Cupcakes and Confetti

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘We’re here for you, Chas,’ Immie says, obviously jumping the gun here. The way she pats his arm, well that’s all wrong too.

  Swallowing back my shriek of horror, I try to prepare my reaction by flicking through the likely scenarios of what the hell might have happened. Nicole finally pushing Chas over the edge with outlandish requirements comes top. Chas recognising Nicole for the grasping user she is, comes a close second.

  ‘What’s wrong, Chas?’ I might sound insensitive coming out with it, but someone has to ask.

  The breath he draws in before he speaks is never ending. ‘It’s Nicole,’ he says, at last.

  There you go, what did I tell you? I give myself full marks for insight.

  Chas puts his head in his hands for a moment, then he looks up and goes on. ‘She’s called off the wedding.’

  ‘She did what?’ I take a second to check I’ve heard right. ‘Surely not?’ I manage to say at last. At least this way round my squeal of disbelief is genuine. ‘It has to be pre-wedding nerves. Last minute cold feet are very common.’ Now I’m adding couples counselling to my list of Event Planner duties. ‘She’s probably stressed.’ If I’m gabbling at a hundred miles an hour, it’s only because I can’t help it. ‘Give her a couple of days, it’ll all be back on again.’

  Chas shakes his head. ‘No, she’s thought it all through. Apparently she’s with me for all the wrong reasons.’ The imploring look he sends us is crippling. ‘She wanted a wedding, and security, and a home, and I can give her all those things, but in the end she doesn’t think we’re compatible.’ He gives a tragic shrug. ‘Not in the long term.’

  I’m frowning, because this sounds so unlike the Nicole we’ve seen. ‘Oh my days.’

  ‘She says if we carry on, we’ll only be condemning each other to a lifetime of unhappiness.’

  ‘Shit,’ I say, trying to pick my jaw off the floor. ‘That’s pretty final.’ And very well thought out too. There were times when their tastes seemed miles apart. The fact we’d always blamed it on Nicole being a super selfish bitch makes me squirm with guilt.

  ‘It’s true we’ve had a lot of arguments lately. The wedding seemed to highlight all the ways we’re different.’ Chas gives a deep sigh. ‘I thought as long as I truly loved her that would be enough. But it’s not enough for Nicole.’

  ‘It’s better to call it off than go through with something you’ll both regret.’ I say. If I sound very grave, it’s because I’ve put my professional hat on again in an attempt to lose my hyena shriek. I dig deep to find something positive to say. ‘Nicole has a lot of integrity to admit this, it must have taken a lot of guts.’

  ‘Maybe you rushed things, because you loved her so much.’ Immie chimes in, sounding very unlike herself.

  ‘But at least it shows you made a good choice in the first place,’ I add. ‘Nicole’s obviously a very honest person. She’s setting you free because she loves you.’ Even as I’m talking, I can hear how trite I sound, but what the hell can you say? Nothing actually equips you to deal with a guy being left two weeks before his wedding. It makes what I went through with Brett look like a picnic.

  ‘At least she hasn’t left me for anyone else,’ he says. ‘Although it might be easier if she had. This way it just means I’m not good enough for a relationship.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Immie and I chorus, although I suspect we’re coming at this from very different viewpoints.

  ‘Nicole was so damned stunning, it was like going out with a young Jerry Hall.’ Chas’s quiet moan is wistful. ‘I should have known I was punching above my weight.’

  I catch Immie’s despairing grimace. ‘It isn’t all about looks,’ I say. ‘Personality plays a big part too.’ However much I disapprove, I still throw that one in on Immie’s behalf. Although if Chas is hooked on tall and polished, as a five foot nothing who doesn’t believe in wasting money on moisturiser or make up, Immie needs to prepare herself for disappointment.

  I’m silently racing ahead now, wishing I’d taken more notice of the cancellation part of the contracts in the filing cabinet. My heart’s sinking too. I suspect Rafe’s comment about weddings keeping the bank at bay might have been less throwaway than he implied. Then it hits me like a thunderbolt. Rafe’s dire finances must be why he’s suddenly so enthusiastic to get the house ready. That’s the obvious explanation for that mystery. He probably can’t afford to lose the fees. Chas and Nicole made their final payment ages ago. In all probability, Rafe’s probably already spent it. I’m wincing, bracing myself to bring up the money side, when Chas does it for me.

  ‘Everything’s paid for.’ He shakes his head, as he folds his arms. ‘It’s too late to cancel now.’ Seemingly picking up on my twitchiness, he smiles at me. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t be asking for any refunds. I’m not here for that.’

  I hope my sympathetic smile covers up that I’m also letting out a massive sigh of relief.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Immie leans towards Chas, inclining her head with the same beady eyed look Henrietta has when she thinks there’s some corn coming her way.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Immie, give the guy a break,’ I hiss. ‘He’s cancelled his wedding, now back the hell off.’ Yes, I hold my hands up, I know it’s not how an Event Organiser should carry on, but sometimes Immie goes way off limits.

  Chas gives a sniff. ‘Thanks Poppy, I appreciate your concern, but don’t stop her, it’s a valid question.’ This time his shrug is guilty rather than distraught. ‘I’ve talked to all my mates, and everyone’s in favour. We’re going to carry on and have a phenomenal tipi camping weekend. With all the food and drink we’ve bought, and the bands, it’ll be the party of the decade. Jules is even dropping in to take some pictures too.’ He hesitates, then turns to me. ‘That’s if it’s alright with you, obviously?’

  I’m on my feet, across the office, and before I know it I’ve thrown my arms around Chas’s neck. ‘Of course, Chas, it’s a brilliant idea.’ I’m hugging him for his sheer determination to survive. For taking this so well. But also for letting me off the hook, and making my job so easy.

  ‘You’re all invited too,’ he says. ‘Obviously.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Immie punching the air. On the plus side she manages to stop short of shouting out ‘Result!’

  The frown I shoot at her is supposed to convey that this is a one off management hug, which I’m having for professional reasons, not a bloody free for all. But she takes shit all notice, and the next minute she’s practically whirling Chas around the office herself.

  As I stand and watch them, I do a mental check of my entire body. Inch by inch. For single women thirty something research purposes. Searching for after-hug hot areas. Or tingles.

  But to my complete disgust, there aren’t any. Another inconclusive result then. As it is, I categorically refuse to believe Rafe is the only guy causing a reaction, because if that’s the case, it blows my theory out of the water. In the worst way possible.

  47

  In the courtyard at Daisy Hill Farm: Cornish beer

  ‘What’s going on?’

  It’s another valid question. This time from Rafe, who is in the office three hours later, as Chas, Immie and I arrive – or more accurately, roll – back from the Goose and Duck.

  If we look like fugitives from a pub crawl in St Aidan, it’s entirely accidental. But it’s the kind of lucky accident that also offers the perfect cover for what would have otherwise have been a very awkward meeting with Rafe, given what happened earlier.

  As a story it’s not long. When Immie made an inappropriate grab for Chas as we hit the road to walk back to the farm, I neutralised it by moving in from the other side. Simple as that. Anyone glancing at our shambling threesome might easily assume that Chas is helping us helpless women along, holding us up on our non-existent heels. But in reality, Chas has been firing pints down as fast as they could pull them. He’s not so much been drowning his sorrows, as burying them beneath an ocean of Tintagel H
arbour Special. And Immie has been drinking Cornish Knockers, pint for pint, in sympathy. So from where I’m standing, it feels like I’m definitely the one supporting him, and probably Immie too.

  ‘We took Chas for lunch and corporate commiseration.’ I explain to Rafe, without making eye contact, as I guide our human chain through the doorway. ‘He had … err … news.’ I hesitate over the explanation. The truth sounds so harsh. As I let go, and Immie and Chas peel off to stagger across the office, it’s obvious they’re legless.

  ‘His wedding’s off.’ Immie comes straight out with it, slurring as she grabs her Mr Muscle from the desk where she left it earlier. ‘And I’ve got a cottage to clean.’

  ‘You remember Chas?’ I say to Rafe, keeping my tone clipped and professional. ‘He’s opted for the party of the decade instead of the wedding.’ My beam stays bright, even though I groan inwardly as Immie collapses into my chair, and starts spinning around. ‘I’ll call a couple of cabs. These two need to get home.’ I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll down my numbers. If I send Immie off in the same cab as Chas, who knows where they’ll end up.

  ‘No need.’ Rafe’s hand lands lightly on my upturned forearm. ‘Give me a minute, I’ll get one of the guys to take them. Then there’s somewhere I want to take you.’

  He takes his hand back, and he’s off down the yard before I can say tingle.

  A few seconds later, Rafe is back. It’s only when you see a sober person dashing around that you appreciate how ratted Chas and Immie are. Rafe wastes no time, as he leans in around the doorframe.

  ‘Immie, Chas – Bob will take you two wherever you want to go. Poppy,’ He nods his head towards the open topped Land Rover parked outside. ‘Grab your jacket and come with me.’

  Immie gives me a sozzled wave as I go. Hopefully she’ll get home and sleep it off. As for Rafe and I, we make it into the Land Rover, and a long way up the lane without another word.

  48

  On the way to Daisy Hill: Shouting in the wind

  ‘What colour is your hair anyway?’

  When Rafe finally breaks the silence, it’s only because I’m wrestling madly against the bluster of the breeze, trying to capture my wildly blowing split ends in a scrunchy.

  ‘Well once it was pillar box, and then it was vermillion, now it’s streaky orange growing out.’ I might as well give him the full catalogue of dying disasters, even if I have to yell over the roar of the engine, as this heap of metal bounces over the ruts and potholes.

  ‘No, I mean what colour is it really?’ This is Rafe for you. He’s so intense. Three answers, and he still digs for another.

  ‘It used to be long and blonde.’ I’m shouting as loud as I can but the wind’s snatching my words away so I doubt he can hear. ‘I chopped it and dyed it because I wanted to change who I was.’

  His tanned hands are gripping the wheel. When he looks away from the dusty windscreen for a moment, I will him to look back at the lane instead of at me. I really don’t want to end up in a ditch here.

  I begin to yell again. ‘The colour doesn’t matter any more – I couldn’t be that blonde person again, even if I tried.’

  I couldn’t be that blonde person again, even if I tried.

  Yelling those random, yet significant, words at the top of my voice where no-one’s listening makes me a glow inside. You know those times when you stand still for months, or even worse, slide backwards, then suddenly out of nowhere, you make a massive leap forwards? That’s what I’m talking about here. I’m still smiling when Rafe pulls into a gateway a hundred yards further along the track.

  ‘Here we are.’ He jumps to the ground and slams the door.

  I follow, and meet him by the gate, squinting up at the impossibly fluffy clouds scudding across a sky blue enough to have come off Shutterstock. ‘Where exactly are we then?’

  ‘Daisy Hill.’ He pushes the gate open for me with a rueful grin.

  ‘I didn’t know that was a real place.’ There’s a crazy kind of flutter I my stomach as I brush past him and catch a blast of his scent. Don’t ask me how he can still smell of delicious waxed jackets, when he hasn’t been near one all summer.

  ‘It’s my favourite place on the farm. It’s a good place to come.’ His smile fades. ‘I wanted to talk about this morning upstairs – the way I reacted was unforgivable. I’m not making excuses, but there’s so much pain closed up in that damned room.’

  I ram my hands in my pockets, and drag my jacket around me to suppress a shudder. ‘I’m so sorry for whatever I did to upset you. Let’s leave it there.’ I’d rather not hear any more.

  ‘The baby things are there because Helen had a stillborn child.’ His voice is horribly low as we walk. ‘It’s a long time ago now, and I was so wrong to shout, but you caught me off guard.’

  Crap, crap, crap. I’m kicking myself, because I should have known. ‘You don’t need to tell me this Rafe.’

  ‘It’s been hidden for too long, talking might be good.’ He’s striding beside me, working his way up the hill, his legs so much longer than mine that I’m stumbling over the grassy ridges to keep up.

  He spins round to face me, walking backwards as he speaks. ‘Helen was five months pregnant when we found out she was having a baby.’ The words are coming out in bursts between gulps as he climbs. ‘We hadn’t been living together very long, it was a shock, and to be honest we were ambivalent. We’d got as far as telling the family, and my brother gave us a load of stuff – the stuff you came across this morning.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ I’m screwing up my face, because I just know what’s coming. When he pauses, mid stride, I know what he’s going to say.

  ‘At twenty eight weeks, they couldn’t find a heartbeat. They induced labour, but the baby was born dead.’

  His voice is so desolate I feel like there’s a hole in my chest. I jerk to a halt next to him, bumping into his elbow. ‘So awful,’ I gasp, wishing my lungs would hold more oxygen. ‘And Rafaella being born brought it all back, didn’t it? Of course, it would. I knew there was something that night.’ My throat is burning as I stand panting.

  ‘When something goes wrong, you still have to go through the agony of the birth. But afterwards you’re left with nothing.’ His voice catches as he speaks. ‘Delivering the baby that night in the cottage took me right back.’

  My heart is aching for him. I swallow back a mouthful of sour saliva. I’m longing to throw my arms around him, but there’s something so defiant and alone in the way he’s hugging his chest, I decide to keep my distance.

  ‘It was weird.’ He’s still motionless, staring down the steep grassy bank we’ve just climbed. ‘Before, I hadn’t been that bothered, but as soon as I saw my baby being born, all I could think of was how much I wanted one. I was desperate to try for another.’ He turns, and begins to climb again. ‘But Helen didn’t feel the same. And putting pressure on her made it worse.’

  It’s as if once he’s started talking, he doesn’t want to stop. For a few strides he’s quiet, and then we reach the summit, and he takes hold of my hand, to drag me up the last yard. As he lets go and sits down, legs bent in front of him, elbows resting on his splayed knees, I flop down next to him.

  ‘This is where I scattered the ashes.’ He rubs his nose with his fist. ‘Helen couldn’t face it.’ He says it with a quiet resignation. ‘But it’s a good place.’

  The abruptness takes me by surprise. All this is so far out of my experience. No wonder he looks so sad. ‘It’s an amazing place. I love the way the wind comes rushing up the hill. And how you can see all the fields laid out down below.’ It’s strange to think that Rafe has been living through all this, and all the time, I was in Brett’s penthouse.

  ‘In the end Helen decided I wasn’t the right person for her to have kids with. She didn’t think we were good together.’ Rafe props his chin on his hand.

  If my eyes are widening, it’s because it’s the second time today I’ve heard this line. ‘It’s a lot harder to make thin
gs work when you face difficulties than when everything’s going well.’ Not that I learned that with Brett. If there were difficulties in our life, Brett’s way of coping was to find a pressing engagement a plane ride away. ‘So why weren’t you a good match?’ I’m thinking of Chas and Nicole here.

  Rafe gives a shrug. ‘Helen thought we were too alike, and she was probably right. We both had a tendency to see the black side, and sink.’

  ‘Maybe not the best combination,’ I admit. Rafe’s bad enough on his own, without someone reinforcing the problem. ‘You’ve got grumpy off to a fine art some days.’ I laugh, mainly so he doesn’t take it to heart, and go grumpy again. Although I must say, he’s been noticeably happier since summer arrived.

  ‘Daisy Hill Farm’s been way lighter since you came,’ he says, his face breaking into a sudden grin.

  I’m not taking that in silence. ‘Are you implying I’m shallow?’ However much he might deny it, he definitely is.

  He raises one eyebrow. ‘You have to admit, you’re big on smiles and cakes.’ He rubs his chin. ‘You go for the fun stuff that doesn’t matter, rather than the serious side of life.’

  Thanks a bunch for that. ‘Putting on weddings has been more of a challenge than I ever thought possible, believe me.’ Whoever thinks wedding planning is about wafting round with flowers and lace and sugar icing hasn’t got a clue.

  His brow furrows in a thoughtful frown. ‘What I’m trying to say is it’s good to have you around. Hearts on the office door, music blasting out loud enough to shred my ear drums, photos of brides and daisy chains all over the office walls, the forest of Thank You cards obliterating the kettle … it’s all very …’

  ‘Enough. Stop it there. I get the message.’ This guy is so damned cutting at times. Who else would list their top five hates?

  ‘Farming isn’t all fluffy lambs you know, it’s a lot of hard work for no return.’ He’s raising one eyebrow. ‘You’re like a summer breeze wafting through.’