by Jane Linfoot
Considering I wasn’t up for a party, the next few hours fly by. And the funny thing about Champagne cocktails is, they slip down so easily it’s hard to keep count. By the time I head off up the stairs, with the excuse that I can’t go to Jaggers and keep a clear head for the shoot tomorrow, my legs are feeling strangely wobbly. As I cross the hallway, I decide to run my own sobriety test. I’m staring so hard at my leopard print pumps as I try to walk in a straight line along a floorboard, I completely miss that there’s someone hurrying towards me. The first I know is when I canon into a denim-shirted torso.
‘Shit, I’m sorry …’ Seeing how fast that came out, I can’t be so drunk.
The jeans I’m staring down at are soft and worn, and run down to scuffed boots. Then I spot the poppers stretched tight across a pretty ripped chest. However well I was sticking to my floorboard, the way I’m wanting to rip open those poppers has to be a sign of too much fizz. Then I take in a fist full of mistletoe. As I blink and breathe in a guy who smells fab, half of me thinks I’m dreaming. The other is almost ready to swoon and take advantage.
‘Holly Berry Pink Cheeks? Why aren’t you at the party?’
I jolt and lurch away. ‘Rory?’ If I’d had another freezing wave crash over me, I couldn’t have sobered up any faster. As it is, from the jangling of sleigh bells and the white pine twigs sticking in my ear, I seem to have landed mostly in the Christmas tree. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
His lips are twitching. ‘I get invitations to all the best parties. I like to drop by and check my Champagne’s going down okay.’ Then he lets his smile go. ‘If you’re typical, it looks like everyone’s had plenty tonight.’
Now I’m sober and indignant. ‘What the hell kind of player walks round parties clutching a handful of mistletoe?’ I’m dying inside because I even thought of leaning in back there.
His face creases as he laughs again. ‘One who makes sure Jess has every detail in place in the shop before she leaves for her holiday.’ He looks at the bundle in his hand. ‘I’m not so much a player, more her mistletoe supplier.’
What’s mistletoe got to do with a wine and beer seller? If I’m not keeping up here, it’s nothing to do with the booze. ‘So you’re not …’
‘Out to snog you in the stairwell?’ His laugh is very low this time. ‘Not unless you order that specifically. We like to go the extra mile for our customers, wherever it takes us.’ His face splits into the broadest grin yet.
‘As if …’ I’m shaking my head hard enough to rubbish that reply and fan my burning face at the same time. ‘Great, I’m delighted for you. I imagine you’ll have lots of very happy customers.’ I’m not only talking bollocks, but I’m also sinking backwards into the tree branches. They’re springy like a cushion, but any minute now I’m going to reach the point of no return and topple over. And probably take the tree with me.
‘We import the mistletoe from Normandy along with our festive cider, to give away with our Christmas orders. That’s the kind of detail Huntley and Handsome customers appreciate.’ Rory suspends his mission statement for long enough to frown at me. ‘Are you sure you’re okay there, Holly Red?’
Before I have time to answer, an arm slides round my back. Next thing, I’m out of the tree and vertical enough to protest loudly as I push him away. ‘Hey, no need to wade in. I was totally fine there. Thanks all the same.’
He blinks and shakes his head. ‘Sure. So how about the stairs? It’s a long way up to the attic.’ And bugger that his dimples are there now too. ‘If you need a hand, I’m always happy to help. After throwing barrels of beer around, carrying you will be a doddle.’
I’m skimming over how he knows where I’m heading, because I’m desperate to cut him off before he gets to point out it’s happened before. I make a lunge towards the stairs, and once I grasp the handrail I feel much steadier.
‘Only a few flights up.’ And thank Christmas I’m in flats, not heels. Getting carried home by Rory isn’t something I want to remember, or repeat.
There’s that laugh again. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time. Just saying.’
Forget kicking myself for knocking back so many Christmosas, I’m actually cursing for having come down at all. As for Rory raking up the past, I’m furious enough to want to wring his neck. Which in the end is good, because suddenly my legs spring to life. Before I know it, I’m looking down at him from the enviable position of the first landing. There should be some snappy last word I could come out with, but in the end all I manage is a wave.
His voice comes floating up the stairs after me. ‘Take care up there. See you later, Red Cheeks.’
I’m crawling into bed when I finally mumble a reply. ‘Not if I see you first, mate.’
I had every reason to stay in my attic flat before. But Rory Sanderson just gave me a hundred more.
Chapter 3
Sunday, 3rd December
At Brides by the Sea: Snowflakes, wind cheaters and yoga for mums
‘Sorry, there’s no leopard ones, but you can have a monkey, a zebra, a lion or a cat.’
It’s Poppy, and she’s talking about the cupcakes she’s been making while Jess and I have been busy downstairs. It’s no surprise that Jess doesn’t do hangovers. So we started early and moved straight on from helping the crack team clearing up in the basement to poring over the appointments book in the White Room. Jess talking me through every bride booked in for December is ideal displacement activity for both of us, because, realistically, Sera, Poppy and Lily are going to be in charge at the shop. But it keeps my mind off the engagement shoot – or more specifically Luc – and hers off her impending departure.
As I pore over the box Poppy pushes towards me and see the perfectly iced cake tops, my mouth waters. ‘I’ll have an orange cat, please. Which lucky person’s ordered these?’
‘A lion for me.’ From the way Jess strides across the room to take one, she’s momentarily forgotten her holiday wobbles. And Poppy still hasn’t answered my question.
‘Mmmm, totally delish, there’s zest in the icing too.’ It’s only when I open my eyes again, after peeling back my paper case and taking a bite, then letting the tangy icing melt on my tongue, that I realise Poppy’s hesitating. ‘Aren’t you having one, Pops?’ She eats for England, even when she’s not pregnant. I’d have put money on her going for a chocolate monkey first. Then a zebra.
She wrinkles her nose and looks down at her cropped sweatshirt, which is hiding a neat, yet surprisingly sizable, bump. ‘I didn’t have a muffin yesterday either. Midwife’s orders. I’ve cut back on carbs, and taken up Pregnancy Pilates, and Yoga for Mums.’
‘That’s harsh.’ I don’t mean to sound negative. It’s just hard to think of nine low-sugar months, with that much exercise.
‘It’s not for long.’ Poppy’s frown deepens as she shrugs it off. ‘Although there is something else I’ve been meaning to mention. About who the cakes are for.’
As the sound of the shop door opening echoes along the hallway, Jess beams at me over the top of her lion. ‘You’ve got a complete treat in store here, Holly. Poppy’s been baking for the owner of Huntley and Handsome. A lovely boy, he gives us the most fabulous deal on our Prosecco …’ Those words sound like a horribly familiar echo of what Santa said yesterday.
My mouth drops open midbite as her words sink in. Surely she can’t mean … Rory? As I gasp in disbelief, a lump of sponge goes straight down my windpipe, and a second later I’m coughing into my fist, eyes watering as I struggle to breathe. If you’ve ever had a violent choking fit that turns into a humungous sneeze, you’ll know what I’m going through. Even as I’m fighting for air, I’m desperate not to expel a throat full of chewed up cupcake, and spatter the entire rail of exquisite bridal dresses with bright orange cake crumbs.
Through my half closed eyes, I see Poppy, launching herself across the room. Then there’s a noise like flapping angel wings and she’s thrusting a handful of tissues into my hands to catch my sneeze. By the ti
me I look up from blowing my nose, the dresses are saved. And Jess’s beam is wide enough to stretch from one chandelier to the other.
Poppy’s voice is a low murmur as her hand lands on my shoulder. ‘Sorry, Hols, there’s a blast from the past coming that I know you’re going to hate. Rory Sanderson’s come for his cupcakes horribly early. I promise I’ll explain it all later.’
It’s my own fault. If I’d had the guts to admit about bumping into him twice before, no doubt Poppy would have told me. At least this time I get to watch him walk in from the high ground of the mother-of-the-bride throne where I’m sitting. And I’m already a hundred per cent scarlet due to choking. Even so, his footfalls on the floorboards send prickles up the back of my neck. Whoever said attack is the best form of defence, I’m going to take their advice.
As I see the first, horribly familiar, weathered brown Timberland come through the doorway, I jam my mouth into a smile, scrape the last stray cake crumbs off my mouth, look up at the approximate place where his head is about to appear, and fire.
‘Rory Sanderson, one more time. Just when I thought I’d waved goodbye to you for another twenty years, too.’ I sink back against the cushions, but the hurtling retort I’m bracing myself for doesn’t come.
Instead of storming in, tearing up the the White Room with his super-confident swagger, Rory’s coming in at a shuffle. Leaning over to one side, so he can reach down to hold the hand of a small girl.
‘Wow.’ I’m not sure if I say that in my head or out loud.
At a guess, looking at his daughter’s pale silky hair, Rory’s partner’s a blonde. As if a rock god would settle for anything less. If her disagreeable pout came from her mum, it’s obvious he’s chosen looks over personality. Although for once Rory’s incessant grin has given way to a frown too as he clasps a rather over-sized baby tightly against the folds of his Superdry windcheater.
He pulls a ‘holy crap’ face at me over the top of the baby’s head and blinks. ‘Holly, right, great, hi.’ It’s a big change to see Mr Sanderson looking less than delighted with himself. Although the bad side is that when his dimples disappear, it makes the hollows under his cheekbones look even deeper.
Now I’ve seen who’s actually arriving here, I’m regretting my over-explosive ‘hello’. Somehow, even though I saw the car seats, the small people come as a complete shock. If I’d hoped for something to wipe Nate and Becky and Luc out of my mind, it definitely wasn’t this. Kids have that strange effect of making everyone around them more gentle. And although Rory doesn’t exactly look like a relaxed dad, having children hanging off him has certainly taken the fire power out of his smart-arse replies. As for Jess, she isn’t hanging round for an air kiss with her favourite Huntley and Handsome hunk either. Her expression is equal parts terror and horror as she shoots behind the desk. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything make Jess recoil this fast backwards before. Retreating isn’t her style.
Poppy is the one person in the room who looks delighted, as she clasps her hands and moves towards them. ‘So are you going to introduce us, Rory?’ Her eyes are shining as she smiles down at the girl. Which might well be down to her baby hormones. ‘We don’t often have visitors as exciting as you in the wedding shop. Although we do have lots of children at our farm. And I think you’re going to like the animals there too.’
I wonder where the hell she’s going with this, because the frown she’s sending me is equal parts worry and guilt.
Rory shakes his head, as if he’s trying to wake himself up. ‘Er, right ladies, this is Gracie. And Eddie.’
The girl pats his arm with her free hand and mumbles into his sleeve. ‘No, it’s Teddie.’
Rory gives a sheepish grin. ‘Oh shit, fine, okay. What she said.’ Even for a prat like Rory, this is taking disinterested fatherhood to a new level.
‘We’ve got some mini cupcakes here for you.’ Poppy holds out the box to the child.
Gracie hangs back. ‘Teddie isn’t allowed icing … he’s too small. And Mummy doesn’t let me say shit. Plops is gooder.’ She sounds like she’s channelling her inner disapproving headmistress.
Poppy, undeterred, flips up the box lid to reveal a whole miniature set of what we were tucking into. ‘They’re animals. Holly just ate a cat and Jess had a lion.’
Gracie wrinkles her nose. ‘I mainly have Frozen cupcakes … blue ones with snowflakes … and pictures of Anna and Elsa.’
Poppy’s holding back her amusement. ‘Maybe you’d better take these for later, then.’
Rory lets out an exasperated sigh. ‘Well, this is going well. Not.’ He looks at the baby in the crook of his arm, then down at the girl squirming behind his knee. Then at me. ‘C’mon Gracie, I’m running out of hands here, the least you can do is hold the box.’ A second later, the weight of a large baby lands in my lap, and he’s picked Gracie up with both hands and dumped her down in front of Poppy.
‘Eeeek!’ When it comes to babies this near, I’m with Jess. Although as I close my fingers round Teddie’s hoodie, and the scent of fabric conditioner drifts up my nose, I can’t believe how soft and squishy he feels. Or how heavy he is. ‘You do know I might drop him?’ I’m not sure I ever held a baby before. One of Rory’s is making me extra shaky. My cheeks burning up are only to be expected.
Poppy’s biting her lip. ‘When did you pick them up, Rory? Even Rafe thought you’d last more than ten minutes before you tried to pass them on.’
Jess is mellowing. ‘You’ll have to do better than this, Uncle Rory.’
I’m trying to work out what’s going on here. ‘So they’re not yours, then?’
For the first time since he walked in, the corners of Rory’s eyes crinkle. ‘Hell no! Jeez, Holly North, how would I end up with two of these?’ At least that explains the name blunder. ‘On second thoughts, given there are children here, don’t answer that.’
I know not meeting his eye isn’t the best way forward. I’m staring down, marvelling at how warm the baby feels when I notice a dark splodge spreading across my left thigh. What is it about me and water? ‘Is Teddie leaking?’ If I carry on at this rate I’ll have run out of clothes by teatime. Lucky for me we had guinea pigs when we were kids, so wee on my knee is no big deal. Whereas judging by Jess’s apoplectic expression five yards away, if these had been her chinos, she might have exploded.
Rory’s voice rises. ‘You’re joking? He can’t need changing. Not already.’
Poppy wanders over to give a second opinion. ‘Something here’s very wet. That’s babies for you, they pee and eat and … plop.’
Gracie’s expression is solemn. ‘Teddie’s got clean joggers in his nappy bag.’
Poppy laughs. ‘You’re right, Gracie. I knew something was missing when you walked in.’ She turns to Rory. ‘Lesson one – wherever the baby goes, the changing bag goes too.’
Rory prises the cake box from Gracie’s hands, and as he shakes his car keys the miniature beer bottles on his key ring jiggle. ‘Jeez, the good news keeps on coming today. I’ll be two minutes. And no accusing me of child desertion, either.’
I turn to Poppy, keeping my voice low. ‘Rory babysitting? Isn’t that like hiring Edward Cullen as a childminder? And when did you two get so friendly, anyway?’
Poppy raises her eyebrows. ‘He’s one of Rafe’s besties from way back. He’s a lot better for knowing. He’s also our main wine and beer supplier for weddings at the farm. Rory’s sister Erin’s gone in for an emergency heart op, and their mum’s in Australia. As there’s no one else, the poor guy’s had to step in at short notice and look after the small ones.’ She lets out a sigh. ‘They’re staying in one of the holiday cottages at the farm, so we can all help out. I’m sorry if it’s awkward for you, but it’s all happened at the last minute.’
Worse and worse. My heart sinks. Not that I’ll be involved. But I could do without the thought of Rory popping up around every barn corner when I’m at the farm helping Poppy. Who knew industrial quantities of concealer foundation would
be top of my shopping list? Although, even if I live to be a hundred, Rory will never fit into any ‘poor guy’ box in my head.
‘Edward Scissorhands might have been safer.’ As I mutter to myself, Rory’s stomping back along the hallway so hard his footfalls are making the sleigh bells on the Christmas tree jangle. If he looked uncomfortable dragging two children in, that’s nothing to how incongruous he looks with a peony-print Cath Kidston holdall slung over his shoulder.
Gracie waits until Rory swings back into the room, then she eyeballs him. ‘Who’s Edward Scissors?’
Poppy’s straight in there. ‘Edward has scissors for hands, and he’s my favourite character from a film, in the same way you like Elsa. He’s great at cutting up paper, and trimming garden plants.’ She’s certainly going the extra mile here. For all of us.
I seize baby Teddie around the waist and hold him at arm’s length. ‘Okay, who’s doing the honours?’ Obviously not Jess. ‘Rory? Poppy?’ I look from one to the other, as Teddie sags back down onto my knee.
Rory hands Poppy the bag. ‘Be my guest. The bag’s flowery, it has to be you.’
Poppy shakes her head. ‘Sorry, but the antenatal classes haven’t got that far yet. Didn’t Erin show you what to do? Are you using terries or disposables?’
‘No idea.’
Dropping to his knees in the middle of the White Room might not be the ideal place, judging by Jess’s eyebrows hitting the ceiling. But he’s flipped out the changing mat before we can stop him.
‘You’re looking like a pro there, Sanderson.’ I’ve no idea why I’m being so mouthy either. Unless I’m unconsciously limbering up for my wedding work. Or hitting back for yesterday evening.
He shrugs. ‘Sorry, that’s as far as it goes. Erin wrote me a hundred page Operating Manual, but she showed me the nappy change, and it looked easy. But I’m damned if I can remember any of it.’ Baby clothes, plastic bags, creams, bottles, nappies, potions and muslin squares are skidding across the floor as he tosses them out of the bag.
