Christmas Promises at the Little Wedding Shop

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘Great. I’ve got a mountain of Huntley and Handsome orders and dispatches to check. I hope you don’t mind, I made a start.’

  I have no idea why I’m opening and closing my mouth. It’s not as if I was secretly hoping he’d be eavesdropping on the singing, hanging around outside the bedroom door. ‘Fine by me. And the clearing up will still be here when you’ve finished.’ More fool me for thinking he’d do that first.

  He rubs his fingers through his hair and holds up an unopened bottle. ‘There’s a beer if you’d like one, Pink Cheeks?’

  There we go. I knew he’d push it. ‘No thanks, I was already hurrying home when you grabbed me.’ At least this way I have the satisfaction of turning him down.

  He sighs and drums his fingers on the keyboard. ‘It’s one of the first-ever bottles of this year’s Bad Ass Santa Christmas brew. I thought you might like to take it with you. You can’t turn down an offer that special, can you?’

  My eyes are wide because he’s just wrongfooted me again. ‘Watch me, I just did. Thanks all the same, but I don’t do beer.’ There’s a certain satisfaction in seeing his jaw drop, even if I’m getting the feeling he can’t wait to get rid of me. Although, seriously, I doubt I’d be this sassy if I hadn’t just sung Let it go so many times.

  For a guy in shock, he picks himself up surprisingly fast. ‘So, Holly Berry, what are you doing tomorrow? With the pre-Christmas rush at Huntley and Handsome, I’ve got to go into work. But you and Gracie seem to get on so well, I’m sure Immie would appreciate a hand with the kids if you’re at a loose end.’ He holds a bottle up to the light and scrutinises it. ‘These beauties don’t happen all on their own, you know.’

  I pull a face. ‘You don’t say.’ As for this ‘hand with the kids’, read a full day’s free child care, without appreciation. Whatever happened to Rory having it sorted? ‘Sorry, I’m tied up all day tomorrow.’

  Rory frowns. ‘Aren’t you on holiday?’

  Not that it’s any of his business, but I try to sound nonchalant. ‘I’m actually snowed under with computer work.’ That covers editing a few thousand pictures. But he doesn’t need to know that. I dive into my coat and haul my camera bag over my shoulder. ‘No time to lose. I’d better run.’ And no idea why I didn’t just say I’m covering at the shop.

  ‘Careful you don’t die of boredom.’ Rory’s fleeting grin fades as I move towards the door. ‘You do know I wouldn’t have dragged you up here if it hadn’t been an emergency, Berry.’

  It takes a moment for his words to sink in. ‘It was a panic not a crisis.’ If I’m sounding snappy it’s because it couldn’t be clearer. Not only is he desperate to get rid of me, but it’s also obvious he’d rather I hadn’t come at all. ‘Once you crack the childcare, you’ll know the difference.’ No doubt Poppy and Immie will keep him right on that. Because from now on I’ll be making damned sure I stay well away. From Rory, and his kids.

  He lets out a long sigh as he rakes his fingers through his hair. ‘Thanks anyway. For hauling me out of the …’

  However much I’m dying to know if he’s about to say ‘plop’ or ‘shit’, I don’t wait to hear. A second later, I’m hurrying down the yard, kicking myself for the way my stomach just descended like a highspeed lift when I saw him rub his thumb across his jaw and give that pained look.

  I was fourteen when my insides last did that. What you can excuse as very bad judgement from a clueless teenager is totally unacceptable when you’re well past thirty. Especially when I’m in love with someone else. One thing is certain. It definitely won’t be happening again.

  Chapter 9

  Tuesday 5th December

  In the kitchen at Daisy Hill Farm: Mental pictures and wind-down tipples

  ‘Are you there, Poppy? I’m just coming to say bye and ring for a taxi. I met Rafe and he told me to come on in.’

  As I knock and crack Poppy’s kitchen door open, Jet, the black farm dog is there to welcome me with a thump of his tail on my leg. After the heat and mess of Rory’s cottage, Poppy’s place feels like a haven of calm. Apart from a few notes of violin music drifting up from the main house and the occasional slam of a car door, it’s hard to believe there’s a wedding party going on a few yards away. As I walk into the gentle light, Poppy looks up from where she’s curled on the sofa.

  ‘Rafe keeps popping in. He’s a lot more twitchy about all this than I am.’ She gives her tummy a rueful glance. As she checks her phone, she stifles a yawn. ‘Hey, you stayed late, Hols.’

  ‘I bumped into Gracie running off as I left, so I took her back to Home Brew Cottage on my way here.’ My name for the Rory residence, not Poppy’s. And we both know it’s a lot further up the yard. I’m hoping we can skip over the aching embarrassment of the last twenty minutes and that I’m still smarting at the speed of my ejection. Which is ridiculous, when staying was the last thing on my mind.

  ‘How are they doing in there?’ From Poppy’s wince she already knows.

  Hopefully my huge eye roll will cover it, because my cheeks are already lighting up again. ‘He’s a long way from Uncle of the Year, but at least the smalls are asleep now. And, for the record, he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. Just saying, so you know where he stands on this.’ Seeing she’s looking so tired, I won’t push it further now.

  Poppy grins and thankfully moves on. ‘So, well done, you survived your first wedding. It’s always a milestone.’ She’s looking at me searchingly. ‘And I’m sorry if I didn’t pick up quite how wobbly you were earlier.’

  ‘It was a great day, I learned loads, my batteries lasted, nothing broke.’ Apparently dying power packs and failing equipment are a wedding photographer’s worst nightmares. And I know exactly what she’s getting at with the last part, so I might as well explain. ‘The puking wasn’t about nerves, though. I just got a horrible shock when Zoe told me Aidan proposed last Christmas, and it suddenly hit me that it could have been me getting married today.’

  Her face wrinkles into a worried frown. ‘Poor Hols.’

  ‘I’m okay again now. But there’s something else I’ve been puzzling over too.’ Probably all brought on because I don’t come face to face with bridal couples that often. ‘I’ve just spent a whole year pinning my hopes on patching things up with Luc. Then today, as I watched Zoe and Aidan signing the marriage register, I realised – I’ve never had a mental picture of me in a wedding dress, standing next to him.’

  Poppy pushes her finger on her lips as she ponders. ‘And is that good or bad?’ It’s a measure of the kind of friend Poppy is, that she isn’t jumping in with her opinion too early.

  ‘It’s a surprise. That’s all.’ Not that I know what to make of it.

  She laughs. ‘A lot of women have their weddings worked out on Pinterest, down to the last detail, before they’ve even got a boyfriend. Maybe you’re at the other extreme. Because you’re a photographer, you prefer real images to imagined ones.’

  Now I’m the one who’s smiling at the skill of that reply. ‘That’s one way of looking at it.’ We’re neatly skipping over that I had a boyfriend and was careless enough to lose him at the vital moment. Seeing as I haven’t got a clue what the explanation really is, I try to move on. ‘Today was the most exhausting day ever. How the hell do you do it on a regular basis?’ At her busiest times, Poppy will have several weddings a week. For someone who’s wilting after one, that’s a mind blowing thought.

  Poppy laughs. ‘Believe me, I was a wreck for my first few too. But now I get this huge buzz from helping couples to have a wonderful day. When I’m there, that is.’ She gives a wistful sigh.

  I’m picking up her frustration. ‘Not quite the same when you’re viewing it from the sofa?’

  She pulls a face. ‘Being stuck in here makes me feel so useless.’

  I try to find a bright side. ‘It gives you time to catch up on your pram ordering. And your baking.’ From the piles of full cake containers on the work surface, she could be cooking for Cornwall.

  H
er nostrils flare. ‘If I see one more Christmas Pudding cupcake, I might just scream.’

  ‘Fine.’ If she wasn’t off alcohol, I’d already be making her a Winter Warmer. If ever I saw a girl in need of a wind-down tipple, it’s Poppy.

  As she sits up, her chin’s doing a strange kind of wobble. ‘The trouble is, even though Rafe pops in, I’m actually really lonely. Stuck in here all on my own makes me feel excluded. Daisy Hill Farm weddings were so much my thing, and suddenly they aren’t any more. Feeling shut out is horrible.’

  When I look closely, it’s only the dim light that’s masking the shadows under her eyes. ‘But don’t you get tired by the weddings?’ I hesitate. ‘Extra tired, I mean, with your bump?’ I’m sure Rafe is only being protective, suggesting she stays here.

  She gives a rueful shrug. ‘I am tired. And grumpy. But actually, most of all, I hate that it’s all going fine without me.’ As she bites her lip, her face crumples.

  ‘Babe.’ I cross to her sofa, put my arm round her shuddering shoulders, and push a tissue into her hand. ‘We’re all here to help you. No one’s trying take over. It’ll all be here waiting for you as soon as you’re ready to come back once the baby’s here.’ Poppy’s been so strong since she came to work at the farm. What’s more, she’s been storming around as if her bump wasn’t there. So it’s unnerving to see her upset, just when she seemed to be coping so well. But I know it’s more than my life’s worth to mention pregnancy hormones.

  After a few more gasps, her shivers subside and she gives a gulp. ‘I know it’s silly. And irrational. But I can’t bear that I’m not going to be there any more when the bride says what a lovely day she’s had.’

  My heart goes out to anyone whose nose is redder than mine. ‘Let’s have some hot chocolate.’ Poppy and Rafe’s fridge is the size of a small barn and they have a herd of dairy cows, so hopefully they’ll have enough milk. I grab a pan and open up the Aga top.

  Poppy sniffs. ‘I’d like that. I’m sorry, I feel so mean for grumbling.’

  I can completely understand why she feels awful. ‘It’s the change that’s the hardest part. And handing over what you’ve built up.’ As I wait for the milk to warm, I find a soft throw and tuck it around her. As I bustle around, I’m throwing out random thoughts. ‘But you need to think of the guys as looking after weddings while you’re away. And it’s only for a while.’ I’m whisking the chocolate powder into the frothy milk, adding squirty cream, grating on some dark chocolate. ‘You’re close enough to keep an eye on things. And you can always pop in for a guest appearance …’ I’m searching the baking shelf, locating the marshmallows, when a gentle snore floats over from the sofa.

  ‘Poppy, are you …?’

  I tiptoe over to check. Eyes closed. Fair ponytail spread across the grey wool sofa. A hundred per cent asleep. And this time I wasn’t even singing.

  If I didn’t love her so much, I’d drink her hot chocolate as well as mine. Seeing as I do, I leave her full mug next to her on the side table, just in case she wakes from her nap. And give Jet the kind of stern stare that Jules would be proud of when I retreat to the other sofa and tell him not to snaffle the cream.

  But in the end, Poppy doesn’t move. By the time my taxi arrives half an hour later, she’s drifted into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Wednesday 6th December

  At Brides by the Sea: Drop-ins and blind spots

  ‘Have you heard from Jess today?’

  It’s Poppy, arriving at the shop late the next afternoon, in time to help with what, from the appointments book, looks like a mass collection of groomsmen’s suits.

  I look up from the desk, where I’ve been sorting through my pictures since early this morning, and nod at the phone. ‘Jess has rung every half hour. If not more.’ How can I spend all day shuffling pictures? Discarding the rubbish ones is easy, but it’s amazing how long it takes to sort the rest. If you’re a ditherer like me, faced with a couple of thousand shots from the day, the tweaking could go on forever.

  Poppy’s brow wrinkles. ‘That bad? And Jess has barely been away a couple of days. I knew we should have installed webcams in every room.’

  I shake my head. ‘If she had more signal, she’d be on Skype full time. Lucky for us, halfway up a mountain, she’s got problems with her buffering.’

  ‘So is there any news?’ Poppy’s eyebrow wiggle tells me exactly the kind she’s asking about.

  I laugh. ‘She’s found Kaffee Klatsch, which sounds exactly like Jaggers Bar, but with gluhwein and an upper level.

  Poppy’s eyes go wide. ‘Jeez, these skiers must be hardcore. There’s no way Jaggers’ customers could negotiate stairs after Happy Hour.’

  I carry on. ‘The chalet’s got a fabulous balcony. There are six bathrooms, but they’re all on the small side.’

  Poppy’s listening intently as she slips off her Barbour and hangs it in the kitchen. ‘That’s the trouble with living at the Manor. Everywhere else will feel like a doll’s house afterwards. Is there any sign of a ring?’

  ‘Not yet.’ I have a feeling we’ll be asking the same question every hour for the next two weeks. ‘If he hasn’t done it already, he might leave it until the last day? Unless he’s planning to take her somewhere special.’ It’s ironic. After making a complete wreck of my own proposal, I’ve become the expert on them.

  Poppy’s flicking through the rail of suits that Sera brought out earlier. ‘And how are the pictures?’

  Now it’s my turn to frown. I hesitate. ‘The food ones are fine. Your cake looks as amazing in the photos as it did in real life.’ I love taking pictures of oysters at any time. And Poppy’s simple three tier cake, with a silver-leaf bottom layer and delicate lace icing, was a gift to photograph.

  ‘And can I peep at the rest?’

  I stand up and sigh as I give her my chair. ‘Help yourself. Lucky for me, the first dance was very slow.’ As I stare at the close up of Zoe and Aidan on the dance floor, I’ve lost all sense of whether they’re good or bad.

  Poppy sighs as she flicks through. ‘Zoe looks gorgeous. You’ve really captured how in love they are. And the house is looking fabulous too.’ Her face lights up. ‘And these are all the bits I missed.’ She flicks through some more. ‘Seeing it all here and filling in the gaps from the day, I mind much less about not being there.’

  ‘In that case, I’m pleased I took them.’ Poppy looking at them in that light makes it easier for me to write off my awkward day with Jules.

  She grasps my hand and squeezes tightly. ‘Truly, I’m all good again today. But thanks for helping last night.’ She’s already sent me about a hundred texts saying the same thing. And telling me not to worry.

  But there are times like yesterday when I know all she needs is a hug from her lovely mum. As huggers go she was a world champion. When we were younger I had my fair share from her. Especially as she was the one who stepped in and had me round a lot after Freya died. There was nothing quite like having your cheek pressed up against one of her flowery, icing-sugar covered pinnies in that kitchen that always smelled of warm baking. When she died suddenly from cancer a few years ago, it felt as if the sun had gone out in the village. It’s the saddest thing that she isn’t here to see Poppy’s baby.

  ‘Any time, Pops. That’s what I’m here for, remember.’ There’s a jingle of bells as the shop door opens. ‘And obviously I don’t mind helping a few groomsmen into their suits either.’

  She grins. ‘That’s good to hear, seeing as there are ten of them.’

  ‘That’ll be five each, then.’

  We’re both looking towards the doorway, stifling our guilty giggles, expecting to see a crowd. So when it’s Jules who appears instead, we can be excused for exchanging puzzled glances.

  Poppy gets her act together first. ‘Jules, lovely to see you, how can we help?’ You can tell from the way she thinks on her feet she’s a seasoned wedding pro.

  Me standing in front of Poppy seems to have nipped the usual
air kiss fest in the bud.

  ‘I said I’d pop round. So here I am.’ As Jules clears his throat, I sense there’s something different about him, but I can’t pinpoint what.

  Poppy and I are both grinning like loons. ‘And?’

  ‘You’re going to show me your wedding album, Holly.’ Another of Jules’s trademark steam- roller statements, where a question would have been way more appropriate.

  ‘Right.’ I’m croaking because my voice has dematerialised. When he said he’d drop by soon, I assumed he’d give me a couple of days. Not come leaping in next afternoon. ‘They’re not quite ready.’ It’s a massive understatement. Maybe he expected me to stay up all night on Photoshop? Looking at his grey complexion he might well have done that himself. Now I focus more closely, his eyes are so bleary I wouldn’t be out of line offering him some matchsticks to prop them open. What’s more, his sparkle is totally – well, what can I say other than ‘not sparkling’. It’s like today we’ve got Jules, the totally wrecked, matt version.

  ‘Not ready? And you call yourself a professional?’ His voice is high with disbelief. Even his hair is lank as he tosses it back. Wrestling a laptop from a pregnant person isn’t polite either, but he does it anyway. And if we were craving questions, they weren’t ones like those.

  Poppy pulls out her phone and starts texting madly. A second later my own phone pings. It’s a one-word text from her.

  Pimples

  She points to her cheek and forehead, then swizzles her eyes towards Jules. Sure enough, when I look again, yesterday’s flawless complexion is breaking out. Okay, I know it’s shallow and mean. But when I zoom in on the two giant zits on his forehead I can’t help feeling a teensy bit pleased that he’s not quite so perfect after all. Absolutely bloody delighted, even. In the same way seeing Kate Middleton with a spot makes you feel better knowing she’s human too. There’s another ping.