by Jane Linfoot
‘Great, help yourself.’ Rafe almost spins on his wellies, but at the last minute he turns back. ‘By the way, our friend Fred was asking if I’d seen you. He mentioned a shirt? And a date?’
Crap. ‘Tell him no worries, it’s on its way to the ironing pile.’ Which sounds a whole lot better than, ‘It’s in the washing bag’. The down side of washing it is that I’ll have to get in touch to give it back. As for the date part, I blank that.
As Rafe heads off, Poppy leads the way from the stone built farmhouse, up towards the holiday cottages. By the time we reach a courtyard that’s so picturesque it could have come off a vintage biscuit tin, I can see her smile bursting out. ‘What’s this? Still hanging on to Fred’s shirt?’ She lets her laugh go. ‘Seriously though, have you noticed how much like Jules he smells?’
I shrug, to show how completely not interested I am. ‘Except not so over-powering.’
It’s amazing how she’s completely at home here, in her waxed jacket and a sloppy jumper I suspect belongs to Rafe, with Jet the dog wagging along beside her. Her red spotty wellies are the only hint of her townie past.
As we reach a long low building, and she pushes her way through a grey plank door, a rush of warm air wafts out. ‘We’ve got a couple of spare rooms next to the farm office. See what you think.’
I follow her into a whitewashed space, and gaze up at the high sloping ceilings. ‘Nice beams. And it’s a lot cleaner than I was expecting.’ I’m surprised it smells of fabric conditioner, not cow’s bottoms.
‘Clean? Why wouldn’t it be? My crack team keep the whole farm chuffing spotless.’ A throaty voice is coming from behind a mountain of sheets that’s wobbling towards us across the cobbles. A glossy black high-heeled Hunter ankle boot comes out and kicks the door open wider. ‘You’re next to the laundry too, so it’s warm and dry.’ As the sheets land on the floor, Immie’s broad face appears, and she flings a punch at me. ‘Great to see you back again, Lily. Let’s hope it’s for keeps this time.’
I’m rubbing my arm, but I caught a flash of purple along with the left hook. ‘You haven’t chosen a ring yet then?’ Of all our friends, Immie’s the one who never left, and who wants us all back in the village. Forever. She won’t be happy if she gets the idea that I’m just passing through, which is why I’m moving the subject on.
When she puts her hands on her hips, and rolls her eyes, she looks just like she used to when we were all at infant school. That was in the days before my mum dragged the family up in the world, when we lived in a higgledy-piggledy cottage down in the village. And when the older lads made life hell for me and my brother, because our mum called us ‘dahling’ very loudly, and insisted on giving us goodbye kisses all the way along the playground over the wall, and toothbrushes to clean our teeth after school lunch, Immie was the one who kicked them into line. Literally.
Immie rubs her knuckles on her jeans, polishing the chunky perspex. ‘I’m marrying a fireman, so it’s like evacuating a burning building. There’s a strict order of priority. Even when organising a wedding. But Poppy had a gap in the farmhouse wedding book in mid-August, so we grabbed that. And we nailed fabulous Jules for the photos. We definitely want it to be different from Chas’s last “do”.’
The wedding-that-never-happened was a mega bash in a huge tipi. Legend has it that the bride-from-hell called it off at the eleventh and a half hour. But the party went on regardless, and everyone camped out in the field for a week. Which was when Immie moved in to help Chas mend his broken heart.
‘Don’t worry, a wedding in the house with dancing in the Orangery won’t be at all the same as one in the meadow.’ Poppy’s obviously used to nursing couples through tricky spots. ‘And you can always add a marquee in the walled garden if the numbers grow.’
‘The ring’s next.’ Immie tears at the short spikes of her hair. ‘And then there’s the whole nightmare of what to wear.’ She grabs her throat and makes a strangled scream.
I bite back a smile. ‘That bad?’
‘Oh yes.’ She nods. ‘I’m definitely leaving dress shopping until July. At the earliest.’
Poppy rolls her eyes at that, but she’s flapping her hands and looking like she’s about to burst. ‘Which reminds me Immie, something huge happened. I wanted to tell you earlier, but I couldn’t find you. Nicole turned up at the shop today.’
Immie’s eyes go wide. ‘Blazing toad bollocks, you are joking?’
‘Nope.’ Poppy turns to me. ‘I didn’t dare tell you when she was there, but Nicole is Chas’s ex. That’s why I knocked her back with her booking.’
So that explains a lot. ‘Not the Bridezilla to end all Bridezillas?’ Which is how she’s always been referred to, hence me completely missing the significance of who she is. I’m in awe that I spent four hours placating her and came out the other side alive.
‘That’s the one.’ Poppy’s groan is heartfelt. ‘She was barely warming up today. Demanding and unreasonable doesn’t begin to cover it. However desperate we are, I couldn’t take her booking and go through all that again.’
Immie’s face is all screwed up. ‘She’s getting married?’ For once her husky voice has turned to a squeal.
‘To a James Bond look-alikey, after a Valentine’s proposal. And she was in to choose a dress.’
Immie’s clenching her fists. ‘Not Sean Connery? I refuse to let the Franken-bride who wrecked my fiancé marry him.’
Poppy’s got her soothing voice on. ‘Keep your hair on, he’s more Pierce than Sean. But getting engaged on the same day as you and Chas? You couldn’t make it up, could you?’ Poppy bites her lip as she hesitates. When she speaks, her tone has changed from soft to firm. ‘But this doesn’t need to change anything for you, Immie. Chas loves you for yourself.’
Immie changed the habits of a lifetime to go the extra mile for Chas, not that he ever asked her to. But she’d never dallied with make up or heels before last summer. You only have to look at her tottering along in those wellies to see the effort she’s put in.
I pick up where Poppy’s coming from, as well as her wild-eyed calls for back-up. ‘It’s you he wants to marry, Immie. Definitely you. You as you are. Not looking like anyone else.’
‘Right.’ Immie’s nostrils are flaring. ‘Ring Brides by the Sea, please. I need an appointment. Now.’
‘But it’s fine to do things your way, Immie.’ I say. ‘Whatever happened to dress shopping in July?’
Immie’s straight back at me. ‘Stuff that. I need to get on the case.’ Her eyes narrow, and her voice drops. ‘What kind of dress is Nicole having?’
Shit. At Brides by the Sea we’re always discreet. And what if there’s a new, upgraded confidentiality code I don’t know about? ‘She was mainly looking in Sera’s room,’ I say airily. Hopefully that gives Immie the information she wants, without breaking any rules.
‘Great.’ Her fists are on her hips again. ‘That’s where I’ll have my appointment then. Soon as you can, please. But make it a day when you’re both there to help.’ She blows out her cheeks. ‘You might need to tie me down. I’m already hyperventilating.’
I have a feeling she’s not kidding. They had their hands full trying to get her into even a bridesmaid’s dress for our friend Cate’s wedding last summer, which I missed because I couldn’t get time off from the hotel in the summer season.
I remember there’s a final piece of icing on today’s cake. ‘And Poppy sent Nicole to see Rose Hill Manor, along with her compliments.’
‘Nice move.’ Immie’s frown melts to a chortle. ‘Those Penryns are a laugh in a bar. But they’re as likely to deliver on weddings as fly to the moon. That Quinn was like a bull in a china shop when he was best man at Sera’s sister’s wedding at Christmas.’
I can’t help grinning. ‘When picky Nicole hits Kip, he’ll run for the hills. She’s the perfect weapon to see off the opposition, Poppy.’
Even as I’m laughing I’m aware the joke may yet come back to bite me. As Nicole’s stylist, I m
ight not be smiling so much if I end up in the middle of them.
Chapter 8
Saturday, 25th Feb
On the way to Rose Hill Manor: Sitting ducks and farmers on safari
‘I’m so excited to see the Manor. But really, I could have driven there myself.’
It’s no secret I’ve been dying for Saturday to arrive to get a sneak peek inside. You have no idea how often I’ve been pouring over the pictures of Sera’s sister’s wedding on Jules-the-photographer’s website. And how scared shitless I am by the size of the place, and the thought of styling a wedding. If Nicole does decide to have her wedding here, it’ll be a huge responsibility for me. It’s all very well Jess saying she knows I have the eye and the talent. I’m just not that confident I’ll be able to deliver.
I’m definitely not stinting on the ‘happy daughter’ effort this morning. But as I clamber into the back of David’s sporty MPV at Heavenly Heights, I’m regretting it on so many levels. And it’s not just the close-up view of my mum putting her hand on David’s knee as she picks invisible fluff out of his designer stubble. When she leans in for the ear nuzzle she assumes I can’t see, I actually get sick in my mouth.
‘So have you made a start on growing my bouquet yet, Lily?’ It takes a talker like my mum to fire questions through a mouthful of earlobe. She’s peering past the head rest at me. ‘Why the blank stare? Catch up.’
From where I’m scrunched up on the black leather upholstery in the back seat the PDAs are barely two feet away. Worse, she can put me on the spot about her ridiculous wedding flower plans. Which incidentally, I’m having no part of.
‘I thought that was a gimmick to get on the radio,’ I say. ‘Like saying you do online dating, when you don’t even know what the internet is.’ My mum doesn’t have the first clue how to open a laptop, let alone use one.
There’s an amused smile playing around her lips. ‘I’ll have you know, Jenny and I are entirely computer literate.’ At least it’s taken her mind off horticulture.
My squawk is high with disbelief. ‘Since when?’
‘Since we joined our U3A Access course last year. It’s Thursdays after Aqua-fit. Once we’d Googled Lonely Hearts, we took to Safari like ducks to water.’ She gives a toss of her head. ‘David and I are Cornish Casual Computer Couples’ fifth engagement in a year.’
So that’s told me, but my voice is still a squeak. ‘Aqua-fit? But you hate to swim.’ Talk about the secret life of parents. It could be worse. At least she’s not on Tinder.
‘When you’re all alone, the days are very long.’ Her voice has a hard edge. For a moment, she sounds like she might be about to cry. Then it gives way to the giggle that’s becoming so familiar. ‘But that’s all over and forgotten now. As for the flowers, it’s all arranged. Fred’s got a greenhouse for you. By the time they’re ready to plant out, he’ll have found you a patch of garden to use too.’
‘Mum, I don’t want to grow flowers. I didn’t say I would.’ More to the point, I don’t actually know how. Doing it with Dad back in the day is way different than doing it myself. I’m protesting through gritted teeth, because there’s no way I want to make her argue in front of a stranger. What’s more, Fred’s been bombarding my phone with messages – unanswered, obviously – and this is the first I’ve heard of his involvement.
‘Lily … how often do I ask anything of you?’
Okay, here we go. Whenever I hear that whine in my mum’s voice, I brace myself. At times like this I completely understand why my brother chose to live on the other side of the world, and not visit. It’s why Bath worked for me. And why St Aidan may not be the best idea, however desperate I am.
She gives a disgusted sniff. ‘Quite simply … never.’
‘That’s not entirely true.’ I close out the passing village green as I clamp my eyes shut, although that’s not going to save me. This is always how it goes. The times when my mum slips into her martyr-drama-queen persona are not her best.
‘I ask you to contribute one thing towards my dream of future happiness, and you refuse. As for your father … he’d be mortified to know you didn’t care.’
Since dad died, she always calls him that. As if he’s nothing to do with her any more. And this is nothing to do with me caring about her.
‘Leave Dad out of this.’ I’m croaking, because my mouth is dry. It’s the ultimate below-the-belt manipulation, because he’d most likely be telling me to stand up to her, and do what was right for me. And we both know that. What’s more, if he were here, she wouldn’t be needing flowers to get married to another blinking man.
‘That’s another thing.’ She’s tapping her fingers on the dash. ‘Refusing to go on a date with Fred is foolish. At least if you’re in his greenhouse you might warm to him. If you carry on as you are, you’re going to be single, old and lonely.’
The ‘old and single’ chestnut. I heave a big sigh. ‘The point is, that will be my choice.’
David clears his throat, as he pulls the car around into the lane. ‘Why can’t we buy flowers, like everyone else does?’
If anyone apart from him said that, I’d say good point well made. Although he seems to have missed that I’m the one who’ll make up the bouquets. Unless they defect to the opposition again. Which they might do, given their form so far. But this is between Mum and me. He should stay the hell out of it.
‘I might give the seeds a try.’ As it comes out, I’m as surprised to hear it as anyone. It’s something to do with David. And that same feeling I had as a stroppy teenager. If there’s a competition between wanting to stand my ground with my mum, and wanting to defy David, there’s a clear winner. ‘We’ll see.’ I’m not quite sure what I’ve let myself in for here.
‘Talking of Fred …’ It’s my mum again, brightening, as we round the corner.
David joins in, as we swerve to a halt behind a row of waiting cars. ‘Watch out, logs in the road.’ There’s a blast of cold air as he winds down his window.
As Fred saunters up, pushing back his waves, I almost swallow my tongue. He grins at me as he leans his forearm on the car roof. ‘We lost our load right outside the Manor entrance. It’s taken a while, but it’s pretty much clear now. Only blocked the open day for a couple of hours, so we’re all good.’
A likely story. ‘Fred …?’
He gives a shrug. ‘Accidents happen. I don’t think he’s lost too many customers. The joys of country house weddings, eh?’ Just as he’s about to go he dips back. ‘Do let me know if you think of anywhere my new girlfriend would like to go, Lily. She’s proving hard to pin down.’
Then he’s gone. Off down the lane, and swinging up into the tractor. And a few minutes later we’re driving down a gravelled avenue, between huge oaks, towards tall roofs glinting in the sun. And a country house that’s jarringly familiar all these years on, yet completely living up to its build up this time around. As much as I want to hate it, for Poppy and Rafe’s sake, somehow I can’t.
Chapter 9
Saturday, 25th February
Open Day at Rose Hill Manor: Ice breakers and sharp claws
‘So you see why we like it?’
My mum’s suddenly less sure of herself, hanging back as we get out of the car.
It’s one of those times when my memory plays tricks with scale. Somehow now we’ve pulled up on the gravel at the front, Rose Hill Manor’s bigger than I remember from the few times I came here as a teenager. Sharper too. But the windows are irregular, and the stone is so mellow, its warmth pulls you in. And the huge front door is open and inviting. Although whoever’s organised the parking has scored a mammoth fail, because there’s no signage, and there’s a jam of cars as drivers try to work out where to go.
‘It’s lovely.’ My hand’s on the handle of the car door, when it hits me that my mum’s about to commit to something huge here. ‘You are sure about this? You don’t want to wait a bit?’ She wouldn’t be the first woman to sign up for a wedding just because she fell in love with the v
enue.
She picks up her handbag, and she’s missed the point by a mile. ‘So long as we’re quick, we should beat the stampede. There were a lot of cars in that queue.’
I let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m not talking about now, I’m asking if you should be waiting longer to get married. You could have the wedding next year instead?’ I mean, how would she react if I said I was rushing into marrying someone I barely knew?
My mum’s expression is determined, as she catches my eye in the sun visor mirror. ‘Time’s short. At my age, I have to make the most of the youth I’ve got left.’ As she snaps away her lippy, she glances at a band on her wrist. ‘If I skip round the Manor, I should get to ten thousand.’
She’s lost me. ‘Ten thousand what?’
‘Steps, silly – on my Fitbit.’ She shakes her head at my frown. ‘Never mind, we’d better hurry.’
As we arrive at the entrance, David’s standing next to a balding potted pine, hitching up skinny jeans that could be borrowed from an eighteen-year-old. Believe me, if I’d picked up on the spray-on denim earlier, I’d never have left Heavenly Heights. But as we go into the lofty hallway, I take Poppy’s advice, to pick out the positives.
‘Fabulous staircase, and it’s lovely and cosy.’
There’s a flash of dayglow lycra as my mum unzips her jacket. ‘What a crowd. And it’s positively tropical. Lucky I’m wearing my technical top.’ She picks up my blank look. ‘Special exercise fabric – it wicks away the sweat, darling.’
On a need-to-know basis, that’s way too much. Whatever happened to her love affair with Phase Eight and a sedentary lifestyle? But she’s not joking about the crush. Despite Fred’s delaying tactics, the place is rammed. As we thread our way through the wide-open plan reception rooms that flow from one into the next there are couples hugging the walls.
