Summer at the Little Wedding Shop: The hottest new release of summer 2017 - perfect for the beach!

‘Omigod, you’re a stylist? In that case I need to book you. Immediately. Like now.’ She’s flapping her hands so hard her scarlet nails are a blur.

‘Shit.’ I wince as something heavy thuds onto my foot. A bloody massive handbag. I bite my tongue, and think of the styling booking as I stoop to move it. ‘Oh, it’s a Gucci. That’s nice. And you are …?’

As she slides a knife edge of bottom into the chaise longue, and arranges her legs, I get my first proper view. She’s pretty much everything my mum wants from me, but doesn’t get. Groomed. Glossy as a race horse. Accessories that coordinate. Rocking the red lips and floral silk thing.

‘I’m one of Seraphina East’s biggest fans, and I’m here for a rematch.’ The laugh she lets out is almost a neigh. ‘It’s my second time around.’

‘Fabulous.’ Another divorcee. Despite my crushed toes and the horsey giggle, I’m warming to her.

‘When I called my wedding off last summer who’d have thought I’d be shopping for a dress again so soon? Or that I’d find my very own James Bond.’ A moment later her phone’s out, and the proof’s under my nose. ‘Isn’t my fiancé, Miles gorgeous? He’s a C.E.O. with his own coatings company.’

Daniel Craig could have made me well jel. Pierce Brosnan with added wrinkles, not so much. Whatever a C.E.O. is – I can never remember – I can see the professional coatings contacts could come in handy.

‘Lush.’ I sense it’s not enough. ‘Phwoar … to die for.’ Still more needed. ‘What a catch.’ Phew to not going on about ex-husbands then, given this one hardly looks first hand. I’m picking my jaw off the floor, and counting on my fingers. ‘A new man and a new ring all in six months. Well done you.’ You have to admire the tenacity. And the speed. ‘Was it a Valentine’s proposal?’

She nods, and drops her voice. ‘My dress from last year is still in the store. I haven’t got an appointment, but we’re going for a summer wedding. This year. I was hoping for a teensy look at some of Seraphina’s dresses. Seeing as Tuesday’s your quiet day.’

It’s not as quiet as it was, given how her laugh is warming up. No idea why, but my ‘tricky customer’ alarm bells are ringing. ‘It’s my first day, and I’m not sure how fast the dresses can be delivered. You might prefer to see Jess later?’ I open the appointment book, because I don’t want to mess this up. ‘She’s free from one?’ Hopefully my grin will make up for the deferral.

The disapproving sniff is loud. ‘I’m one of Jess’s most prolific customers, and “now” works for me. I know all about Seraphina’s range, so if you get the drinks, I’ll make a start.’ She’s scooped up her bag and she’s already making a bee-line for the Seraphina East Room, shouting over her shoulder. ‘Prosecco’s in the kitchen fridge, flutes are on the shelf. And if there’s any Valentine’s chocolates left, we’ll have those too.’

Whatever happened to ‘no’? Although, let’s face it, not many people buy two wedding dresses in the space of a year. And Jess is big on seizing the moment with customers. By the time I go through with the fizz, there’s a row of dresses hanging in the fitting room. And the customer’s on her knees, unwrapping a box.

‘Last summer I had these darling shoes from White White White Weddings. A total snip, at six hundred. Do tell me I’ll able to wear them this time.’

That’s Bristol’s swankiest bridal shop, with prices to match. But I hold in my whistle, because at Brides by the Sea we try not to judge. ‘So long as you’re comfortable wearing them, go for it.’ Although I doubt anyone could be that comfy in the heels she pulls out. ‘The bride makes the rules,’ I say, then instantly regret it. I’m not sure this bride needs encouragement. As for the emerald beaded flowers snaking over the sandals? Carp ponds and waterweed tangles spring to mind.

‘I’m so totally in love with Seraphina’s Country Collection, I may need to try every dress.’ The jewel encrusted watch she glances at as she takes a slug of fizz could almost have dropped off one of her shoes. ‘I need to be at the hair salon in four hours. So snip snap! Pass the chocolates, we’d better get started.’

Despite reeling at the Mary Poppins hand claps, I do as I’m told.

Her nose wrinkles as she peers into the basket I offer her. ‘You can’t fob me off with foil covered hearts, even if they are pink. Where’s the handmade confectionery?’ Disgusted doesn’t begin to cover it. ‘You do realise White White White give their brides smoked salmon blinis?’

I’m sensing the canape gauntlet is being thrown down here.

‘Yes, but do White White White allow casual drop ins?’ We both know they don’t. Once I’ve made the point, I soften, due to guilt. ‘Sorry, the truffles went super-fast this year.’ In other words, Poppy, Sera and I wolfed them all when we hauled my stuff upstairs. After four flights the calorie deficit was huge. I fire off a customer-is-always-right smile as I head for the door. ‘Give me a moment. I’ll see what else I can find.’

Lucky for me, there’s more ‘thank you’ confectionery in the kitchen than in a nurses’ station on a surgical ward. Given this is approaching an emergency, I grab a rather spectacular Ferrero Rocher tree, complete with taffeta bow, and head back. A lot more dresses have arrived in the fitting room since I left. But I take it from the simper that greets me, I’ve made an accidental good choice of chocs.

‘What a stroke of serendipity.’ She wiggles her fingers, and plucks a gold ball on a stick from the Ferrero tree. ‘When I marry, I’ll actually be Mrs Ferrara. How apt and absolutely fabulous is that?’

Pure fluke. But it reminds me, she still hasn’t told me her name yet. Even if I’m about to see her in her underwear, it’s somehow too late to ask. At least I know who she’s going to be.

‘Brides by the Sea might not do savoury snacks, but we do our best to have happy brides.’ Five years on, and it’s all coming back to me as if I’d never been away. ‘Which dress would you like to try first?’

The next two hours are so fraught they leave me longing for the calm of fully booked hotels. My worst moment? Discovering the extent of Sera’s new capsule ‘mix and match range’, which Jess has slipped onto the rails to trial. Separate pieces, designed so brides can put them together to create a look that’s completely unique. Silk shifts, chiffon tops, lace over dresses. Beaded sashes, ribbons, sequined tulle skirts, diamanté belts. I swear we’ve tried most of the four million permutations.

‘One last chocolate?’ I hold out the almost bare tree trunk. Believe me, without the soft praline centres from the Ferrero tree we’d both have collapsed of exhaustion after the first three hundred versions.

The future Mrs Ferrara unwraps it, and pops it into her mouth. ‘And only one last dress to try now.’ Whatever lippy has held its own crunching through this many hazelnuts, my mum needs to be let in on the secret.

I sink down into the mother-of-the-bride director’s chair, and pull the fitting room curtain over my head. ‘There’s another?’ I can’t believe we’re not done here.

‘It’s the dress from the Daisy Hill Farm website. From the photo shoot they did there with Poppy’s friend. I fell in love with it last year, but it was too late, I’d already bought my other one.’ She whisks a dress from the end of the rail, and staggers back into the fitting room. ‘Stay there, I can do this.’

If I’d been run over by a tractor I couldn’t be more mangled. But the word ‘farm’ wakes me up. Given they only got engaged last week, the Ferraras will be looking for a venue. There might well be a booking here for Rafe and Poppy.

‘Thinking about the styling …’ I wait until there’s an ‘mmmmm’ from behind the curtain. ‘Have you decided where you’re getting married?’

I’m holding my breath, waiting for a reply when the jolt of the shop door makes me jump. As I reach the hall I come face to face with Poppy.

She frowns and sniffs. ‘You’ve gone wild with the Black Opium today, I can smell it out in the street.’ Then she squints at me more closely. ‘You look dreadful. Have you been out running again?’

I take it she’s talking about my sweat patches, sunken cheeks and haunted eyes.

I gesture frantically towards the striped fitting room curtain behind me. ‘I’ve had three and a half hours with a drop-in bride.’ Then I tip toe back in to the Seraphina East Room, pulling Poppy with me. I turn up my volume so I can definitely be heard in the fitting room. ‘The future Mrs Ferrara is about to show me her wedding dress. And tell me about her venue.’

There’s a rustle, as the curtain moves, and from the flash of green I catch under the hem, for the first time, we’ve got the pricey shoes too.

‘Ta-dah …’ Her smile is wide as she shakes her veil and does as much of a twirl as the shoes allow. It’s actually more of a standstill with an occasional wobble. ‘So much work, but this is definitely “the one”.’ As she scrapes a nail under her eyelashes, her voice is a whisper. ‘Thank you for helping me find it, Lily.’

Brave woman. If I had inch long acrylic nails like hers, there’s no way I’d risk poking my eye out. What’s more, I can’t believe she knew this was the dress she wanted all along, but whatever. That’s customers for you. Before I know it, I’ve grabbed the tissue box, and I’m pushing one into her hand.

‘You look beautiful …’ There’s a bit of a gap where her name should be. I stoop to smooth out the hem, and look to Poppy for reassurance that I’m doing it right.

Poppy’s brow crumples as she peers beyond the veil. ‘Nicole? It is Nicole isn’t it?’

The woman blinks. ‘Poppy! How lovely to see you again.’

The high speed pecks last a nano second. Then the clenched fist shoots out, and we’re back to clustering round first the ring, then the phone.

‘You two know each other?’ Yes, I know I’m stating the obvious, but it’s been a long morning.

Poppy’s nod is decided. ‘We certainly do. And what brilliant news about your new fiancé, Nicole.’ For Poppy, her voice has taken on a brittle edge.

Nicole runs a finger over the delicate lace covering her arms. ‘The best part is, it’s not just love where I’m getting another bite of the cherry, I’m getting second chances all round. This time I’m getting everything right, including the dress.’

‘You are,’ Poppy and I cry together, even though Poppy has no idea how heartfelt that is on my side.

A red nail comes up to quieten us. ‘And this time I’m a hundred per cent sure. I definitely want to get married in the farmhouse at Daisy Hill, Poppy. It’s what I wanted all along last time. Whatever the size, we’ll make the wedding fit the venue. And Lily’s already agreed to be my stylist.’

I’m beaming because this is such good news. All round.

‘Absolutely not.’ Poppy jumps in so firmly, Nicole and I are left gawping. Whatever happened to Poppy grabbing every booking she could?

Poppy senses she’s answered too fast. ‘What I mean is, I’m so sorry, but that won’t be possible. We’re fully booked in the farmhouse for this year. But I know you’d love Rose Hill Manor. It’s a brand-new venue, just down the road. It’s very up-market, and I’ve heard they’re doing fabulous deals on bookings for this year.’

‘Up-market?’ For the first time all morning, Nicole sounds uncertain. ‘I know the cottages were rough and ready, but there can’t be anywhere as perfect as your farmhouse.’

Rough and ready? Ouch to that. Maybe that’s my clue.

Poppy’s nodding furiously at me. ‘Seraphina’s sister got married at Rose Hill Manor at Christmas. It was magical.’

At least we both know she’s sincere about this. She was there. The photos are phenomenal. Who wouldn’t want a horse drawn carriage and a white Christmas wedding? Not that Nicole would be expecting snow if she’s marrying in summer.

So I chime in. ‘It’s exclusive use, my mum saw it and she said it was amazing.’ Okay. I know she didn’t say that exact word. But she must have thought that if she wanted to book it. Even as I throw that in, I’m struck by how like my mum Nicole is. ‘And best news of all for your shoes, it’s a mud-free zone.’

‘Right.’ Nicole’s expression lightens.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. As if on cue. It’s a text from my mum.

Hi Lily, There’s a preview day at the Manor on Saturday. If you’d like to come, Mum

As for signing texts with a name, why do people do that?

‘Excuse me looking at my phone, but I just heard. It’s Open House at Rose Hill Manor on Saturday. There’s so much scope there for making a truly individual wedding, you should take a look Nicole. And lots of availability for this year too.’ I pull a face at Poppy, because I can’t believe I’m talking up the opposition. Especially given the way she’s slicing her hand across her throat at the mention of the open day. ‘And seeing the time, Nicole, we’d better get you out of your dress, and off to the salon.’

There’s a glint in Poppy’s eye. ‘If you do decide to book at Rose Hill Manor, Nicole, don’t forget to mention we sent you.’

The sooner I get Nicole out of here and find out what’s going on with Poppy, the better.

Chapter 7

Tuesday, 21st Feb

At Daisy Hill Farm: Ironing piles and storage solutions

In the end, Poppy had to leave the shop before Nicole, so I didn’t get to find out why she was turning down her booking. But she did offer us some space in the converted buildings up at Daisy Hill Farm, which is why I zoom over there as soon as Jess gets back to the shop.

‘Jess wants us to buy in props to hire out for styling, so we’ll need somewhere to store them between weddings,’ I explain to Rafe, as we pass him humping some kind of sack up the yard. Jess has decided to invest in things we’ll use a lot, and hire in the more unusual items. ‘With any luck most of the weddings will be here at the farm anyway, so it would be great to keep them on the spot.’ Handy for Rose Hill Manor too, just down the lane, but I skip over that.

‘Great, help yourself.’ Rafe almost spins on his wellies, but at the last minute he turns back. ‘By the way, our friend Fred was asking if I’d seen you. He mentioned a shirt? And a date?’

Crap. ‘Tell him no worries, it’s on its way to the ironing pile.’ Which sounds a whole lot better than, ‘It’s in the washing bag’. The down side of washing it is that I’ll have to get in touch to give it back. As for the date part, I blank that.

As Rafe heads off, Poppy leads the way from the stone built farmhouse, up towards the holiday cottages. By the time we reach a courtyard that’s so picturesque it could have come off a vintage biscuit tin, I can see her smile bursting out. ‘What’s this? Still hanging on to Fred’s shirt?’ She lets her laugh go. ‘Seriously though, have you noticed how much like Jules he smells?’

I shrug, to show how completely not interested I am. ‘Except not so over-powering.’

It’s amazing how she’s completely at home here, in her waxed jacket and a sloppy jumper I suspect belongs to Rafe, with Jet the dog wagging along beside her. Her red spotty wellies are the only hint of her townie past.

As we reach a long low building, and she pushes her way through a grey plank door, a rush of warm air wafts out. ‘We’ve got a couple of spare rooms next to the farm office. See what you think.’

I follow her into a whitewashed space, and gaze up at the high sloping ceilings. ‘Nice beams. And it’s a lot cleaner than I was expecting.’ I’m surprised it smells of fabric conditioner, not cow’s bottoms.

‘Clean? Why wouldn’t it be? My crack team keep the whole farm chuffing spotless.’ A throaty voice is coming from behind a mountain of sheets that’s wobbling towards us across the cobbles. A glossy black high-heeled Hunter ankle boot comes out and kicks the door open wider. ‘You’re next to the laundry too, so it’s warm and dry.’ As the sheets land on the floor, Immie’s broad face appears, and she flings a punch at me. ‘Great to see you back again, Lily. Let’s hope it’s for keeps this time.’

I’m rubbing my arm, but I caught a flash of purple along with the left hook. ‘You haven’t chosen a ring yet then?’ Of all our friends, Immie’s the one who never left, and who wants us all back in the village. Forever. She won’t be happy if she gets the idea that I’m just passing through, which is why I’m moving the subject on.

When she puts her hands on her hips, and rolls her eyes, she looks just like she used to when we were all at infant school. That was in the days before my mum dragged the family up in the world, when we lived in a higgledy-piggledy cottage down in the village. And when the older lads made life hell for me and my brother, because our mum called us ‘dahling’ very loudly, and insisted on giving us goodbye kisses all the way along the playground over the wall, and toothbrushes to clean our teeth after school lunch, Immie was the one who kicked them into line. Literally.

Immie rubs her knuckles on her jeans, polishing the chunky perspex. ‘I’m marrying a fireman, so it’s like evacuating a burning building. There’s a strict order of priority. Even when organising a wedding. But Poppy had a gap in the farmhouse wedding book in mid-August, so we grabbed that. And we nailed fabulous Jules for the photos. We definitely want it to be different from Chas’s last “do”.’

The wedding-that-never-happened was a mega bash in a huge tipi. Legend has it that the bride-from-hell called it off at the eleventh and a half hour. But the party went on regardless, and everyone camped out in the field for a week. Which was when Immie moved in to help Chas mend his broken heart.

‘Don’t worry, a wedding in the house with dancing in the Orangery won’t be at all the same as one in the meadow.’ Poppy’s obviously used to nursing couples through tricky spots. ‘And you can always add a marquee in the walled garden if the numbers grow.’

‘The ring’s next.’ Immie tears at the short spikes of her hair. ‘And then there’s the whole nightmare of what to wear.’ She grabs her throat and makes a strangled scream.

I bite back a smile. ‘That bad?’

‘Oh yes.’ She nods. ‘I’m definitely leaving dress shopping until July. At the earliest.’

Poppy rolls her eyes at that, but she’s flapping her hands and looking like she’s about to burst. ‘Which reminds me Immie, something huge happened. I wanted to tell you earlier, but I couldn’t find you. Nicole turned up at the shop today.’

Immie’s eyes go wide. ‘Blazing toad bollocks, you are joking?’

‘Nope.’ Poppy turns to me. ‘I didn’t dare tell you when she was there, but Nicole is Chas’s ex. That’s why I knocked her back with her booking.’

So that explains a lot. ‘Not the Bridezilla to end all Bridezillas?’ Which is how she’s always been referred to, hence me completely missing the significance of who she is. I’m in awe that I spent four hours placating her and came out the other side alive.

‘That’s the one.’ Poppy’s groan is heartfelt. ‘She was barely warming up today. Demanding and unreasonable doesn’t begin to cover it. However desperate we are, I couldn’t take her booking and go through all that again.’

Immie’s face is all screwed up. ‘She’s getting married?’ For once her husky voice has turned to a squeal.

‘To a James Bond look-alikey, after a Valentine’s proposal. And she was in to choose a dress.’

Immie’s clenching her fists. ‘Not Sean Connery? I refuse to let the Franken-bride who wrecked my fiancé marry him.’

Poppy’s got her soothing voice on. ‘Keep your hair on, he’s more Pierce than Sean. But getting engaged on the same day as you and Chas? You couldn’t make it up, could you?’ Poppy bites her lip as she hesitates. When she speaks, her tone has changed from soft to firm. ‘But this doesn’t need to change anything for you, Immie. Chas loves you for yourself.’

Immie changed the habits of a lifetime to go the extra mile for Chas, not that he ever asked her to. But she’d never dallied with make up or heels before last summer. You only have to look at her tottering along in those wellies to see the effort she’s put in.

I pick up where Poppy’s coming from, as well as her wild-eyed calls for back-up. ‘It’s you he wants to marry, Immie. Definitely you. You as you are. Not looking like anyone else.’

‘Right.’ Immie’s nostrils are flaring. ‘Ring Brides by the Sea, please. I need an appointment. Now.’

‘But it’s fine to do things your way, Immie.’ I say. ‘Whatever happened to dress shopping in July?’

Immie’s straight back at me. ‘Stuff that. I need to get on the case.’ Her eyes narrow, and her voice drops. ‘What kind of dress is Nicole having?’

Shit. At Brides by the Sea we’re always discreet. And what if there’s a new, upgraded confidentiality code I don’t know about? ‘She was mainly looking in Sera’s room,’ I say airily. Hopefully that gives Immie the information she wants, without breaking any rules.

‘Great.’ Her fists are on her hips again. ‘That’s where I’ll have my appointment then. Soon as you can, please. But make it a day when you’re both there to help.’ She blows out her cheeks. ‘You might need to tie me down. I’m already hyperventilating.’

I have a feeling she’s not kidding. They had their hands full trying to get her into even a bridesmaid’s dress for our friend Cate’s wedding last summer, which I missed because I couldn’t get time off from the hotel in the summer season.

I remember there’s a final piece of icing on today’s cake. ‘And Poppy sent Nicole to see Rose Hill Manor, along with her compliments.’

‘Nice move.’ Immie’s frown melts to a chortle. ‘Those Penryns are a laugh in a bar. But they’re as likely to deliver on weddings as fly to the moon. That Quinn was like a bull in a china shop when he was best man at Sera’s sister’s wedding at Christmas.’

I can’t help grinning. ‘When picky Nicole hits Kip, he’ll run for the hills. She’s the perfect weapon to see off the opposition, Poppy.’

Even as I’m laughing I’m aware the joke may yet come back to bite me. As Nicole’s stylist, I might not be smiling so much if I end up in the middle of them.

Chapter 8

Saturday, 25th Feb

On the way to Rose Hill Manor: Sitting ducks and farmers on safari

‘I’m so excited to see the Manor. But really, I could have driven there myself.’

It’s no secret I’ve been dying for Saturday to arrive to get a sneak peek inside. You have no idea how often I’ve been pouring over the pictures of Sera’s sister’s wedding on Jules-the-photographer’s website. And how scared shitless I am by the size of the place, and the thought of styling a wedding. If Nicole does decide to have her wedding here, it’ll be a huge responsibility for me. It’s all very well Jess saying she knows I have the eye and the talent. I’m just not that confident I’ll be able to deliver.

I’m definitely not stinting on the ‘happy daughter’ effort this morning. But as I clamber into the back of David’s sporty MPV at Heavenly Heights, I’m regretting it on so many levels. And it’s not just the close-up view of my mum putting her hand on David’s knee as she picks invisible fluff out of his designer stubble. When she leans in for the ear nuzzle she assumes I can’t see, I actually get sick in my mouth.

‘So have you made a start on growing my bouquet yet, Lily?’ It takes a talker like my mum to fire questions through a mouthful of earlobe. She’s peering past the head rest at me. ‘Why the blank stare? Catch up.’

From where I’m scrunched up on the black leather upholstery in the back seat the PDAs are barely two feet away. Worse, she can put me on the spot about her ridiculous wedding flower plans. Which incidentally, I’m having no part of.

‘I thought that was a gimmick to get on the radio,’ I say. ‘Like saying you do online dating, when you don’t even know what the internet is.’ My mum doesn’t have the first clue how to open a laptop, let alone use one.