by Jane Linfoot
Chapter 27
Friday 15th December
The double wedding at Rose Hill Manor: Shouting, shouting and more shouting
When I suggested Saffy should take the day in thirty second bites, it turns out that’s a pretty good strategy. In the end that’s how I cope with my own fear too. As the day goes by, I’m picking up that there’s a close link between how well the wedding’s rolling and how the photography goes too. They’re both about close control and impeccable timing. With Kip, Rafe and Lily determinedly on top of the job from the wedding management side, and Rory literally calling the shots from our side, we’re nailing this one all the way. What once promised to be the mother of all days, in fact goes like well-oiled, proverbial clockwork.
We have two ceremonies, two happy couples and two confetti shots. Saffy and Travis have theirs on the terrace, while Sophie and Taylor opt for the coach house courtyard. In the end the group shots I’ve been tearing my hair out over for ten days turn out to be easy as cupcakes. We just keep the groups and swap the couples. And with Rory and twelve groomsmen on hand to call on for rounding up the guests, it’s a walk in the park. How did I not think of that before? There’s one humungous shot of everyone outside, which I take leaning out of the open landing window, with Kip hanging onto my feet and Rory on crowd control down below.
Then, while all the guests are downing Prosecco like there’s no tomorrow, Rory and I and both happy couples go for a walkabout in the grounds, which is blissfully short, because despite three fake-fur jackets between us, everyone’s freezing their bums off. Then the party moves onto the main reception and I’m back on fabulously safe ground with the most amazing plated food and some relaxed candid-couple pics. Then hours later, when the meal ends, everyone pours into the Winter Garden bar again to get stuck into the barrels of beer, courtesy of Roaring Waves. Which is the point when everything begins to unravel.
Traditionally speeches take place after the wedding breakfast – or in this case the five-course feast on a theme of Christmas. When I said I’d rather have a bridezilla than a runaway, that was obviously before I saw Sophie warming up to her post-wedding breakfast melt-down.
She’s tapping her right Christian Louboutin as she looks around the empty ballroom. ‘Why the hell has everyone effed off to the effing bar? They should be at the tables for the frigging speeches.’ Seems like the twin with the longest eyelashes, the most princessy hair and the brightest lippy also has the shortest fuse. Or possibly she’s the most invested. ‘It’s my effing wedding, not a sodding rugby club knees-up.’
Kip dashes across at the first agitated murmur and his tone couldn’t be any more calming. ‘It’s the momentary problem of the bar being in the Winter Garden not the ballroom, Sophie. But you really need that extra party space later, with so many evening guests. I’m sure we’ll persuade them to come back through as soon as everyone’s topped up their glasses.’
Sophie gives a snarl. ‘I don’t give a damn about later. If the speeches don’t happen immediately – like, now – there isn’t going to be a “tonight”.’
Jules stresses that as photographers it’s our job to record every part of the day as it unfolds. But will Sophie really want to be reminded of looking like Cruella de Vil on a bad day, in mid- tantrum? I’m fiddling with my shutter speed as I agonise, when a scorching glare from Sophie answers my question for me, so I put my lens cap on again.
Her fuming has moved on to a wail. ‘How can they be so rude … they’ve completely wrecked my day … someone tell them all to get back here … RIGHT NOW!’ As she stomps towards the door, I can’t help feeling for Bart’s polished wood floor getting impaled with every thud of those designer spikes.
Saffy pushes back a stray strand of hair and lets out a sigh. ‘Trav and I wanted the speeches before the wedding breakfast, so the speakers would be fresh not wasted.’ She’s whispering to me, although after Sophie’s howls, I’m not sure why. ‘Sophie insisted no one was allowed to get shit- faced, so speeches later weren’t a problem.’ Given these are rugby players, with a penchant for drinking each other under proverbial tables, then puking and starting all over again, you have to wonder where Sophie got her delusions from.
Whatever, Sophie’s now storming off in the direction of the bridal suite with a posse of black- clad bridesmaids, followed by a rather worried Taylor, who grabs Kip for his wingman, as all his groomsmen are otherwise occupied.
Travis shrugs at Rory. ‘Tits-up was not the plan for this running order.’
Rory has to bear some responsibility seeing as it’s his beer they’re in the bar drinking en masse. Especially given the groomsmen who should be leaping in to pour proverbial oil on the same kind of troubled waters, are all in the bar necking Santa’s Little Helper along with the best of them.
‘Great.’ Rory says. ‘Leave this to me. I’ll sort it.’ As he marches off to the Winter Garden, Travis pulls his hand out of Saffy’s and follows him too.
Saffy gets hold of a bottle of fizz from an ice bucket. ‘Do you want a drink while you’re waiting?’
I shake my head. ‘Better not.’ The end of my day is still hours away. After the speeches, so long as we still have brides, that is, there’s the cake cutting and then casual bridesmaids’ and groomsmen’s poses to organise. It’s like a record playing in my head. Then the first dance and the disco and band.
Saffy looks around the almost deserted ballroom. ‘Sit down and keep me company while we wait. Soph will be down as soon as she’s had a chance to cool off.’
I know maybe I should be leaping around, trying to find cute kids hiding under tables or playing in corners. But looking after bride number two seems equally important. ‘I’m sure it’ll all start up again soon.’ I’m trying my best to be reassuring. But seeing as we’re the only people here, that might be over optimistic.
I pull up a chair next to Saffy and we sit together, quietly watching the numbers flipping by on our phones. After twenty minutes Saffy sits back and folds her arms. ‘The guys are taking a while.’ She pulls a face. ‘We might need to try out some girl power here. What do you think?’
I grin at the thought. ‘I’m up for it, if you are.’ Not that we’ll get very far. I’ve a feeling that Saffy’s as much of a shade girl as me.
Saffy laughs as if she’s read my mind. ‘Usually Sophie’s the ass-kicker and I’m the one who loves chocolate cake. But today I dared to get married. So maybe I’m on a roll.’ She pulls herself up and high-fives me. ‘C’m on. Let’s go gedd’em.’
From the way she’s tottering in her heels, this could be the Champagne talking. But I grab my bag and follow her anyway. As we have to force our way through the crowd by the Winter Garden door to get in, I’m asking myself whatever happened to priority for the bride? I’m shouting at her over my shoulder as I squeeze through the doorway ahead of her. ‘This is the place to be, it’s heaving.’ When we finally emerge into a space, I find I’m staring up into two familiar faces. ‘Hey, Ken, and Gary, are you having a good time?’ Seeing they’re both clasping a Mr and Mrs Roaring Waves bottle in each hand, with a label for each happy couple, I barely need to ask that.
Judging by Gary’s beady eyed glance and flaring nostrils, he’s after gossip. ‘Holly, fab to bump into you again. With all the sagas of chocolate fountains and alpine fondues, you have to update us. Has Jess got her ring yet?’
I know now’s not the time to chat, but sometimes it’s the fastest way of moving on. ‘Last night Bart popped a cork while they were suspended over a chasm in a cable car, but Jess was still gasping at views, not a Tiffany box.’ This was the eight o’clock call that interrupted my bacon sandwich this morning.
Ken’s lapping it up. ‘All this mountain air, excitement and exercise, she’ll come back a changed woman.’
Gary flutters his eyelashes as he looks down at me. ‘Talking of changes, whatever you’re doing to our cutie-pants Rory, keep up the good work. He’s one happy bunny lately.’
I’m blinking at Gary, because
I’ve no idea what he means. ‘That must be the children.’
Ken taps his nose. ‘Santa knows it’s more to do with the little present we delivered to the wedding shop on our first day out with Nuttie and the cart.’
Garry nudges me with his free elbow. ‘Look, he’s over there, waving at you now.’ He gives me a wink and puckers up his lips. ‘Isn’t he a total dreamboat in a tux?’ As we both know to our cost, the transformation is incredible. It’s like someone just took my eye mask off, and I can suddenly see Rory, the smoking hot version I’ve been blocking out all these years. I must say, it’s a lot easier as a photographer, when you don’t want to grab your helper just because his tush looks so edible.
From a distance, Rory’s face is all stubble shadows and cheekbones. Then, when his eyes lock onto mine they crinkle. As his face lights up and he pushes back his hair, his smile zings straight across the room and zaps me right in the stomach.
Ken rolls his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Eyes off, Mr Naughty, Rory’s all Holly’s now. We don’t want her getting all prickly and jealous.’
Despite reeling from the shock, I manage a loud squawk of protest. ‘Help yourself, guys, he’s nothing to do with me.’ At one time the rush of heat to my cheeks would be entirely about my inability to cope. But this time it’s more about fury. At Rory, for daring to go AWOL for the last half hour when he was supposed to be rounding up guests. Then for launching that exocet of a grin. At myself for letting my insides turn to molten treacle, when I haven’t even got alcohol as an excuse.
As I look at Saffy beside me, my eyes are flashing. ‘Shall we deal with this, now we’re here?’ Let’s face it, no one else is going to get this wedding back on track. This one’s down to us.’
She shakes her hair as she gives a shiver of anticipation. ‘Over to you, Hols …’
I’ve got no idea what she’s expecting me to do, but I go for the most powerful tool I have on me. I dip my hand in my bag and close my fingers around the bells. Then I listen to the roar of laughter and chat all around me, drop the bells and grab the whistle. The breath I drag in is so deep, my lungs feel like they’re bursting. Then I put it to my lips and blow as long and hard as I can.
The noise is shrill and horribly loud. But the effect is startling. A second later, the silence is huge, gaping and somehow echoing off the high ceiling as I stare at Saffy and hiss, ‘Go on, then!…’
She opens and closes her mouth, and although there’s no sound coming out, the way she’s blinking at me, eyes wide and desperate, I know what she wants me to do.
I screw up every tiny bit of courage I have. Which, to be honest, isn’t a lot. Then, without even thinking what to say, I yell. ‘Everyone … go next door … it’s time for the talking … thank you, ladies and gentlemen … very muchly … please … now … hurry …’
There’s exactly the kind of clatter you’d expect from two hundred feet hitting floorboards, and then Rory’s sidling towards us, camera and rolled up tie in his hand.
‘Thanks very muchly for that, Berry, beautifully done. I was just about to do it myself.’ Which has to be a hundred per cent bollocks. So no change there, then.
‘Why the hell have you got a bottle of beer in your jacket pocket, Rory?’ Thank jeez I’m cross with him. I’d hate to be wondering what the inside of his mouth tastes like if I wasn’t. As for eyeing up his Adam’s apple and the vulnerable bit of his neck where his shirt buttons end. Well, seeing he’s my assistant here, that may well count as sexual harassment.
He gives a low laugh. ‘Long story. The girls’ grandma was feeling queasy and I had to rescue her. Aren’t we supposed to be hurrying here?’ If his arm’s somehow across the small of my back, it’s obviously only to speed us along. ‘Hey, I forgot to tell you we’ve found Teddie’s other sweet spot. You’ll never guess. Go on, have a try …’
I screw up my face. ‘Really, I have no idea.’ And neither has he, if he’s asking me this now. With St Aidan’s wedding of the year about to re-boot, am I likely to have the spare brain capacity?
‘Wheatus signing Teenage Dirt Bag.’ His grin couldn’t be any more delighted as he pulls out his phone. ‘Here, I took a video of him watching it.’
The frown I send him is designed to close him down and it works.
‘Okay. Sorry, Berry. I know we’ve got a wedding to go to.’ His brow wrinkles and his arm’s back again and as he dips down his lips almost brush against my ear. ‘Great work back there, by the way. Time for the talking, then?’
Chapter 28
Monday 18th December
At Snowy Pines Christmas Tree Farm: Splashes and wet hankies
‘So we’re here for two trees, in any colour but blue,’ Rory says, as he turns off the main road.
I know getting hauled off to buy Christmas trees isn’t exactly in line with my festive boycott. But when Rory waltzed in shortly after lunch, bringing Poppy to cover at the shop for a couple of hours, they were both insistent. With two of them ganging up on me again, it was easier to come than resist. In a way they were right. After two and a half days solid at the laptop, sorting the twins’ pictures to send off to Jules, I was more than ready for a break. In the end it was hard to let them go, because some of the pictures were so pretty it was hard to believe I’d taken them. But then tomorrow it’s Seth and Katie’s ski wedding, and the whole damned business starts all over again. Three down. I can’t believe there are still two to go.
For some reason known only to Rory, who’s being bizarrely secretive this afternoon, he’s chosen to approach Snowy Pines Christmas Tree Farm by the private back entrance. If it’s a boy-excuse to have fun driving down half a mile of rutted lane, that part’s working a treat. Every time the beer-mobile hits a puddle, the mud sluices high up the windows. And every time it happens Gracie and Teddie, encouraged by Rory, scream like banshees.
In fairness, the kids were pretty hyped up before the tidal splashes started, due to the special sing-along soundtrack Rory’s made them. All their new favourite songs, plus a few of his own. It’s thanks to this gem of a collection we’ve spent the entire journey shouting along to Slade’s Merry Christmas, Karma Chameleon, Let It Go, plus Teddie’s YouTube sweet spot favourites.
As we round yet another bend, and the S Club 7 crew burst into Reach for the Stars, he takes a moment off from steering wheel tapping and grins across at me. ‘Good isn’t it? I’ve put this one on yours too, Berry.’
It would be rude not to ask. ‘What the heck are you on about?’
His grin gets even broader. ‘My girlie playlist, dedicated especially to you, currently under construction.’
A boy’s-eye view of music girls like? I let out a snort. ‘You have way too much time on your hands, Rory. I can’t wait to see what you come up with for that.’ Seeing that we’ve all had to stick our fingers in our ears while Rory insisted on screaming out the high bits in A Thing Called Love along with Justin, from the Darkness, I’m really not hopeful about his choices.
Although, you have to give him some credit. If happy kids were what he was aiming for, he’s nailed it here with Gracie and Teddie. It’s hard to think, sitting in the cosy, baby-wipe-scented fug of the car that a week from now, this will all be over. No more beer-mobile. The kids will be home with Erin. Rory will be in Bristol and then off to his barns. And I’ll be thinking about heading back to my skanky flat and London. For some ridiculous reason, that brings on a strange twang in my chest. I ignore it and instead make myself do a mental cheer, complete with fist waving. Why the hell am I feeling like shit and missing the best bit? No more wedding stress, ever. How great will that be?
As we carry on bumping down the lane, the more excited the squeals from Gracie and Teddie, the faster Rory goes. By the time we jump down from the car in a wide yard that’s completely rammed with every kind and size of Christmas tree you can imagine, the blue waves on the car are completely obliterated by dripping sludge.
As I take Gracie’s hand, I nod at Rory’s mud splattered logo. ‘If you’re hop
ing for publicity, you might need a hose pipe?’
Rory’s already striding across the concrete. ‘Nope, today’s all about pleasure, not business.’ He’s got Teddie clamped in the crook of his elbow. ‘We’ll get the trees first.’
‘You want two?’ Is that what he said before?
He nods. ‘One for Poppy’s kitchen, one for Home Brew Cottage, because the way Erin’s going, the kids will be here a lot of the week. She’s still not well enough to come home yet.’ He wiggles his eyebrows at Gracie. ‘Gracie and I were hoping you’d help us decorate it later?’
Gracie chimes in. ‘With balls … . and snowmans … and twinkle lights …’
Rory looks at her as seriously as she’s staring up at him. ‘We’ll get twinkle lights from the shop later, okay?’
Gracie’s voice brightens. ‘And soft poop too.’
‘Soft poop?’ If it’s possible to frown and retch at the same time, that’s what I’m doing.
Rory pulls a face. ‘Soft scoop is her euphemism for Häagen Dazs. Keep up, Auntie Hols. Super-appetising, isn’t it? This girl has expensive tastes.’
‘Moving on before I vom,’ I say. ‘That tree pile has to be the most massive in the world, ever.’
Rory shakes his head. ‘It was way bigger before, this is a huge operation. Only a week before Christmas, these are just the leftovers.’ He stares down at Gracie again. ‘We need hats too, don’t we?’
Gracie nods. ‘One for me and one for Hols.’
I’m frowning again. ‘Why?’
Rory takes a deep breath. ‘To keep your earsies warm. Isn’t that what hats do? Unless you’re Marilyn and wearing a fascinator, of course.’ He pauses to shudder. ‘Ten minutes outside at Rose Hill’s one thing. All day at a beach wedding, you’ll be freezing your butt off. A hat’s non-negotiable.’
