by Jane Linfoot
Jess gives a groan. ‘This is our second best bridal area. You’re making a terrible mess down there, Rory.’ It’s lucky for Rory that Jess thinks the sun shines out of his butt. She’s run people out of town for less.
He lets out a grunt. ‘I thought it might jog my memory if I saw the equipment. But I’m none the wiser. Anyone got any bright ideas?’
It’s in my interest for me to rack my brains, as I’m the one whose knees are getting soggier by the second. ‘We could ask at the chemists. Or Google it. Or find someone with a baby out on the street and drag them in to show us. Or Gracie might know?’ As I try to catch her eye, her scowl tells me what she thinks of that idea.
‘Jeez, I was hoping for suggestions that weren’t going to embarrass the shit out of me. And why would a three-year-old know when I don’t?’ Typical Rory. Still the same straight A-star student, with a gaping hole when it comes to common sense. Probably why he ends up letting cars fall off cliffs and being entirely unsuitable for childcare. I mean, he’s said shit so many times even Gracie’s picking him up on it. At this rate she’s going to go home swearing like a trooper.
Poppy’s got a smile lilting about her lips as she peers out of the window. ‘Or maybe Immie might be able to help? It’s our lucky day, she’s on her way down the mews now.’
Immie grew up with us all in Rose Hill village. She may only be five foot nothing in her high- heeled Doccies, but she’s queen of spiky hair, belly laughs and straight talking. Back when we were kids she was the one tough enough and loyal enough to fight all our battles, single-handed, from the age of three onwards. Thinking about it, Rory was the one guy she failed to bring into line. When Immie squared up to him for embarrassing me, he took no notice whatsoever. And although she never did give the reason, she had to admit defeat. Which says a lot about how impossible and out of hand Rory is.
She and Poppy see each other every day now, because Immie looks after the holiday lets at Daisy Hill Farm. And Immie and her hunky new husband, Chas the fireman, live in one of Rafe’s cottages in the village, along with her son Morgan.
I laugh. ‘Brainwave. Immie’s got a teenager, she’ll definitely know about nappies.’ The one thing I assume about baby changing is it’s like riding a bike. However long it’s been, you never forget how to do it. So long as you knew in the first place. I can’t believe that there are four adults in the room and we’re all clueless.
From the way Immie’s hammering along the hall, she can’t wait to see this either. ‘Rory Sanderson, what the eff? And, hello, Holly too.’ Her husky laugh sets the chandelier jangling as she bursts in, then takes my breath away with a bear hug as she passes. ‘I spotted the beer-mobile parked up in the mews with a baby-on-board sticker.’ She pauses long enough to make an ‘OMG!’ face. ‘So I thought I’d call in and see how you were all getting on. Lovely to meet you, Gracie and Teddie. Anyone like a gender-neutral fluffy snowman to play with? Or should that be snow person?’ Immie, who’s still wearing her sparkly I’m getting married at Daisy Hill Farm t-shirt, four months after the event, hands one incredibly cute cuddly toy to Gracie and drops another on the floor next to the changing mat. Obviously bought specially. With a ton of thought and insight, seeing as Immie is studying psychology part time at uni. Then she retreats with her hands on her hips to take in the scene.
‘Isn’t there a snowman for me?’ Rory sounds like he’s used to joshing with Immie.
Immie sniffs. ‘They’re suitable for under-threes, Rory. You’ll have to grow up a bit before you have yours.’ And given she’s name perfect with the kids, she’s well briefed, as well as having Rory down to a T.
‘You two know each other too?’ There’s a lot I’ve missed out on since I was last home.
Immie pulls a face. ‘Not only does he hang round the farm incessantly with Rafe but since he got his own bottling plant, he’s always at the Goose and Duck too.’ For anyone who’s not local, that’s the pub in Rose Hill, where Immie does glass collecting in return for pints and other favours. Like catering at her wedding reception.
Poppy sends Immie and Rory a warning frown. ‘Are you going to say thank you to Immie, Gracie?’
Gracie’s pout deepens. ‘Actually, mostly I like proper snowmen … like Olaf.’
Poppy makes her voice bright. ‘Another Frozen fangirl moment there, I’m afraid, Immie. My cupcakes got the thumbs-down too. We clearly can’t win them all with a three-year-old.’
As for Rory, I’m quietly delighted to witness him being brought to his knees by two kids so fast. It’s heartening to know Rory Sanderson has an Achilles heel after all.
Rory gives a grunt. ‘From where I’m kneeling, I’d say we haven’t won any yet. But it’s very early days.’ Now he’s coming head to head with the same headstrong genes he’s got himself, he sounds less than delighted. ‘I might be temporarily troubled by the technicalities of nappy changing. But give me a couple of hours to read the manual, I’m hoping to be across the whole game.’
‘Which game’s that?’ I can’t believe I actually said that out loud either. My mouthy side is certainly working overtime today. I might have zero experience looking after children, but I’m still incredulous he can sound so sure of himself, and that he thinks this is going to be easy.
Rory gives a snort. ‘I’ve overseen billion pound corporate contracts. I’m the South West’s biggest quality wine importer. I brew barrels of magnificent pints every day. Throwing a couple of kids into the mix for a week should be child’s play.’ He stares around the circle of disbelieving expressions. ‘What? How hard can it be? It’s great you women are all crowding around to help, but I’ll be coming at this from a no-nonsense male perspective. Just watch me. I’ll crack it in no time.’
Immie makes a choking sound. ‘Snorting toad bottoms, now I’ve heard it all.’ She catches sight of Gracie’s wide-eyed surprise and grins down at her. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a woman speaking her mind. It’s important to say what you think, Gracie.’ A second later she’s picked up the mat, scooped up Teddie and plonked herself down on the grey striped bridesmaids’ chaise longue.
Rory’s jaw is sagging. ‘Whatever happened to showing me what to do?’
‘Gracie, pass me the wipes, please, a nappy and the scented bags.’ Immie shakes her head at Rory as she peels off Teddie’s wet joggers. She raises her voice over Teddie’s sudden howls. ‘In the interest of not turning Jess’s lovely shop into any more of a disaster area than you’ve already made it, you can have your tutorial back at the cottage. Meantime, get that lot folded up and back in the hold-all.’
Rory still hasn’t moved, but he’s grinning back at her. ‘A “please” might be nice. Just saying. If we’re teaching little people to be polite.’ This is exactly why he drove the teachers round the bend at school.
Immie ignores him, then turns to Gracie, who’s bobbing backwards and forwards. ‘Cream, please. Then clean trousers and hand sanitiser.’
Poppy and I have got the strewn bag contents collected and packed. Rory’s still standing where he was, as Immie shoves first the changed baby, then the snowman, into his arms.
He staggers backwards. ‘Great. Thanks for that. It looks like we’re ready to hit the road, then.’
As Teddie’s screams of protest subside, Immie gives Gracie a play punch on the arm. ‘Yay, well done, we’re Team Teddie.’
As I hook the changing bag over Rory’s shoulder, another comment slips out. ‘If you’re going to be completely manly about this you might want to get a changing bag with stripes on, or beer labels.’ I can only blame my spontaneous banter on Immie’s influence. A moment later, I’m hooking the bag of wet clothes over his finger. ‘And don’t forget this. Thirty degree wash. Cool tumble. I take it anyone who can make fabulous home brew also knows how to use a washing machine?’
From the mystified look on his face, as he backs towards the door, that’s not necessarily true. ‘Never heard of a service wash, Holly Berry? You should try them. For an extra tenner, they iron for
you too.’
Which just goes to remind me – Luc did all his own ironing. And washing. Once you’ve lived with it, it’s a great quality in a guy, especially one who regularly got through four shirts a day. Although he did once go overboard and spend three hours taking every single crease out of one of my favourite crinkle silk dresses.
We’re all waving at Teddie and Gracie, who’s managed to overcome her disapproval enough to be clutching both snowmen.
Poppy shakes her head as they finally edge out into the hallway. ‘See you all soon, up at the farm.’
‘Did someone mention cupcakes?’ Immie’s rubbing sanitiser into her hands. ‘In which case I may need a couple to keep me going on the drive back.’
Poppy opens the box. ‘One more for you, Hols, too, to keep your strength up for this afternoon’s shoot?’
I flip out my phone to check the time. ‘It’s only an hour away.’ Now it’s hurtling towards me so fast, I’m getting twitchy. ‘I need a large injection of instant courage.’ It’s not that I’m stalking Luc, and I’ve no hopes of getting him back. But when someone you love walks out of your life so abruptly, it’s hard to turn those feelings off. When you don’t quite understand what went wrong, it’s very difficult to let go.
Immie dives in and grabs a monkey, then shoves a cake into my hand too. ‘Have a lion. That should do the trick.’
But it could take a lot more than butter cream to save me this afternoon.
Chapter 4
Sunday, 3rd December
At Brides by the Sea: Gravitas and Ashton Kutcher
‘Okay, let’s go for a shot by the window. Maybe with your arms around each other this time?’
It comes as a bit of a shock to hear my own instructions to Nate and Becky echoing around the empty upstairs room. Although they live in London, St Aidan’s one of their favourite surfing destinations. Meeting up here with them always made it easier to persuade Luc to come to visit my parents.
As for the location, in the end Jess was proved right. Given the choice between horizontal rain on the beach, or a studio flooded with natural light, Nate and Becky took pity on me and opted to stay inside. Today is meant to help them relax in front of the camera, but it’s great for me to have a dummy run with moving targets too. Although, when I suggested a casual dress code, with accessories to ring the changes, I didn’t bank on them turning up in wet suits and immediately adding in Santa hats and sunglasses. It’s no surprise that every shot I’ve taken so far looks like a surfie selfie from Christmas Day at Bondi.
‘Is this a good pose?’ Becky, bless her neoprene socks, isn’t stinting on the effort as she stares out to sea through a window and coils herself around Nate’s neck.
‘Brill.’ I can overlook that she’s entwined like a contortionist. The trouble is, whenever she takes up a pose she goes rigid. ‘Remember to let Nate breathe, though.’
I was confident it would be easy to get some fabulous results in this space. But with Nate and Becky so tense it’s proving harder than I thought. I’ve been concentrating so hard on snippets of news I might get from them, I’ve completely overlooked how strange it was going to feel coming face to face with Nate and Becky without Luc. Or that seeing them again would give me quite so many pangs for the life and the boyfriend I don’t have any more. What’s worse, within a few minutes of Nate and Becky arriving, I’m getting flashbacks. And I thought I’d left those behind months ago.
There’s no way to put this tactfully. ‘Can we lose the hats and sunnies this time?’ I beam to show them how well they’re doing. Even if this is turning into a total photographic disaster, I absolutely can’t let them know.
‘Without shades?’ Nate couldn’t sound more horrified if I’d asked him to get naked and pose in the buff. ‘I’m going to feel way too self-conscious staring straight into that lens.’
Just my luck to hit a wedding couple like this, but I know exactly how he feels. I might as well ’fess up. ‘I’m just the same. I hate having my photo taken.’
Becky gives a guilty shrug. ‘It’s why we had to have you to do the wedding. I knew you’d understand. We couldn’t possibly have a real wedding photographer.’
Now they tell me. And all this is before we get to the not smiling thing. I have to say Luc’s friends are a lot more intense than mine. You’d at least expect surfers to be relaxed, but Nate and Becky surf so hard it’s more like work than fun. It goes without saying that jobs in insurance and finance involve a lot more responsibility than laughs. It’s understandable that a banker will be more weighed down than a cake maker or a dress designer. And Luc couldn’t have taken his own career in health and safety any more seriously. But then, as he always pointed out, it’s a life and death area. Whereas making food look pretty totally isn’t. I have this vague idea that when I accidentally gate-crashed the party at the shared house where he lived five years ago, we both got the wrong end of the proverbial stick. I thought he was an easy going, student accommodation kind of guy, whereas he was only there on the way from one massive loft apartment to another. The fact I was working on a one-off job, snapping champagne for Fortnum and Mason, gave him the entirely wrong impression about my gravitas. If we’d met up a month later when I was styling basic chicken nuggets for a cut price supermarket, he’d never have let me eat every toad-in-the-hole canapé on the plate he was circulating with. He’d have whooshed his platter further around the room until he found someone more suitable. I think more than my hunger for sausages, that night I hung on in there because he was a dead ringer for Ashton Kutcher. Although that could have been down to too many WKD’s on my part. Even if he did still go on holiday with his parents, he was hunky enough for women to give me envious glances when we were out together.
As for his mates branding me as ‘a Cameron Diaz’, really, there’s no resemblance. I’ll admit to the odd ditsy moment. But implying I’m out there, blonde and sexy? Mainly I hide in corners, and obviously my hair’s dark and usually messy. So they’re totally wrong on every count with that comparison. Although I will admit I was Luc’s fun side.
One last try and I’m throwing it all in. ‘Forget I’m here … talk between yourselves … think happy thoughts … try humming Heaven is a halfpipe …’ If I can’t even get one decent photo when it’s just the three of us, I’m starting to wonder how I’ll get any at their wedding.
From the way Nate’s lips twist, he’s halfway to amused disgust. ‘Wrong sport. Halfpipes are skaters, not surfers.’ And the moment’s over and he’s back to looking like an undertaker.
‘Okay, take a breather, I’ll see what we’ve got so far.’ Truly, wild accessories aside, as I flick through the camera roll, if you overlook that Becky’s got a single teensy blue streak in her hair, these two wouldn’t look out of place on the front of a funeral plan brochure. Thinking back to yesterday afternoon, the ride from hell with Santa was bliss compared to this. Although it gives me an idea. ‘How about you get your hoodies on and we’ll pop for a walk round town. It’ll be more authentic. And much more like being at the wedding than this.’ I’m bullshitting here, but I’m desperate. So long as we don’t bump into Santa, things can’t get any worse than they are now.
‘Great.’ It’s strange how these men respond to big words and office speak. From the way Nate almost smiles again, I had him the second I said ‘authentic’.
In no time at all, they’re changed and we’re out on the street. As I do up the top button on my jacket and hang on tight to my camera strap, I’m wishing I’d bought some fingerless gloves.
‘So, you two wander and look in the shop windows, and I’ll follow you with my zoom,’ I say. Then I retreat a few feet across the mews and start snapping. Becky and Nate, holding hands, ambling down the cobbles, Becky and Nate laughing – really! – Becky pulling Nate back to look at the sparkle in the Brides by the Sea window. And we’re away. Three shops along, they stumble across the Riptide surfie shop winter sale and we all troop in. Cue more cute pics. Looking at sweatshirts. Becky in a Ch
ristmas tree hat. Nate holding up a Have a Swell Christmas t-shirt. By the time we leave they’re both swinging handfuls of brightly coloured carrier bags and Nate’s carrying a body board. And I snap them spilling out onto the street.
An hour later, after a trawl all round town and down to the harbour and back, I’ve taken what feels like a thousand shots. The light’s fading and my fingers have turned to ice. As we stagger past the window at the Hungry Shark, even though the hot drinks aren’t as delicious as the Surf Shack’s, the yellow light inside is warm and inviting.
Once I’ve checked there isn’t a Lipsyncer anywhere in sight, I can’t resist. ‘Hot chocolate anyone?’
Nate hesitates and looks longingly at the Sundowner Bay window further along the street. ‘There’s still one surf shop we haven’t been in yet.’
‘Phew, I thought you’d never ask’ Becky blows with relief. ‘Shopaholic Nate can catch us up later.’ She’s through the door and ordering faster than you can say salt caramel swirl.
As we sit on high stools, scooping whipped cream off the top of cups the size of plant pots, Becky’s blinking happily. I can’t resist one last close up. And best of all, she doesn’t even flinch.
‘Well, I think we’ve found a way of making you relax in front of the camera.’ When I push the mini screen towards her, with a lovely dusk shot of the two of them silhouetted against the masts in the harbour, her delighted smile makes me glow inside. ‘Less than three weeks to the big day now.’ I know the stress on the day will make it adrenaline filled. But after this afternoon, it feels like we’re as prepared as we can be.
She sighs as she runs her fingers through hair that’s surprisingly tidy for a surfie. ‘You know, I think you did the right thing running away when Luc brought your engagement ring out.’
My spoon of cream stops in mid-air, halfway to my mouth. ‘What?’ She has to be joking, doesn’t she? ‘Are you okay, Becky?’
She pulls a face. ‘A lot of days lately I wish I’d run when I caught sight of mine.’
