then he did the prints for us.’ At least a hundred, a fabulous mix of close ups, and distant views.
Once the photos were plastered all over the shop, they were impossible to miss. Somehow, the fiftieth time I came face to face with Josie wearing a dress so similar to mine, it was much less jarring than the first. Whereas once my own dress was all about spending the money my mum left me, and me marrying – or not marrying – Brett, somewhere down the line something’s shifted. For so many years, deep down I was so desperate to become Mrs Brett King. But looking at those pictures of Josie in her dress made me realise that I’ve left Brett behind. Although I’m not sure when, or how I changed, what I do know is that me standing beside Brett in my dress isn’t the picture that drifts into my head wh
enever I close my eyes. Better still, that isn’t what I want to do any more.
Looking around the pictures of Josie’s wedding now, I almost feel like I was there in person. The press went wild over her dress, all the more because of the surprise. They were poised to rip her apart for turning up in a white sequined boob tube, which had been accidentally-on-purpose leaked to the magazines, and instead she was so sophisticated and beautiful, the press couldn’t do anything but praise her. There have been so many calls to the shop since, the phone has practically melted.
Jess stares at me pointedly. ‘Jules might not be good at delivering babies, but he’s certainly made up for it here. He’s such a gifted boy.’
I’m feeling the need to issue a statement to show I’ve re-joined the Jules fan club. ‘Jules did some lovely shots of bridesmaids and page boys playing with Henrietta’s fluffy chicks at a wedding last week,’ I say. Hopefully this will show that Jules and I are friends again. ‘The chicks are getting a lot of love on the website, and I’ve got a blown up print hanging in the office.’ Even if I’ll never view Jules in quite the same way as before, we still work well together. It’s not as if we were even close to being an item, because I never wanted that. And it’s good to remember, if you ask too much of people, they can’t come through for you. They’ll let you down every time.
‘So …’ As Jess strides across the shop tapping her Swarovski crystal pen on her tumbler to get our attention, a hush falls over the sofa where we’re lined up. ‘Cate, we’ve asked you here today because Sera and I have a proposition. You did a fabulous job modelling Sera’s dress on the Daisy Hill Farm shoot, and a lot of brides have come to us as a result of those pictures.’
‘Hey, we told you how great you looked.’ Immie grins and nudges Cate, who smiles as her cheeks turn pink.