Christmas Promises at the Little Wedding Shop

by Jane Linfoot

I can’t resist a grin. ‘Hey, Roaring One, it’s not just “Luc the puke”. You’ve got a rhyming name too.’ Not that I would usually have brought Luc up, but this was too good to miss.

  Rory laughs as he pulls out the high chair and throws a handful of cutlery onto the pine table. ‘Gory Rory will be Story Rory later. After dinner and before bed. Aren’t stories meant to put everyone to sleep?’

  Gracie pipes up. ‘Not Gory Rory, it’s Rory Waves.’

  I’m busy smiling at that when it hits me. This is Rory’s way of not doing this in front of me. Not that he’s the kind of guy who’s ever been bothered by an audience. But I understand if he wants to read to the kids by himself. So we wolf our mains – and yes, of course he cooks like a demon. If there was ever a day when Rory exposed himself as a keeper for someone, it had to be this one. And Poppy’s completely right, as usual. Rory, old and alone, and living above his barrels is a complete waste of the most fantastic guy. Let’s face it, how many guys ever take you to see a reindeer, or produce a herb marinade? Pulling off both feats within six hours is nothing short of extraordinary. So when we’ve licked the very last of the Häagen Dazs off our pudding spoons, I jump in with my tactful suggestion.

  ‘Right, I’ll clear up, so you three can disappear to bed with your books.’

  Rory’s wail is at least as loud as Gracie’s. ‘But we want you to listen and join in too, Berry. We’ll do it in here.’ He wedges Teddie in the same place on the sofa, flops down next to him and grabs a book. ‘Okay, Gracie, which one shall we start with?’

  I collect the plates as quietly as I can and hurry around the island. I’m about to open the dishwasher and start popping things in, when something catches my eye. Gracie’s up on the sofa. But instead of taking up her usual position, with a good two cushions of clear water between her and Rory, she’s moving towards him. I know it sounds like a cliché, but I’m standing, open mouthed, as I watch. Because she still hasn’t stopped. And rather than sneaking in beside him, she’s carrying on. I can see Rory holding his breath as she clambers across his legs, ducks under his arm, then settles herself down sideways on his knee. As her shoulder comes to rest against his chest, Rory’s face slides into the biggest smile ever. He’s biting his lip and as I watch him swallow, there are goosebumps on the back of my neck.

  ‘Okay, are you going to choose a book …’

  ‘I think …’ Gracie fumbles with the pile. ‘This one … The Holly Postman …’

  So much for being a photographer. One of the most simple, yet beautiful moments I’ve witnessed in my life. All the thousands of pounds worth of camera equipment I’ve got back at the flat. And I’m bobbing down, pretending to pick a mushroom up off the floor, waggling my phone. But when I look at it later I know this one of Rory’s best moments yet is too private and precious for my own public collection. This one’s going to have to go in the velvet book in the back pocket of my make-up bag. With the picture of Freya and me, helpless with laughter, that was taken the month before she got ill.

  Chapter 30

  Sunday 17th December

  In Home Brew Cottage at Daisy Hill Farm: Postcodes and dropping stomachs

  ‘Okay, Holly Postman …’

  ‘Rory …’ It’s a warning shot across his proverbial bows. He might have leaped up from his lowest base, what with his reindeer and his cooking, but one wrong move and he’ll be back down to the bottom faster than you can say ‘abseil’.

  ‘What?’ His voice is high with mock indignation. ‘If you don’t want new nicknames you should be more careful which books you choose.’

  I grit my teeth, because his low laugh has sent a shiver down my spine. ‘This is me, testing out my assertiveness.’

  ‘Great. Well done on that one. Butt-kick noted and applauded, five stars on Trip Advisor. But really, Holly Postman’s too funny not to use it. So Holly Postman …’

  I give in. ‘What?’

  He clears his throat. ‘Immie popped in while you were in the bedroom settling Gracie down.’

  That doesn’t really describe the raucous half hour we just had, although it did end up with her and Teddie sparked out. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear her come in.’

  ‘She’s really embracing the relaxation thing. She was on her way back from Serene Swimming by Candlelight, but she came to say she and Chas will run you back to town around nine. So you might as well sit down.’ His lips are twisting as he nods to the sofa beside him. ‘We heard you, even if you didn’t hear us.’

  Quite apart from getting stuck here for longer than I’d intended, as I perch on the edge of the sofa next to him I’m wilting inside. ‘Let it go?’ Once we started singing, it was hard to give a damn.

  His beam breaks out into a laugh. ‘It wasn’t like you were singing anything else.’ Then without even teasing me, he’s suddenly serious again. ‘So where had you and Little Richard got to on the kid question? You never actually said. Did someone mention a pregnancy scare?’

  It might have come out of nowhere, but I can tell he’s not going to back down. Sometimes it’s easiest to tell him what he wants to know, and move on. ‘We hadn’t actually discussed it. But I’m pretty sure kids didn’t feature in his future life plans.’ The only time he ever mentioned kids was when he was midway into his rather long proposal speech. Before he got to the point where I scuttled across the room and bolted out of the back door and down the long drive out onto the road, his mum had squealed something about grandchildren. But Luc had closed her down with one of those glares of his, then said a family was not on his agenda. ‘Why are you asking that now?’ At the time I didn’t mind, because I’d never seen many kids. Whereas after two weeks of dealing with Gracie and Teddie, I’m starting to feel very differently.

  He shrugs. ‘If he’s on his way back, it’s good to keep it real.’ His expression is perplexed. ‘Not talking to each other’s bad enough, but he was denying you kids too?’

  There are times when this local right for involvement in people’s private business gets way too much. ‘And you care about this because?’

  He lets out a sigh. ‘It seems a pity, that’s all. Given how good you are with Gracie and Teddie. You don’t want to leave it too late and end up like Immie and Erin.’

  Who aren’t similar at all. ‘Seeing as you’re so concerned with fertility issues, what about yours?’ I have zero interest in the subject, but it might teach him that being grilled isn’t pleasant.

  His wince is visible. ‘I told you, since the brain injury I don’t have relationships. So there definitely won’t be any kids for me.’

  Shit, and shit again, because whatever he says, he didn’t tell me the half of it. ‘You hurt your brain? That’s why Marilyn covered you in lippy? What the hell happened?’

  He gives a rueful grin. ‘All those wrecked cars when I was a teenager, and the one time I did bash my head, it wasn’t me driving.’

  ‘Was it really bad, then?’

  He laughs. ‘I’m still here, aren’t I? Apparently, the coma lasted weeks and when I woke up I couldn’t move or remember anything. But the body has an amazing ability to recover.’ He gives a grimace. ‘After a couple of years of rehab, most things worked again.’

  ‘Crap, Rory. Why didn’t you say?’

  His brow crinkles. ‘Why would I? That’s where the YouTube clips are from. The Fight for this love clip was the first thing I laughed at, when they were trying to get me to reconnect with my emotions. I keep it on my iPad for old time’s sake. It’s great it’s come in handy again.’

  I’m biting my lip because the thought of the most vibrant guy I know cut down and hurting makes my chest ache. ‘But you’re better now?’ He has to be, sitting there like nothing happened.

  As he folds his arms, it’s as if he’s explained this a thousand times before. ‘I’m great so long as I don’t read too much, or make my brain process too much information at once. I did try going back to my old job, but that wasn’t ever going to be a goer.’

  ‘But weren’t you a top la
wyer?’ How awful is this? ‘And that’s why you can’t play sport any more?’

  He nods. ‘Once I got better, hanging round watching my work friends in Bristol tearing ahead with their careers was the biggest headfuck of all. So I came back here instead and put all my energy into Huntley and Handsome, and then Roaring Waves. The world’s definitely a better place now I’m selecting wines and making beer.’ It’s typical of Rory to pull the best out of the worst.

  I’m kicking myself for writing him off as an eternal teenager having a midlife crisis. ‘Without your accident, there’d be no Bad Ass Santa and Jess wouldn’t have her fabulous Prosecco deal.’ I chew on my nail as I puzzle to fit the pieces together. ‘But why stop seeing women? I thought all guys in rehab fell in love with their physiotherapists.’

  This sigh is the longest. ‘Even though I recovered, the trauma meant my brain was extra vulnerable. They couldn’t guarantee I wasn’t going to have another brain bleed at any moment.’ As he turns to look at me, my stomach drops. ‘It wasn’t fair to lay that one on a partner.’

  No wonder Marilyn was rubbing his head. I’m looking at the stubble on his cheeks and the soft brown eyes and the dimples. And his jaw, and the way, even when he isn’t smiling, he looks like he is. And thinking about how he might not have been here at all sends my chest into a peculiar kind of spasm. My heart’s breaking so much for the way his life’s been so screwed up, all I want to do is reach out. Put my hand on his cheek. Run my fingers through his hair, so I can feel the heat of his scalp and know he’s alive. I wedge my wrist under my knee, because touching him is the last thing I want to do.

  ‘So Holly Christmas …’

  As he turns to me, I’m close enough to see the flecks in his irises, count the individual eyelashes. As he licks his lip and swallows, I’m watching the column of his neck so closely that somehow I ease the grip on my wrist. A second later, his stubble is rubbing against my palm and my fingertips are tingling as they scrape across his cheekbone. As my fingers entwine in his hair and he slowly leans towards me, his voice is low.

  ‘Good call, Berry …’

  However much I was hyperventilating at weddings, this is different. The breath I’ve pulled in is so long, I’ve stopped breathing altogether and all I can hear is my heart banging against my chest wall. Then the tiniest, most tentative, knock on the door makes me lurch back so hard I almost yank Rory’s hair out.

  ‘Shit.’ I dive back to the end of the sofa.

  ‘Jeez.’ Rory’s hand finds mine and just for a second he squeezes, very hard. Then as the door swings open and Poppy tiptoes in he pulls away too.

  She’s talking in a whisper, so she doesn’t disturb the kids. ‘Holly, great, you’re still here.’ She stops as she takes in the tree in the corner. ‘Wow, so pretty, cool reindeer.’

  Rory hits the ground running. ‘All we need now are some snowmen. I thought I’d make some origami ones this evening.’

  I’m frowning at him. ‘How do you know about origami?’ I think we’ve got away with that. However much he’s tugging at my heartstrings, rubbing the face of a guy who doesn’t want to date any more isn’t great judgement. When it feels that good and I’m actually supposed to be aching for my long-lost ex to turn up, it’s bonkers. Marilyn can afford to let her hands wander. But I can’t. I need to sit on them more successfully in future.

  ‘It was an obsession when I was nine. Around the same time I got my electric guitar and my first tractor. Leave the snowmen to me, they’ll be on the tree by morning.’

  Poppy’s flapping her hands as she tries to break into the conversation. ‘Holly, we need to go to St Aidan.’ She stops, then her voice goes higher. ‘Like, really really fast, right now.’

  I jump up and pull on my jacket. ‘Is there a problem?’ I let out a gasp. ‘Omigod, is the baby coming?’ From her agonised grimace, if it’s not labour, it has to be something cataclysmic.

  She closes her eyes, takes a breath, flaps her fingers in front of her face, and when she looks at me again, her smile’s bright and she’s got her best customer service voice on. ‘At Brides by the Sea, we choose our phrases very carefully at the less-easy times. We have issues, not problems. And never disasters.’

  ‘So?’ I rack my brain to find some acceptable vocabulary. ‘What’s the calamity?’

  Her face lapses back into the ‘holy crap’ expression. ‘Bloody Marilyn’s chopped the bottom off Katie’s wedding dress.’ The way she’s panting sounds horribly like something off One Born Every Minute.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not having contractions?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ She breaks off to give a sniff of disgust, then clamps her hand to her bump and squints at me. ‘Did you know I was coming? It’s just you’ve already got your hat on.’

  How do I explain that one without wasting half an hour? ‘Women’s intuition?’ When she seems to accept that I go on. ‘On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?’

  She doesn’t have to stop to think. ‘Twenty four.’

  Ew. ‘Twenty four, where bad is high?’ It’s so far off the scale, it’s worth clarifying.

  ‘Yeah.’ As she nods frantically, her eyes are popping. ‘The thing is, Lily’s still here working on the barn, Sera’s on the night train back from an appointment in London. So that only leaves you and me.’ She’s back to the mouse squeaks. ‘And we have thirteen tiny hours to make this okay.’

  What is it about weddings? They just keep giving and giving.

  Chapter 31

  Sunday 17th December

  At Brides by the Sea: Shortcuts

  By the time we’ve all got to the shop and Katie’s standing in the White Room in her dress and her platforms, Poppy’s totally nailed her soothing tones again.

  ‘We’re all going to stay super-composed here, Katie. At Brides by the Sea we pride ourselves on delivering happy outcomes. And we’re absolutely going to achieve one of those this evening.’ She puts a glass of amber liquid on the console table. ‘Sip this, it’ll help.’

  After a mini debate in the kitchen, we decided, with the wedding tomorrow, we’d go for a relaxing Pimms and apple juice Winter Warmer, rather than Jess’s usual ‘hard times’ cocktail of neat gin laced with Rescue Remedy.

  Katie’s chewing her knuckles and her nose is like a beacon as she stares down at her skirt and mumbles. ‘It’s too short for the kitten heels, it’s not even working with flats.’ However much Seth wanted her electric blue platforms at the ceremony, I’m sure he didn’t want to see this much of them. As the dress is now, after Marilyn’s ill-judged, high-speed hacking session on Friday morning, the hem is bobbing around her ankle bone. You don’t have to be Yves St Laurent to know it’s not a good look.

  Poppy’s got her inner serene goddess well and truly channelled here. ‘So, let’s explore the options, very calmly, one by one.’ She’s sticking up her fingers as she talks. ‘Pulling the skirt to sit lower isn’t going to work. We definitely don’t want to chop another foot off and make it properly short, we agree the ankle skimming isn’t working, and adding a longer petticoat looks wrong too.’ She pauses and goes again. ‘We know all your mini snowflake sequins were specially added. We do have a longer skirt here we could substitute, but it hasn’t got snowflakes on it.’

  Katie’s wail is teensy, but it’s still a wail. ‘But the snowflakes are what make it m-i-ne.’ Her bottom lip is trembling. ‘Without them I could be any old bride, but those make me feel like a mountain princess.’

  Even as I wave my arm around the long rail of dresses beside me, I know the answer. ‘Any of the above?’

  This time it’s a proper wail. ‘Nooooooooooooo!’

  Poppy and I are exchanging private despairing grimaces when the shop door slams. As we hold our breaths to listen, there’s a loud stomping in the hallway and a familiar booming voice.

  ‘Talk about SOS, What’s your Emergency? Don’t worry, whatever shitheap you’ve landed in, I’m here to pull you out.’ She gives a cough. ‘I’ve done three meditation
classes and a power napping course today. I’m beyond ready to concentrate my mind.’

  ‘Immie.’ Poppy’s throat cutting signs are going entirely unheeded as Immie bursts through from the hall.

  She stands and assesses the damage, with her hands on her hips. ‘Rory told me you’re up to your armpits in disaster, and trumping toad farts, he’s not joking. What the hell happened there, Katie? You look like you’ve been out limboing with a hedge trimmer.’ She’s never one to hold back, but we could really do with a less forthright summing up. She couldn’t have fitted more banned words into one sentence if she tried.

  ‘I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.’ I’m looking out at the street lights washing the mews outside with pale light, cringing with guilt.

  Poppy turns to me, her voice firm. ‘No, Hols, when you let the dress leave the shop you had no idea this was going to happen. We’ve all agreed, there’s only one person responsible for this debacle. And that’s Marilyn.’

  Immie’s eyes are wide. ‘Marilyn did that? Frig Precisely Peaceful, my inner beauty’s going to have to take a running jump. What an elephant-arse bitch queen … troglodyte mayonnaise … head slapper …’ She stares round at us, shaking her head. ‘Truly, there are no words.’

  In some ways, she might have been better to have started with the last bit.

  Poppy raises her eyebrows and turns to Katie. ‘I’m sorry, I was hoping for more up-beat input there.’

  Katie shakes her head. ‘Not at all. It’s great to hear you telling it how it is, Immie. Actually, it really helps.’

  Immie gives her a searching stare. ‘You are sure you know what you’re getting into, marrying Marilyn’s son?’

  I’m flashing Poppy a ‘what the hell?’ look. From my really, really limited experience, I’d say you don’t ask a woman that question any time within six months of her wedding, let alone the night before. If there’s one thing in life more wobbly than a jelly, it’s a bride.

  Katie lets out a sigh. ‘I do know, and Seth’s completely worth it. Coping with his mum is our joint mission in life.’