by Jane Linfoot
‘Baby bottom moisturiser?’ Now I’ve seen it all.
He pulls a face. ‘It’s the best we have in the bag. From where I’m standing, you need all the help you can get.’
There’s no answer to that. But it’s a measure of the situation. And if I’m relying on Rory for help, truly, the trouble I’m in couldn’t be bigger.
Chapter 15
Friday 8th December
In the kitchen at Daisy Hill Farm: Seahorses and cockle shells
It turns out that Gracie’s gourmet tastes are more in line with her uncle’s than I’ve given her credit for. She might turn her nose up at Rory’s lamb pasanda, but while Teddie kicked away in his borrowed designer high chair in the bar at the Salty Fish pub in Port Giles, Gracie tucked into dough balls, cucumber-free crudités, dips and pizza served on a slate. Then, when I discovered my appetite had mostly been whittled away due to the wedding racing towards me at a hundred miles an hour, and my newly crimson complexion, Gracie went on to demolish most of my smoked salmon, dill and quinoa. If Rory hadn’t guarded them so closely, I suspect she’d have wolfed his triple-cooked hand cut chips too. By the time we roll into the courtyard back at the farm at dusk, it’s bliss to wave goodbye to Rory and the kids, and pull up a chair next to Immie at Poppy’s kitchen table.
‘Cupcake to go with your hot chocolate, Hols? I’m trying out beachy ones for Nate and Becky. Thanks for sending them my way.’ Poppy’s waving a piping bag and curling waves of blue- green buttercream onto a tray of mini sponge cakes.
‘What happened to putting your feet up rather than working?’ Not meaning to nag, but the rest of us have agreed we’ll keep her on track where we can.
Her voice rises in complaint. ‘This is my way of relaxing.’
Immie rolls her eyes. ‘I’ve persuaded her to sit on a stool and I’m doing my bit by eating as many as I can.’ She gives a gruff chortle. From the pile of bun cases in front of her, she’s not joking.
After today’s concealer trauma, it had struck me I might never face icing again. So as I watch Poppy working it’s a relief to find my mouth’s watering. ‘Maybe I could manage one.’ Funny. In the pub I felt as if I’d never be hungry again. Whereas now one cupcake won’t even touch the sides.
‘Add your own decorations.’ Poppy hands me a cake and pushes a plate of pearly yellow shells and starfish across to me. ‘It’s good to see you’ve got your colour back again. Are you feeling better now you’ve seen the venue?’
I take a large bite through a mountain of buttercream and into the cupcake, and let the sweetness dissolve onto my tongue. ‘The old lifeboat station is fabulous.’ I say through the crumbs, leapfrogging the cheek issue and going straight for the important stuff. ‘But how the hell am I going to learn to handle crowds between now and Sunday?’
Poppy’s brow wrinkles as she thinks. ‘I’m free, so I’ve decided I’ll drive you over and stay to give you a hand.’
Immie chimes in. ‘Or if I jiggle a bit, I could make time too.’
‘Thanks for that. It will be a huge help having either of you there.’ Even though it’s really kind, I’m not sure Poppy should be offering, so I go back to my main problem. ‘The thing is, Jules’s bright blue eyes keep people mesmerised, especially when he’s organising the formal groups.’
Immie guffaws. ‘Aren’t you forgetting his famous dictator tactics?’
Poppy sends Immie a warning frown. ‘What you need is something to grab people’s attention, Hols, and I may have the answer.’ She dips into the table drawer. ‘I know it’s a bit Christmassy, but how about this?’ As she holds up her hand and shakes it, there’s a serious jingling.
‘A heart made from bells?’ I help myself to another two cupcakes to celebrate. ‘That’s brilliant.’
She nods. ‘I found it in with the tree decorations. Every photographer has their own unique method and this can be yours.’ She holds up a silver whistle, then blows a blast. ‘And this can be your second line of defence.’
Immie’s grinning. ‘Whistles and bells? I like your thinking, Pops.’
I’m almost excited. ‘It might just work.’
Poppy’s smiling at me. ‘If you use the head groomsman to round up the guests, I reckon you’ll crack it.’
‘Holy crap, beer-mobile alert!’ Immie’s cry comes through a mouthful of cupcake, as she peers at the window. ‘What is it with Rory? He won’t stay away.’
As Poppy catches my eye I leap into denial. ‘Today was every bit as awful as we both anticipated. Worse, even. So he’s definitely not coming to see me. One more day, then he’ll be free of the kids, and with any luck he’ll beetle off back to his brewery.’ Fingers and toes crossed on that one.
It’s getting to be a familiar sight. Rory, staggering in with Teddie clamped against his stomach, Gracie hanging off his finger. As they clatter into the kitchen, a burst of cold air comes in with them. Before I know it, Gracie’s elbowing her way up onto my knee, ramming a fluffy snowman into my hand and eyeing up my buns.
‘Cupcake, Gracie?’ As I pass her my spare, she takes it and shoves it straight in her mouth. ‘Would you like a starfish to go on that?’
She’s very serious as she licks her fingers. ‘I don’t like fish.’
I can’t help grinning. ‘You didn’t say that when you ate my smoked salmon.’
‘You’ve made a friend for life there, Gracie,’ Immie says.
Rory blows out a long breath. ‘Which might be a good thing. Given the circumstances.’
Poppy’s keeping her voice light, but her tone is concerned. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘It could be better.’ Rory shakes his head. ‘Apparently they aren’t going to discharge Erin tomorrow after all. So we’re stuck here till Monday. At least.’
‘Well, the cottage is there as long as you need it.’ Poppy’s got her comforting voice on. ‘Would a cupcake help?’
Immie’s straight in there. ‘Or there’s a crate of Bad Ass Santa in the office?’ She’s obviously got more of a measure of Rory’s state of mind with her offer. ‘Any plans for Sunday, then? I’ve heard Bizzy Bouncers is good at the weekends. Or you could go to Crazy Kids, or Fun World.’ Or maybe she hasn’t got him at all, given these suggestions.
‘Fun? For who?’ Rory looks as though he’s about to vomit.
There’s a glint in Poppy’s eye. ‘Or maybe Immie and I could manage here with the kids, and you could help Holly with the wedding in Port Giles. That could be a better distribution of labour.’
Hell no. Not this again. I let out a low moan. ‘Please let it be someone else.’
Immie joins in. ‘As Cornwall’s most popular guest you certainly know your way around weddings, Rorers. You’ve probably been to more ceremonies than Rafe and Kip put together.’
Poppy sighs. ‘A day here would be way less tiring for me, even with the kids here.’ Her eyes light up as she grins at Gracie. ‘We could do baking. Hey, how about we make snowman cupcakes?’
Rory’s face is a picture. ‘Or …’ Considering Fun World, or St Giles with me, he looks as if he’s been told to choose between having his nails pulled out or his teeth. Without anaesthetic. ‘Maybe I could help Poppy with the baking and Immie could do St Giles.’ His face crinkles into a smile as the thought takes shape.
For a few seconds we women all stare at each other.
‘So what do you think, Hols? Who would you like to take you, me or Rory?’ Immie’s up, hands on her hips, her Forget the truck, ride the firefighter t-shirt stretched tight across her boobs. If we were going for a fun night out in town, I wouldn’t be hesitating.
Poppy props her chin on her hands. ‘You know, Immie, you do a fabulous job here with the holiday cottages. But, you’d be the first to admit, you’re not strictly a front of house person.’
Rory’s laughing now. ‘Yes, Immie, with your colourful vocabulary and your knack for telling it how it is, you might easily lose it and end up telling the mother of the bride to stuff her ass hats and toad bollocks up her jac
ksy.’ He doesn’t seem to realise, if he carries on like this, he’s talking himself into a job here.
Immie’s suddenly indignant and the gloves are off. ‘Frig off, Sanderson. You might bribe your way into weddings with crates of beer, but losing count of the cars you’ve lost at sea is not a good look.’ She rolls her eyes, then gives a cough and flexes her biceps. ‘And don’t forget, I’m Arm Wrestling Champion of the Goose and Duck. My muscles are just right for lugging around equipment and sorting out trouble.’
I jump in, clutching at straws and clichés here. ‘Maybe Rafe or Kip could help me? Rory and I can’t bear to be in the same county, remember.’ If he had his own t-shirt, it would probably say Walking disaster area … with issues. Although, on second thoughts, of course it wouldn’t. We all know it would just say Dickhead. Plain and simple. ‘Actually, I’ll toss this back to Poppy to choose.’ I can’t possibly tell her how much I want her to be the one who comes.
Poppy folds her arms. ‘Sorry Hols, but you and Rory have both been to the venue. He’s got charm by the bucket load to use on the guests. And he does have a camera too.’
My stomach collapses. ‘You do?’ The camera came from left field. As for the charm, we all know I’ve yet to experience that personally.
Rory’s scowl is a lot bigger than his nod, so at a guess he’s regretting being the local Patrick Lichfield.
Immie shakes her head. ‘Flaming elephant balls, I’m out. In that case, Teddie’s mine.’
‘So that’s settled, then. Last call for jobs for Sunday?’ As Poppy looks around, beaming, I can’t quite believe what just happened.
As I pull down the corners of my mouth, I’m thinking I might have to do this on my own. ‘Tough luck, Rory. It’s a lose-lose situation.’
‘Back at you, Holly Berry.’
Which is great. Except when he comes across and gives me a conciliatory punch on the arm, the sudden blast of his body spray I get sends my stomach into freefall. Again.
Chapter 16
Sunday 10th December
In the attic kitchen at Brides by the Sea: With bells on
When I wake on Sunday morning, it’s to the sound of the landline ringing and the smell of toast and bacon. When I finally find the phone under my folded shirt and capri pants, it’s Poppy.
‘Hols, an early call to warn you that Rory’s on his way.’ Which sadly rubbishes the idea that she’s the one in the kitchen, making the fry-up.
My groan is loud and long. ‘Brilliant, thanks for that.’ Two seconds later, I’m out of bed, jumping at the sound of clashing crockery in the distance. ‘Actually, I think he’s already here.’
I stagger through to the kitchen, cursing that I’ve lost my opportunity to use the sticky cleansing strip on my nose to clean the last of Friday’s gunk out of my pores. As I rub my eyes into focus, Rory is clattering around by the cooker. ‘Is this an excuse to dump the kids off extra early? And do you know that’s Poppy’s second-best apron you’re wearing there?’ If I’m extra tetchy, it’s because he’s totally invaded my space. And also because as I take in a kitchen with so much mess it looks like Masterchef just happened, I’m thinking ahead to the washing up.
As he turns to me he’s grinning. ‘Lovely to see you too, Holly. I’m sure Poppy won’t mind lending her pinny to keep the photographer’s assistant’s chinos clean.’
‘But what are you doing? Apart from digging out every pan in the building.’ Poppy’s new maternity aprons are extra large. If I were trying to size up his bum in smart trousers, which I’m definitely not, I’d be limited to a couple of inches of dark fabric between the pink stripes.
‘Don’t worry, Holly B. I’ve got your back here, just like in the old days.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I’ve always looked out for you. We’re social pariahs who stuck together, and I’ll never forget that. Today might be tough, but we’ll tough it out together. For one day only.’ He’s waving a spoon like he’s been taking lessons from Jamie Oliver. ‘As for the cooking, I decided it’s sensible to have a precautionary breakfast.’
We both know he’s exaggerating the significance of our acquaintance here. And when was rational ever in his mind-set? ‘So how did the guy who was stupid enough to let his car float away on the tide suddenly become wise?’ I’m asking because it’s a valid question. Most clueless people stay that way for their whole life.
He narrows his eyes. ‘Let’s put you straight on a few things. My dad’s car got swept out to sea, not mine. And it definitely wasn’t accidental, it was deliberate payback. Me hitting him where it hurt most.’
Being let in on this direct action has me flinching. ‘Jeez, Rory, that’s a bit harsh.’ If people steered clear of me because Freya died and they didn’t know what to say to me, I never minded. As for his family feuds, I knew his parents weren’t together, but I had no idea it was so acrimonious.
He snaps back. ‘It was no less than he deserved. I’ll tell you about it sometime.’
‘I’ll take your word on that.’ I’m already struggling with the concept of baked beans this early. I can’t cope with any more spilled secrets. ‘At least the weather’s good.’ As I peep through the porthole, desperate to find something else to talk about, far below the sun is sparkling off the sea. Although I’m not about to give him credit for being right about the better weather today.
‘Scrambled eggs, wholemeal bagels, mushrooms and tomatoes okay for you?’ He’s already pulling out two stools and pouring coffee with the other hand.
‘Great.’ I blink, trying to wake up my appetite, as he slides two full plates across the tabletop. ‘Thanks.’
‘Bacon rashers? They’re chestnut smoked sweetcure. Fried bread, waffles.’ As he swings them over, he couldn’t be scrutinising my face any more closely if he were looking for blackheads. ‘You aren’t going to throw up with wedding jitters again are you?’
Again? That one word’s the giveaway. ‘You heard about the last time at Zoe’s wedding?’
At least he has the decency to look guilty. ‘Hasn’t everyone?’
That’s what I was afraid of. ‘Is there no privacy around here?’ Even as it comes out, in a foot- stamping rush, I know it’s a ridiculous question. In fact, it’s one I’ve known the answer to practically my whole life. And if that’s slipped my mind, it’s only because I’ve been away so long. ‘For the record, it wasn’t a nervous puke, it was something else entirely.’
He gives a rueful shrug. ‘Why else would we be sitting down to a decent, stomach-settling breakfast? Chucking up at a wedding is never good.’
As I hold up my hand, my stomach’s already squelching. ‘Enough, okay?’
His nostrils are twitching as he sits down and piles egg onto his fork. ‘At least I finally get to see what kind of pyjamas you wear. You always refused to tell me, back in the day.’ He’s holding back his laughter.
‘Quite bloody right too.’ Not that I remember him asking that specifically.
His brow wrinkles. ‘Whenever I imagined it, you were in a Wonder Woman onesie.’
I almost snort my coffee out of my nose at that. ‘Total bollocks. Onesies weren’t even invented then. And I’d never choose to wear that, because I’m not that kind of “zippy” or “out there”.’ I brush a crumb off my pyjama trousers and study the Eiffel Tower print.
He’s straight back. ‘That’s always been your problem. You could be zippy, if you’d only put the effort in.’
I completely sympathise with his frustration. Sometimes I even feel it myself. ‘But that’s just me. I like to think about things and then do them. Freya would have been more your kind of person. She’d have been fine zooming round in a Superman flying suit.’ What’s more, she wouldn’t have been fazed by anything as minor as wedding pictures. She’d have been gutsy enough to have been a war photographer, although in reality she probably wouldn’t have been free to do a job that minor, because she’d have been too busy ruling the world.
Rory gives a shudder. ‘Freya could b
e downright scary. You should have seen the way she laid into me when you first started getting the bus to senior school and she thought I might upset you. She was like a she-wolf protecting her cub.’ The way he’s talking about her so openly is lovely. Nothing can bring her back, but it’s great to be with someone who knew her well enough to remember her telling him off.
I laugh. ‘Feisty and fearless – that’s just how she was. It was awful once she wasn’t there to fight my battles for me.’ I don’t have to say it was awful in every other way too, because he was there. He already knows.
He’s looking thoughtful. ‘It’s a shame the “oomph” didn’t get shared out more equally. That way it would have saved her whipping my ass. I mean, look at your top …’
As I stare down at my boobs, I’m wishing we weren’t. ‘Don’t knock my Meet me in Paris jersey, it’s my favourite.’ It was damned hard to find any winter PJ’s that weren’t covered in reindeers or festive robins.
He puts down his fork, rests his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand and stares at me hard. ‘But would you really be up for meeting me in Paris?’
For a second my stomach flips. Then, as I crash back to earth and remember who the hell I’m talking to, my mind finally engages with my mouth. ‘Eff off, Rory. You know I wouldn’t.’
He smiles. ‘Exactly what I’m getting at. If you were a tiny bit wilder, you might start to enjoy life more. If you’re always scared and sensible you’re going to miss out on so much.’
‘Crap, Rory, I’m a stay-at-home person getting over a failed relationship. I’m not going to go running off with the first chancer who reads my pyjama top.’ It’s bad enough us going to Port Giles together. If Rory were the last available guy in Cornwall, I seriously doubt if I’d go as far as Plymouth with him, let alone Paris.
‘Why wear it, if you don’t mean it, Berry?’ He gives another of those challenging stares he’s so great at.
For crying out loud. ‘Get real, Rory, it’s a meaningless printed slogan, not a manifesto. If I hadn’t been avoiding Christmas it would most probably have been a snowflake, okay? And given it’s on my sleepwear, most people wouldn’t get to see it anyway.’ Good points well made. It’s not exactly like I’m parading it around Jaggers.
