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But she’s not listening, because she’s flinging open the door. ‘Fred, do come in, there’s someone here I’m dying for you to meet.’ That old line. ‘No need to take off your boots.’
What? Who gets in here in their outdoor shoes? What’s more, why has my heart done the tiniest cartwheel in my chest when I’m having no part of this?
She presses a pair of bright blue shoe covers into Fred’s hand so fast, she must have had them up her sleeve. Then she seizes a tartan throw from under a cushion, and with one flap it’s open, and covering half a sofa. As Fred’s blue feet slither across the shiny oak floor, and my mum escorts him to his mud-proofed area, he sends me a grin over the top of her choppy blonde streaks. It’s obvious he’s done this before.
David has too, given he’s arrived at Fred’s elbow with a mug of tea, a plate and the tea trolley.
My mum waits until Fred unzips his hoodie and eases back onto his rug, then she launches the Exocet. ‘So, this is my daughter Lily, she’s currently on her own, and she’d love you to take her out for a drink. Or better still, dinner and a drink. Or even …’
If I cut in rudely, it’s to shut her up. ‘Or a mini-break in London would work for me. Or even a romantic trip to New York if you’re up for that?’ I only hope my mum’s happy I’ve been reunited with my sense of humour. And note how she flagged up my status without mentioning the ‘D’ word. Then I put on my best ‘appalled of Rose Hill’ face – I get a lot of practice at that with my mum – and shake my head at Fred. ‘I’m divorced, by the way. Excuse me while I crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.’
From the way Fred’s choking behind his hand, he has to be laughing. Eventually he stops shaking, and smiles. ‘I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you, Barbara. Matchmaking isn’t the best look for mums. In any case, you’re too late, I’m already taken.’
My insides deflate like a popped balloon. Which really isn’t my style. Not that I was interested in Fred. Because I wasn’t at all. But whatever.
‘B-b-but …?’ My mum’s even more confused than my flattened ego.
Fred’s lips twitch, and one eye narrows as he catches mine. ‘I met a lovely girl last night. Given she went home wearing my shirt, I’d say I’m well in there. Wouldn’t you, Lily?’ As he holds my gaze, a tiny part of me melts. Then he dips to adjust a foot cover, and slides me a wink.
It takes a few seconds for my ego to brush itself down. Then it does a skip and canters back to where I can’t see it. ‘Absolutely right, Fred. I’d say the shirt’s a clincher.’ I’m getting out of my mum’s proverbial frying pan here, but who knows what hot place I’m ending up in.
Okay, I know I said winks were tacky. But it does depend on the wink. And who it comes from. And Poppy was so right when she said I could do with a wingman here. Right now, times are desperate. I’ll take whatever friendly support I can get.
‘So you’re saying she’ll be up for a mini-break, then, maybe New York?’ Fred laughs, and gives me a significant grin.
There’s no point leading him on when I’ve no intention of going. ‘That sounds like quite a lot of logs.’
‘Good thing I’ve got a chainsaw then.’
This kind of banter could go on all day. If I don’t make a run for it now, my mum will claim her cupid stripes, regardless of women with prior claims. And Fred will be another on her long list of men delivered on plates that got away.
I slide my French Fancy into my bag for later. ‘Well I’ll leave you guys to your wood delivery. Let me know about the Rose Hill Manor visit.’
Hopefully that gets me off every hook, and leaves the next move up to everyone else.
I’m half way back to St Aidan when I realise. I still haven’t seen the ring.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_16dae993-c166-5416-ae6c-8e23880747cd)
Tuesday, 21st Feb
At Brides by the Sea: Bare branches and customer service
When I told my mum I’d be back in St Aidan so soon, it didn’t feel real. But the up-side of living in a hotel room is there’s nothing much to move. My worldly belongings fit into Gucci, and there’s still left room for a trip to Ikea to pick up bedding on the way. Less than a week later, I’m clattering down the stairs from the attic flat at Brides by the Sea, to fill in for Jess down in the shop.
‘Tuesday morning’s our quietest time, as there aren’t any appointments. Acclimatise yourself, we’ll see you after lunch,’ she says, as she rushes off with Sera the dress designer, for an ‘at home’ appointment with a couture client. As Poppy’s not in yet either, I really am ‘home alone’.
Creating a new job and a new department, it’s hard to know where to begin. But given Jess has promised there won’t be any customers, I take my laptop over to the table in the White Room. I’ve decided to start by sourcing storm lanterns to add to the displays, and looking for a dressing table to offer as a cake table for vintage weddings. But I’ve barely settled into my Louis Quatorze chair, when the shop door rattles. A perfume cloud arrives first, carried on a gust from the sea. Whoever’s on their way down the hall, they haven’t stinted on the YSL Black Opium. And from the way they’re stamping across the boards, they’re either wearing tap dancing shoes or dizzy high heels.
‘Hello, coooo-ey, surprise …’
There’s a tinkling laugh. Then a clenched fist appears around the door frame. Along with the hugest rock of an engagement ring. In the world. Ever. Like Kardashian size, or bigger. As the diamonds waggle on the arm end, they don’t just twinkle in the light from chandeliers. They literally flash. If Jess had warned me, I’d have brought my sunnies down. I tiptoe to the front of the desk, bracing myself for whatever’s coming.
‘It’s sooooooo wonderful to be back.’
A figure storms towards me. A second later I’m squeezed into a mega hug, and I’m fighting for breath through fur and a perfume fug.
‘Is this real?’ I tug on the sleeve. When it comes to wearing animals, I’m a die-hard vegetarian.
‘Don’t be silly, fox hunting’s banned dahling.’ The hugger staggers backwards. ‘Omigod, where’s Jess? And who the hell are you?’
Looks like I’m not the only surprised one here. ‘Delighted to meet you too.’ Crap. Way too sarcastic. My first brush with a client, and it couldn’t be a bigger fail. I rush in to smooth things over. ‘I’m Lily. I’m working in styling, we’re making a brand-new department.’ Hopefully the gush will make up for the lack of expertise, and my grimace at almost saying my new job title out loud. ‘Sorry, Jess is out.’
‘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 (#ulink_b07e03bc-604a-5a08-8331-8c2f78b40660)
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.
