by Jane Linfoot
I give a rueful sigh. ‘For what it’s worth, if I could turn the clock back, I wouldn’t run a second time around. I’d definitely handle it differently.’ In a way that didn’t wreck my relationship, for starters.
She scrapes the grated chocolate off the top of her cream. ‘When I dreamed of Nate proposing, I had no idea getting married would be so draining.’ The sigh she lets out is long and weary.
Poor Becky. I give her hand a squeeze. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll feel better when you’ve drunk your chocolate.’ Wedding fatigue hitting the woman who has the stamina to ride the waves from dawn until bedtime comes as a surprise. Whereas when I legged it, the wedding itself hadn’t even crossed my mind.
If we hadn’t been staying with Luc’s parents it might have all panned out differently. In Madeira they would have been in the holiday mood due to downing vast quantities of Poncha. As it was, three days into our stay in the Highlands, when his dad’s dour expression hadn’t lifted and his mum’s mouth was still the same hard line, it finally dawned on me. Luc’s serious side was probably an inbuilt part of his gene pool that was only going to get worse as he got older. Down the line, I might not be able to tease it out of him.
My family lost a child and still manage to be jokey, so permanently long faces are an alien concept to me. I mean, who, faced with Prosecco popcorn says, ‘Sparkling white gives Keith heartburn’? And all my cute reindeer crisps got was a resounding, ‘We don’t do wild game.’ In the split second when Luc went down on one kilted knee in front of the Christmas tree and his entire, unsmiling, extended family all that flashed in front of me was a lifetime without laughing. Although, to be fair, I haven’t exactly been splitting my sides since then. And I suspect it was a complete overreaction. When I look back on our times in London, Luc did smile. Just not as much as me.
‘Today is the first fun we’ve had for ages.’ Becky’s meticulously sinking every marshmallow with the back of her spoon.
Somehow, I feel I need to share more here. Make it clear our cases aren’t the same at all. ‘My trouble was, Luc made his proposal sound like we’d only be getting married so I could get a US visa.’ Announcing he was leaving for a fabulous new job and life in the States, then popping the question in the next breath. What’s worse, it was like my whole world being hit by an earthquake. I wasn’t even aware he was up for promotion, let alone a leap across the Atlantic. If we’d discussed it in advance, I might have been more ready for it. I can see now, it was only natural that someone so work orientated would be super-excited about saving his news for a big reveal. For someone like me, who hates surprises, it couldn’t have been worse. It was my fault too. I should have made my phobia about surprises clearer. And the size of the audience made the outcome all the more cataclysmic. Had it just been the two of us, Luc might have forgiven me for taking fright. But so many cousins and aunties seeing me vote with my feet was the ultimate in public humiliation. Everyone understood that. A proud man like Luc couldn’t marry a person who’d done that to him. Even if I was mortified afterwards, there was no clawing my way back, no matter how much apologising and begging I did.
Becky shrugs. ‘Luc’s doing well over there.’ This is just the kind of snippet I’ve been aching for. Now it’s come without prompting I’m not sure I like it.
‘He would be.’ Most days I try not to think about it. I pick up my cup to cover up that one tiny fragment of news about him has my pulse racing. ‘Although, actually, I’d rather not talk about him.’ A deep draught of dark cocoa is just what I need to slow my heart rate again. Who knew I’d feel this uncomfortable?
‘He’s still on his own, too.’ She tilts her head to gauge my reaction. ‘It’s a shame he can’t come to the wedding. Second chances and all that?’
If spluttering with my face in my mug is a bad move, sloshing hot chocolate right down my coat is worse. The amount of drink I’ve lost, it’s a good thing I’m cold rather than thirsty. But at least the wipe-up gives me time to regroup. Leopard print is so forgiving, that’s why you have to love it every time. I’m frantically dabbing my soggy fake fur with serviettes, racking my brain to move on to an easier topic. ‘So how are the wedding plans going?’
Becky rolls her eyes. ‘There are so many decisions to make. Nachos or tacos for the burger van. Do we want hog roast or fish and chips for the main. We even need council permission to erect our own beachside marquee.’ She gives a guilty squirm on her stool. ‘We haven’t even begun to choose groups for the photos from the lists on Pinterest.’
‘Absolutely no worries on that one.’ Although organised group photos don’t fit with the kind of informal wedding she’s talked about before.
She lets out another sigh. ‘The only thing Nate’s looking forward to is getting his hands on our own Roaring Waves beer, with Mr and Mrs Croft labels on.’
‘No surprise there.’ Another reason for my heart to sink. Let’s just hope the brewer’s not on the guest list. ‘So how many people have you invited?’ As Becky’s repeatedly using the word ‘small’, I’m confident this won’t be an issue.
‘Not many. Although weddings have this awful tendency to grow.’ She thinks for a second, then looks up brightly. ‘A hundred and forty-seven, tops.’
The way that number makes me lurch, it’s a good thing I’ve already tipped most of my drink away. What’s that expression? Three steps forward, two steps back? Or in my case, fifteen steps back, ending up with falling off a cliff top.
Which just goes to show, your blindsides don’t always come from where you expect them. Here I was, assuming I’d be thrown off track by hearing about Luc, when all along I should have been worried about an out of control guest list. I was expecting twenty, tops. Add in an extra hundred and twenty, I’ll be needing to find a lens with a wider angle.
Chapter 5
Sunday, 3rd December
At Brides by the Sea: Hidden cameras and flash photographers
‘So how did it go?’ Jess asks, as I come down into the half light of the White Room later, clutching my laptop. If I wasn’t blanking Christmas this year, the fairy lights playing on the lace, making the wedding dresses in the window glisten against the night outside would make my heart flutter.
Jess turning up again and calling me downstairs to show her my pictures isn’t quite what I’m expecting on a Sunday evening. But as this is her shop, I can hardly argue.
‘It was a bit stiff to start with.’ I’ve had time to up load the pictures and sort a few of the better ones into their own folder, so at least I know they aren’t too awful to show her. ‘And the wedding party’s going to be a bit bigger than I’d first thought.’ I’m understating this to play it down. There’s no point panicking about something I can’t change.
‘That’s exactly what I’d heard. A hundred and forty guests is a lot for a photographer to take on for a first time. It’s lucky I’m on hand to get you the extra support you need.’ Her nostrils are flaring. ‘So did the shooting get any better once you took Nate and Becky out?’ From her prompting smile, it almost feels like I’m her latest project.
How did I forget? There are no secrets in St Aidan. Everyone, including Jess, will know every last detail of Nate and Becky’s local wedding orders, as well as our exact route around town this afternoon. I put my MacBook Pro on the table and open it up. ‘Have a look, see what you think.’ There’s silence as I flick through the first few photos. ‘Once we got into town they relaxed a lot.’ I look round for Jess’s reaction.
‘Oh my.’ Her mouth is open as she murmurs, then she snaps it shut. ‘Keep going, then.’
I’m flicking through, trying to find a picture she’ll like. I get through the first fifty, then pause for her reaction.
‘Well, well, well.’ Her loafers clatter towards the winding staircase up to Sera’s dress design studio and she calls up the stairs. ‘Okay, Jules, you can come down now.’ As she turns to me, at last, she drops her voice to a husky whisper. ‘Poppy was right, your pictures are wonderful. Now we need to pe
rsuade Jules to give you a helping hand, so you get to know your way around weddings enough to tackle your expanded one. And I’m going to lean as hard as it takes to make him cooperate.’
‘Jules?’ My voice comes out as a squeak. ‘Is that really necessary?’ From the aftershave cloud that suddenly wafts up my nose, I don’t have to look round to know he’s behind me. I can tell by his disparaging sniffs that he’s giving me the evils.
‘Go ahead, show us a few more, Holly.’ Jess’s purr is so proud, I don’t dare to do anything else.
There’s a choking noise coming from Jules’s throat. When he finally forms words, he sounds like he can’t get them out for yawning. ‘Very bland, very reportage. And I’m really missing the drama here.’
As I turn to Jess, she’s giving an incredulous headshake. ‘They’re shots of a windy walk in St Aidan, not the bloody coronation.’ Her voice rises to a shriek. ‘For goodness sake, Jules, stop being so silly. They’re incredible.’
I have to butt in here. ‘Really, I wouldn’t go that far.’
Jess is growling. ‘Come on, Jules, even you have to admit they’re good.’
Jules gives a kind of shiver. ‘Okay, technically, they aren’t the disaster I was expecting.’
‘Bloody hell, Jules, the last thing I expected was prima donna behaviour from you.’ Jess is shouting now. ‘There’s only one reason you’re playing the diva here, and that’s because you’re jealous!’
Jules obviously isn’t the kind of good looking hunk who smoulders when he’s angry, because he’s gone pale and very snappy. ‘Well, you’re the one who’s brought in the competition right under my nose. You bill her as someone who snaps quiches for Lidl and then bring on bloody Annie Leibovitz. What am I supposed to do? Cheer?’
I’m sitting with them shouting over the top of my head, wanting to yell, ‘excuse me, I am here,’ but I’m so shocked at how wrong they’ve got it, the words won’t come out.
Jess’s cheeks are scarlet. ‘After all the support Brides by the Sea has given you, Jules, we deserve better than this.’
Jules sticks out his chin like a petulant three-year-old. ‘And my point is, ditto. From where I stand, I’m the one with the talent. And I’m the one who’s lost count of the times I’ve hauled you out of the shit.’
Jess drags in a breath, and at a guess she’s speaking through clenched teeth. ‘Holly is a fellow professional who needs a tiny bit of support from you so she can come through for her friends when their wedding has unexpectedly expanded to whopping proportions. It’s for one time only, she’s not trying to steal your clients. We put a huge amount of business your way, Jules. If you won’t oblige on this, I promise I’ll run you out of town.’
‘Fighting talk. You’re really getting your salopettes in a twist over this, aren’t you?’ Jules’s nostrils are flaring.
Jess’s voice becomes a roar. ‘If I’m about to disappear off up a bloody mountain pass, the last thing I’m going to leave behind me is you two up to your zoom lenses in bloody wedding photographer warfare.’
I’m waving both my hands frantically, trying to get my squeaks heard. ‘I’m definitely not fighting. And definitely nothing to do with weddings.’ Other than a surfie party that accidentally expanded, obviously. Although hearing how loud she shouts, I’m just pleased Jess is sticking up for me and not going against me here.
Jules gives a sneer. ‘Don’t take it out on me because you’ve got holiday jitters, Jessica. If you’ve got polar bear toes at the thought of jetting off to Switzerland, seriously, you need to tell Uncle Bart.’
Ouch. This man is mean.
‘That’s enough from you, Blue Eyes.’ The blood has drained from Jess’s face now. But despite her cheeks being the colour of wedding dress lace, her voice is booming louder than ever. ‘Jules. You’re going to let Holly second shoot your next wedding, on Tuesday. I know Zoe and Aidan will be up for it. What’s more, you’re going to give her all the benefit of your vast experience, without any of the temperamental star crap.’ Thunderous doesn’t begin to cover it. ‘That’s non-negotiable. Understood?’
I have to stand up for myself here. ‘No! It’s not necessary, and not happening.’ A whole day following Jules around? Even if I would learn a lot, I’d rather eat my own Nikon. But they’re both ignoring me.
Jules’s mouth is all bunched up. ‘And?’
Jess’s expression is steely. ‘In return I’ll give your suggestion for the studio serious consideration. Although you do understand, I’ll be asking top price for that space.’ Her eyes glint. ‘Agreed?’
As Jules unwinds his scarf to wipe the sweat off his brow, the sound he lets out is almost a whimper. ‘Okay.’ His naked Adam’s apple does a lurch as he swallows. ‘I’ll be round tomorrow at two to brief you, Holly. You’d better charge up your battery packs.’
‘Lovely.’ Jess is suddenly beaming again, ‘Well, that went well. Anyone for a Winter Warmer while we look at the rest of Holly’s photos?’
But no one replies, because Jules is already out of the door and I’m busy working out what the hell I can do to get out of Tuesday’s wedding.
Chapter 6
Tuesday 5th December
In the Bride’s dressing room at Daisy Hill Farm House: Drain pipes and perfect shots
‘So, Holly, the dress and the girls are all yours now.’ Jules flips his scarf so high it bangs on the brides’ dressing room chandelier, and sends it jumping wildly. ‘I’m off to catch Aidan and the boys having breakfast at the Goose and Duck.’ As he flounces towards the door there a brief flash of sapphire as he glances at his watch. ‘I’ll be back at twelve, for Zoe’s “bride gets buttoned up” pics.’ As yet, he’s still avoiding eye contact with me, and he hasn’t cracked even a fake smile in my direction either. This far, his lips are as zipped up as his next shot with Zoe.
Another day, another couple. First Nate and Becky. And now Zoe and Aidan. What started as a favour to some friends has somehow got right out of hand. And this pair couldn’t be more different from Nate and Becky and the huge ‘let it all hang out’ beach bash they’ve ended up with. Today’s couple are trying the knot in Rafe and Poppy’s amazing Georgian farmhouse at Daisy Hill Farm, in front of a mere forty guests. And having their reception and evening party here too. Although technically, given there’s chamber music rather than a disco, that part sounds more like a soiree than a wild party. As weddings go, this one’s teensy according to Poppy. And so far, I’ve managed to get some gorgeous shots of the flowers. So whatever happens, I haven’t scored a complete fail.
To be honest, I’m still picking my jaw off the floor at the idea of complete strangers welcoming me into their getting-ready room at all. We’re in the newly converted bridal suite, downstairs in the Old Farmhouse venue, where Poppy and Rafe have done a brilliant job with their renovations. It’s wall-to-wall luxury, with white carved chairs, whisper-grey velvet cushions and huge mirrors. And enough space to be hit by the explosion of a bride’s party complete with hair and make-up entourage and all the props, and still look elegant. According to Jess, who phoned from the first class lounge yesterday, as she waited to take off for Zurich, Zoe was – and I’m quoting here – ‘completely delighted to have an award-winning London photographer on board to add another dimension to her wedding album’. Jess might be the queen of spin, but when I see the curly hand- painted wooden sign hanging on the door, saying The dressing room, it leaves me feeling someone should hang one around my neck saying Fraud. And that’s the only point Jules and I would ever agree on.
When he whooshed through the shop yesterday afternoon to give me my briefing, it was a flying visit. However hard his mouth was working, his feet didn’t appear to touch the floor.
‘Fuel up in advance … prepare to be crushed by the weight of your cameras … your people skills will be pushed way beyond their limits …’ He was rapping like a machine gun, only pausing to give Jess’s desk a once-over. ‘You will be ready here for an eight thirty pick up?’
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��Yep.’ I was shrinking back against the wall as he nosied at the piles of papers on the table. ‘Absolutely.’ Despite only being an apprentice assistant, I managed to whisk the appointment book away from him just before he opened it to snoop.
Then he started again. ‘The bride and the groom will be jangling with so many nerves they won’t know which way’s up. You are the voice of reason they look to in their day of craziness. The sober one, when the rest of the room are off their faces. It’s high octane, high expectation and a lightweight won’t last two frames.’ He delivered his entire manifesto in the time he took to do a circuit of the White Room. ‘Oh, and no flashes, unless they’re off-camera.’
‘Great.’ No idea how I managed even a grim smile after that lot. This is exactly why I’d take pictures of a biryani rather than a bride every time. It’s a doddle in comparison. ‘Got you.’
Except he wasn’t quite done. He paused by the mannequin for one last sideswipe on his way to the hall. ‘If you think you can mosey in from Oxford Street and swan all over this, prepare yourself for an epic fail, Holly. If the only thing you learn is to stay the hell away from weddings in future, it will not have been a wasted day. For either of us.’
I was completely in agreement with him on that. But I never got the chance to tell him. Next thing, the hallway Christmas tree jingled as he bolted past. And before I got my words out the shop door slammed.
I’d heard that Jules is big on playlists for setting the mood. But more fool me for expecting Now That’s What I Call Love tunes on the way to the farm this morning. Instead it was Music To Go To War To. Rather than being lulled by the Coors and Adele, we left St Aidan to the battle music from Star Wars and hit Rose Hill to The Ride of the Valkyries, with the volume at 16. As far as subliminal messages go, it couldn’t have been more in my face. But whatever my preconceptions, I’m determined to give this opportunity everything I’ve got. After all Jules’s animosity, it’s a massive relief when he closes the door behind him again this morning. Now it’s just me, Zoe, her bridesmaids and the make-up ladies.
