by Jane Linfoot
‘Marilyn! How are we doing with the spreadsheet?’ Poppy’s welcome couldn’t sound warmer, considering Marilyn’s arriving in the White Room like a force-ten gale, cape flying. If her hair was less mayonnaisey she could stand in as a body double for Theresa May. As she storms to the desk it’s obvious from her jingling wrist chains she’s got a serious Tiffany habit.
‘I’m here to talk cakes, Poppy.’ Hands on hips, and she’s not holding back. ‘I know Seth and Katie asked you to make theirs. But honestly, chocolate sponge at a wedding?’
Poppy purses her lips. ‘They took a long time to decide. And they did take your wishes into account and hold back on the complete alpine scene. But they loved the idea of the white drip icing looking like snow on top of a chocolate mountain.’
Marilyn makes a choking noise. ‘That doesn’t count as a wedding cake in my book. Which is why I’ve had to overrule them and make my own. Square, dark fruit, glycerin icing, five tiers. All I need now is a miniature bride and groom to top it off. Preferably with a blond haired groom, as I said on the phone.’
‘We’ve got three here.’ Poppy widens her eyes as she fiddles to open the boxes. ‘Although Katie did want winter berries and skis to top er – whichever cake she’d chosen. To go with the bouquets?’ This is Poppy treading super carefully.
Marilyn’s eyebrows shoot up so fast they almost collide with the chandelier. ‘Berries?’ Her voice has shot up an octave. ‘No one mentioned berries when I spoke to the florist yesterday. How do berries fit with glittered classic white-rose posies?’ She picks over the bride and groom ornaments. ‘This one will do. Now please tell me the favours are here.’
Poppy’s looking bemused. ‘They are. A hundred and three personalised silver keepsake boxes. Lily and I checked them personally, the names and the hallmarks are all perfect. Is that everything for this morning?’
Marilyn dives into her bag. ‘One last item, because I won’t be backing down on the headgear issue. I need a veil to attach to this.’ The heavy, diamond encrusted tiara she pulls out would be more at home in a safe in the Tower of London than being dragged around St Aidan in a Longchamp Le Pliage bag. ‘We need to try this. The girl in the corner will do.’ A second later she’s sprung across the floor and rammed it onto my head. Then she grabs a veil from a display and impales that on me too.
By the time I wail ‘ouch’ she’s snatched them both off again and she’s pushing the veil across the desk to Poppy. Along with half my messy topknot too.
Poppy winces as she teases the hairs off the soft tulle. ‘Would you like that in a bag?’
‘So long as you’re quick.’ Marilyn scoops up the box of favours. ‘I’m on double yellows and I’m already hours late for the caterers. I’ll take these out and come back for the veil.’ Hours? So maybe she does make dawn appointments.
As she sprints away, Poppy’s blowing her fringe up.
‘So that’s what a fully stressed-out mother of the bride looks like?’ I ask as the shop door slams. It’s almost as if I’m spotting rarities for a wedding version of those I Spy books we had in the holidays as kids. Mother of the bride, five points. Add two more points if she’s in a bridal shop, and ten more if she’s pulling her hair out. Make that fifty if she pulls out someone else’s. Freya filled in every line. On hers and mine. She had The Seaside, which was a bit of a gift, given we came to St Aidan so often. Mine was Pets, but even though we lived in pirate country, I never did find a parrot.
‘Not quite.’ Poppy’s expression is pained. ‘Katie and Seth are the sweetest couple, organising their own fabulous alpine-themed wedding in the converted barn at the farm.’ She shakes her head. ‘Marilyn is Seth’s mum, and her vision for Seth getting married couldn’t be more different from Seth and Katie’s.’
‘Mother of the groom on an uninvited takeover mission, then?’
Poppy screws up her face. ‘Pretty much. Hijacking the cake is minor compared to the rest. The favour order is entirely without consultation. A while back she tried to change the colours of the bridesmaids’ dresses from brights to pastels. She wanted to line the barn with silk to make it look less stoney. Katie’s more likely to get married in ski goggles than in a veil or the family tiara. No doubt Marilyn’s on her way to the caterers to re-do the menus.’
‘Oh my days.’ I can completely see why Poppy came in to handle this client personally. I just hope it doesn’t push her blood pressure through the roof.
‘I’m sure she’s coming from the best of places. Lily has worked so hard with them and the ski-lodge styling is going to be amazing, regardless of Marilyn. But it’s impossible to second guess where she’s going to strike next.’ Poppy rolls her eyes and laughs.
I laugh too. ‘If you’re a wedding manager, she’s a total loose cannon.’ So long as you aren’t involved, there’s definitely a funny side.
As Marilyn comes back in, I make sure to wedge my cheeks in place so my smile is appropriately wide. Although this time round I’m ready to dodge any more tiara moves. And this is not being two-faced. It’s simply taking a leaf out of the customer service survival guide. As weddings go, Marilyn sounds like she’s at the nightmare end of the spectrum.
Marilyn takes her carrier bag from Poppy. ‘Just put everything on my account. Jess found me the most wonderful fuchsia fascinator before she left.’
‘Lovely.’ Poppy’s trying for a soothing croon. ‘So only the final dress appointment left now, then it’s downhill all the way to the big day.’
Marilyn holds up her hands dramatically. ‘And I’ll be full speed ahead to Christmas straight after. For my sins. As if getting married on a farm and pretending it’s a mountain wasn’t awful enough.’
Despite my smile I give a gulp. ‘Christmas? Which Christmas would that be, then?’
Marilyn glowers down at me as if I’ve got an IQ the size of an apple pip. ‘The one in nineteen days’ time. Why, is there another one?’ As she backs towards the door, for the first time since she walked in, there’s an uncertain look in her eyes.
Meanwhile Poppy’s doing her best to examine the plasterwork on the ceiling. She waits until the shop door slams before she speaks. ‘You managed to baffle her there with that Christmas question of yours. Well done on that, it takes a lot to knock Marilyn off her stride.’
Except I’m the one who’s confused here. ‘So if this wedding’s at the farm before Christmas, who’s doing the photos?’
Poppy blows out her lips. ‘A Christmas ski-themed wedding is going to be an absolute gift in terms of pictures. You should see what Lily’s got lined up. There’ll be a roaring log fire and a ski lift gondola for selfies, and fairy lights and fake snow and antlers and red gingham cushions. And signs and vintage ski posters.’
I’m talking over her. ‘Frig the snow and soft furnishings. Who’s the photographer?’
‘There’s a hot-chocolate bar and frosty cocktails, the bridesmaids are wearing tulle mini skirts and knee-high fake-fur boots.’ Now she’s in full flow, she’s unstoppable. As her list comes to an abrupt halt, she couldn’t look more guilty. ‘Actually, it’s Jules.’
This I can’t believe. ‘Jules?’ I’m struggling to get this straight in my head. ‘That’s Jules, meaning me?’
‘Yep.’ As she nods her expression is pained. ‘I was holding back, because I didn’t want to load too much onto you all at once.’
I can’t hold in my wail. ‘That means Marilyn’s going to be at one of Jules’s weddings … that I’m doing?’ If she’s hell bent on taking over the rest of the wedding, she’s hardly going to hold back with the photographer.
‘I’m sorry. You weren’t meant to meet her today.’ Poppy’s face crumples. ‘Really, we’ll handle her. I promise, she won’t be a problem to you on the day.’
‘And I’m a snowman,’ I say. What’s more, I can’t help wondering how many more hidden Marilyns and alpine ski weddings are going to jump out of the snowdrifts at me in the next few weeks.
‘Snowman?’ There’s an echo along the
hall and a second later Gracie comes pelting in, followed by Rory swinging Teddie.
‘Jeez, where the hell have you been Holly Berry? We’ve been stuck out there for hours behind some car parked on the double yellows.’
However huge a problem looming in the future, a current one will dwarf it. And as current problems go they don’t come any bigger than a day out with Rory Sanderson that should have started ten minutes ago. At least he won’t be calling me Red Cheeks today.
Chapter 13
Friday 8th December
On the way to Port Giles: Tidemarks and burst bubbles
‘Are you wearing your pyjamas, Gracie?’ As I finally clamber up into the beer-mobile, a few drops of rain are spotting the windscreen. Which is a shame, seeing I was hoping for some sun. But as I turn and grin at the backseat passengers, I can’t help recognising the spangly star top from the other evening.
Rory shrugs. ‘That’s what happens when people refuse to put their clothes on. Unfortunately your helpful serving suggestion blew up into an almighty showdown. It turns out Gracie goes ape-plops if her cucumber arrives in sticks instead of circles.’
I’m screwing up my face. ‘Jeez, I didn’t mean you to give them veggie sticks for breakfast.’ What kind of numbskull would get that so wrong?
‘No worries, we’re here now.’ He stares across as I do up my seatbelt. ‘Holly, have you got white stuff on your face?’
Damn. ‘Probably Poppy’s icing sugar.’ It’s the first thing I think of. I sniff and make a big play of wiping my cheek. ‘All those cupcakes, it gets everywhere. Or toothpaste maybe?’ So long as it hides the red, I don’t give a damn what it looks like.
For some reason he seems to find that funny. Then he drags in a breath and goes all serious again. ‘You need to understand about Gracie. She’s a three-year-old who travels with her own iPad and a whole heap of attitude. She’s like one of those pets that think they have staff not owners. Although I reckon a cat would be more friendly.’
I turn to look at her. ‘If we sing along to some Frozen songs, we’ll soon get you smiling, Gracie.’ However much we’d both rather not be here, I’m not letting the children see that.
As Rory eases the monster truck out of the mews, he’s straight in there. ‘Absolutely not.’ He throws his phone across to me. ‘Find some festive tunes on there and stick them on.’
If he can veto, so can I. ‘Sorry, I’m not doing Christmas this year.’
‘Fine. So what else do you suggest? And don’t even think about girlie love songs.’
I’m wishing I’d taken Poppy up on her offer of Five Tracks to Fight the Fear (It’s only a wedding! Dammit). That was the Spotify list she had to boost her courage, when she was new to the business and bricking it as much as I am. Although flicking through Rory’s playlist is like looking into a teenager’s head. ‘Green Day?’ It slips out because I’m gobsmacked to see it.
Rory grins. ‘Good choice, that’ll do.’
‘It was an exclamation of horror at your taste, not a suggestion.’ I let out a groan. Then put it on anyway in the hope that it’ll shut him up.
As the first few bars fill the car, he’s tapping on the steering wheel. ‘High energy, loud guitars, what’s not to like? Although I can see you might want something more wedding-y, given you’re such a novice. There’s a lot to learn in two days, which is why it’s a great move on Immie’s part to send me along to advise.’
As we roar out of town and take the road to the north, if the twangy rock and the whirr of the wipers wasn’t bad enough, now I’m drowning under the latest rush of Sanderson bullshit. ‘And when exactly did you become the expert on weddings?’
He laughs. ‘Definitely not by getting married, that’s for sure. But I must have been to forty or more in the last few years. When you’re a perennial wedding guest you get to know how the days roll out. Don’t knock it, I could be useful.’
‘You have that many friends?’ Somehow I’ve managed to miss most of the weddings I’ve been invited to. And Nate and Becky are the first of Luc’s friend group to take the plunge since I’ve been around. Which is why I’m clueless.
‘A lot of my friends are in the marrying demographic. And a wine merchant with a brewery is a natural choice for a guest. Who wouldn’t want a crate of personalised Mr and Mrs beer and ten per cent off and sale-or-return on vintage Champagne?’ He pushes back the sleeve of his tartan shirt. ‘When I checked in my diary, I actually went to a wedding at this venue a couple of years back. So if you’re looking for information, I’m your man.’
‘Brilliant.’ Mr Know-it-all strikes again. As I glance into the back for some light relief, Gracie is already busy tapping her iPad and Teddie is kicking his bare foot in time to the music. ‘What are you playing, Gracie?’ I make a mental note to find the baby a pair of socks before we get out of the car.
She looks up for a second. ‘Popping balloons.’
‘Is it fun?’
‘Yep.’ Then as she cuts me off and looks back down straight afterwards, I’m kind of getting how she might be hard to get through to.
Rory clears his throat. ‘So, no Christmas for you, then?’
‘Nope.’ I swallow hard and decide to deal with this before trying Gracie again. More fool me for thinking I’d got away with that one.
He sends me a sideways glance. ‘I can still see you staggering onto the bus at Christmas with your schoolbag covered in battery-operated fairy lights. Wasn’t that your way of remembering Freya?’
Alongside the surprise that his memory’s that clear, it’s lovely to hear someone call Freya by her name when most people seem to have forgotten she was ever here. ‘We always try to make Christmas a special time to celebrate her life. She’d understand why I’m toning it down this time around, though.’
He rubs the steering wheel for a few seconds before he carries on. ‘I heard all about you legging it when you got proposed to last year. Bit insensitive with the timing there, wasn’t he?’
I sigh and decide it’s easier to deal with the second bit than the first. ‘He probably missed the significance.’ Although Luc knew about Freya, it was more that I’d lost my sister a long time ago than something he ever asked me about in depth.
Rory’s frowning as if he can’t believe my last answer. ‘So what was so bad you had to run?’
I suppose the question had to crop up sooner or later. And me breaking out into a sticky sweat isn’t half so bad when I know my cheeks are going to stay one colour. I can’t believe this is what it’s like permanently for most of the rest of the population. As I rub the perspiration off the inside of my shirt collar, I’m praying there isn’t a tidemark on my neck where the concealer runs out and the flushing skin begins. And if it comes as a shock that Rory knows every last detail of my embarrassing romantic past, it’s only a sign of how healthy the damned St Aidan community grapevine is.
Sometimes it’s easier to reply than to resist. ‘Getting proposed to took me by surprise, that’s all.’
He shoots a glance at me. ‘Still a scaredy cat, then? Although I don’t blame you for taking fright. The idea of committing to someone for the rest of my life would make me want to run too. Especially someone who had no idea a Christmas proposal should have been off limits for you.’ This is just how he is. He needles and digs, and pretends he understands when he doesn’t have the first clue.
‘Running was a gut reaction. By the time I warmed to the idea, it was too late.’
He’s chuckling to himself. ‘Poor Holly Pink Cheeks. It sounds like he barely knew you, but it must have been serious if he got around to proposing. So what was he like?’
I stick out my chin. ‘If I wasn’t stuck in the passenger seat, I wouldn’t be doing this.’ And my answer wasn’t meant to bring out the sympathy violins either. I try to think of a way to describe Luc. ‘Good looking, amazing job, fabulous flat, great taste in rings.’ Actually, I have a feeling the ring might have been his dead grandmother’s because, despite the sparkle, it looked an
cient rather than new. But the diamonds were very chunky, even if it wasn’t really my first choice of style.
‘Which makes your break for freedom even more astonishing.’ His eyes narrow. ‘Although I’m not hearing anything there about how much he loved you.’
My voice is high because he’s so damned presumptuous. ‘What is this, marriage guidance?’ And if I’m extra jumpy it’s probably because we weren’t ever one of those lovey dovey couples. Luc was more of a matter-of-fact kind of guy. It definitely suited him to have me around to come back to those times he wasn’t away with work, but he wasn’t the sort to go on about it.
His eyebrows close into a frown. ‘It is over, isn’t it? Please tell me you aren’t still aching for the chance to say yes a second time around?’
‘Jeez, Rory, I’d go back to him in a heartbeat, if he asked me, okay? But he’s not going to, and a year down the line I’m completely fine with that.’
There’s more tapping of fingers on the steering wheel, and luckily for all of us, more staring at the road. ‘So fine, you still can’t face anything to do with Christmas? That sounds like you’re definitely over him, then.’ His tone is strangely serious when he might have been jokey. ‘Personally I reckon you should always trust your first instincts. If you ask me, you were probably right to run.’ Except no one did ask him.
‘To be honest, I’d rather the kids were screaming than listen to this.’
He shrugs. ‘Sorry, but sometimes it hurts to face the truth. If he’d been the right guy for you, you wouldn’t have run and you’d still be together. I reckon you had a lucky escape. That was why you stood out at school all those years ago. You were quiet, but you could always cut through the crap and see the bigger picture. That’s why I liked talking to you.’
Bugging me, more like. I’d wondered when we’d get onto this. If we’re talking crap, there’s a shitload there. ‘You talked to me on the bus so I’d go red. End of.’ Obviously I’m only free to say this today because I’ve got my face armour on. And you’ve no idea how bloody liberating it feels.
