Summer at the Little Wedding Shop

by Jane Linfoot

  Immie’s groaning as she negotiates the straps which are every bit as crossed as their name suggests.

  ‘Lie on the chaise, and leave the fastenings to me.’ Poppy deftly tweaks the straps through the buckles, then swings Immie’s ankles up, and arranges her feet.

  I’m letting out silent ‘wows’ at the towering heels as I circle with the phone. ‘Okay, hold it there.’ I push the shoot button half a dozen times to be sure and change my angle. ‘This time I should pick up the reflection in the mirror too.’ Three more seconds, I’ve checked the pictures, and it’s a wrap. ‘Okay, brilliant.’

  Immie revolves, and next minute, she’s back on the edge of the chaise. ‘Could I actually walk in these?’ She’s staring down at her twinkling feet like they belong to an alien.

  I laugh. ‘It takes a dedicated heel-wearer like Nicole to manage spikes like those.’ Even as I say it I realise my mistake. Immie pottering round in her platform wellies is hardly in the same league as seven inchers.

  Immie’s brow wrinkles. ‘Beyoncé wasn’t built in a day. It’s not as if I’m a complete heel virgin. Come here, let me give them a go.’

  Before I can stop her, she’s hauled herself up on my elbow and she’s staggering across the white painted floor boards.

  She lets out a cheer. ‘Yay, I’m a natural. How do I look?’

  I wouldn’t have come clean if she hadn’t asked. ‘The gap between your feet’s big enough to drive a double decker bus through. Otherwise, great.’

  ‘Woohoo, you’ve done it.’ Poppy’s biting her lip anxiously. ‘For chrissakes sit down.’

  Now she’s in the centre of the floor, despite her outstretched arms, Immie’s wobbling worse than a tight rope walker about to plummet. ‘Trying out the Jimmy Choos … What are you waiting for? Take the damned picture before I …’

  I grab her phone, take a couple of snaps, and then watch, helpless, as she begins to totter backwards.

  ‘Ooooo, careful, Immie.’ Poppy’s shout is way too little, way too late.

  There’s a roar from Immie, then a crash as she topples straight backwards into the main dress hanging area, taking a mannequin with her.

  Immie’s voice is muffled, coming through layers of lace skirts. ‘Toad buttocks, what the hell happened there?’

  Call me hard hearted, but this is too good not to capture in pixels for posterity. ‘At a guess, you fell off your platforms.’

  Poppy and I are pulling agonised faces at each other as I put the phone down, but as we spring forward to help, there’s the distant clip clop of loafers.

  Poppy’s muttering under her breath. ‘Talk about bad timing. We could do without an audience for this bit.’ Especially a spectator as invested as Jess.

  Where do you start when there’s a solid weight of woman, helpless on her back, in a tangled heap of wedding dresses? By the time Jess arrives, we haven’t got any further than gawping.

  Jess’s eyes are rolling so much they’ve practically disappeared. ‘I thought today was going to be alcohol free?’ Her sniff comes out with such force we can feel the breeze across the room. ‘Leave this to me.’ She grabs a Jimmy Choo-clad ankle in each hand. Her tug is so hard Immie shoots out across the floorboards, and ends up staring straight up into Jess’s face.

  Jess looks at her watch, turns to me, and raises an eyebrow. ‘Lily, as you’re obviously done here for today, I’d like a word.’ She spins back to Immie. ‘I take it we’ll be trying this again once we’re sober. Any day so long as it’s Tuesday, please Poppy.’

  A second later, she’s marching out, and I’m skipping behind her into the hallway, trying to keep up. And quaking. Everyone knows ‘a word’ can be diddly squit. Or it can be Jess-code for something mahoosive. I’m aching that I’m up to whatever’s flying my way.

  Chapter 24

  Tuesday, 25th April

  At Brides by the Sea: No surprises

  ‘So how can I help?’

  I was expecting either a bollocking from Jess, or to hold pins for a bride in the White Room. But instead we’re winding our way downstairs to the flower prep area. And when Jess doesn’t reply immediately, my heart’s beating faster with every step.

  My throat’s dry. ‘Am I making up a last minute hand tied?’ I know for a fact there’s nothing in the book for today, because I double checked.

  Jess smiles over her shoulder as we reach the bottom landing. ‘No orders.’ Jess isn’t one to have twinkles in her eye, but right at this moment she almost does. ‘There’s a little surprise down here.’

  The flower prep room is in the basement under the shop. It’s below street level at the front, but above ground at the back, where the hillside falls away towards the beach. Instead of turning to where we make up all the bouquets and arrangements, she’s turning the other way, pushing open the door to the cellar no-one ever goes in. Until now.

  ‘So what do you think?’ As she strides in, Jess’s beam is as bright as the sunlight that’s illuminating the whole space.

  Instead of the darkness and cobwebs I’m expecting, the light’s flooding in through the line of small paned windows, and bouncing up off a red brick floor that’s scrubbed and clean.

  I narrow my eyes as I take in a long room, with lime washed brickwork walls. ‘It’s fabulous. I thought it was a grimy cellar.’

  She laughs. ‘It was until a few weeks ago. Fred’s men have been coming in and out in secret through the back door.’

  ‘Fred?’ I could do without the tummy flutter when I hear his name. Especially given he gets everywhere.

  Jess goes into her croon mode. ‘He’s a lovely boy, very accommodating. Once he knew you were involved, nothing was too much trouble.’

  Me? I move on from whatever her one raised eyebrow is implying, and look towards broad glass doors in the centre of the room. My eyes widen as I catch a glimpse of the tide racing up the distant beach below. ‘Oh my, there’s even a sea view in here.’ I have to ask. ‘But what’s it for?’ Whatever Poppy hinted at before – and thank goodness she waved a warning flag – I can’t believe it’s the truth.

  Jess’s lips are twitching. ‘This is our new styling area. We might just call it The Style File. It’s yours to play with.’

  It takes a second for the words to sink in, and when they do my legs feel as if they’re too weak to hold up my weight. I can’t help my yelp. ‘I’ve styled a couple of items at one mini wedding that’s not even happened yet, I’m not ready for a whole department.’

  Jess comes across and her hand lands on my arm. ‘I’ve wanted a dedicated room at the shop for ages. You’re letting me live the dream. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t know you could do it.’

  Even though I’m lost for words, there’s one question I can’t keep in. ‘How are you so sure?’

  She takes a breath. ‘I picked you out as special years ago, when you first started doing flowers. It was one lucky day for me when you dropped in and offered to help. As soon as you started you were just so tuned in to everything about weddings. If you hadn’t upped sticks to be with Thom, we could have done this years ago.’

  This is the amazing thing about Jess. If she backs you, she’ll push you all the way. You only have to look at how she’s supported Poppy and Sera. ‘It’s a huge compliment, but I’m still not certain I’m up to it.’

  She goes across and flicks on a light switch, which activates a whole series of spot lights and hanging bulbs. Then she clicks her tongue. ‘That’s the trouble. Between them, your mum and Thom robbed you of every bit of your confidence. And we’re here to put it back. You’re up to this, and a whole lot more too. I believe in you, Lily, I always have. Wait and see – in a few months, you’ll believe in yourself too.’

  Just for a minute, my nose goes all achey, and I think I’m going to cry. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ I sniff into my sleeve. ‘I’ll try my hardest. And thank you …’ I swallow hard. I’m hardened to taking criticism. Hearing nice things, not so much.

  Jess whisks across the room,
and comes back with a carrier. ‘There are strings … a couple of things I’m insisting on.’

  My heart sinks. ‘Yes?’

  ‘As our super stylist I want you to stand out from all the other staff, so you’ll have to drop the all over black. Get yourself some good clothes, with a splash of colour. There’ll be an allowance, obviously.’

  I stare at Jess’s classy charcoal flannels and cream sweater. ‘I’m not sure I can …’ When you’ve got a mum like mine, dark clothes are a refuge. They also make you conveniently invisible.

  She snaps straight back. ‘Sorry, it’s a deal breaker. That bit’s definitely non-negotiable.’ Although somehow it sounds like she’s making this up as she goes along. ‘And you have to accept this as your “hello” gift too.’ There’s a wide paper carrier dangling from her finger.

  As I reach out and peer in, my eyes almost pop as I take in the LK Bennett logo on the side. ‘A suit? Jess, this is way too much.’ Anything from there would be.

  ‘Not at all. It’s an unashamed bribe to get you to work wonders in my basement.’ She eyes me sternly. ‘You’re totally worth it.’

  ‘So what do you have in mind?’ My voice wavers as the weight of the responsibility sinks in.

  ‘I simply want you to showcase a few ideas here. There won’t be room for everything we offer. But if you inspire brides to bring us on board, tempt them to add pretty things from here to their day, you’ll have done your job.’ She pushes the door open, to a tiny terrace. ‘We can spill onto here too, with some outdoor tables and quirky outdoor lighting ideas.’

  ‘Right.’ My frightened mouse squeak doesn’t begin to cover it.

  She’s pulling away a dust sheet that’s hanging against the wall. ‘And look what came while you were with Immie.’

  The cover falls away, and leaves four waist-high letters, with light bulbs embedded.

  I let out a shriek of excitement. ‘My L-O-V-E sign’s arrived.’ I’m flapping my hands because it looks so fabulous, especially against the rough brick wall.

  As Jess nods, she looks proud enough to burst. ‘See, you’ve proved me right already. It’s a great call having that made up, Lily. It’ll clinch a lot of deals.’

  I get where she’s coming from about the clinching. ‘It’s very cool. I’d so want that at my wedding if I were a bride.’ Okay, we all know I had my go, and it crashed and burned. But this sign is so fab, it almost makes me want to risk it all over again. Whatever I vowed to the contrary.

  Jess is frowning. ‘Me too. How absurd is that? I never imagine being a bride. Not myself.’ She lets out a low laugh. ‘That’s how I know what a huge winner that sign is.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Swinging my suit bag on my finger spins me back to the night Jess caught Sam’s bouquet. Not that her massive change of heart would be anything to do with that. Because we all know stuff like that is complete balderdash.

  The way she’s rubbing her hands, she’s already moved on. ‘So it’s over to you, Lily. Less is more. Anything goes, so long as it’s completely beautiful. Relax, be yourself, I know it’ll be wonderful. Okay?’

  Jeez. No pressure there, then. No idea how the hell I’m going to manage. I shut out that in my head I’m screaming waaaaaaaaa‌aaaaaaahhhh, and concentrate on the weight of the LK Bennett bag. Try not to hyperventilate. ‘Now I’ve got my suit, I have to pull it off.’

  Jess laughs. ‘So long as you promise me not to go falling in any ponds in this one, we’re all good.’

  Much as I hated falling in the water that night, I reckon that was the easy bit, compared to what’s coming.

  Chapter 25

  Monday, 1st May

  At Rose Hill Manor: Bank drafts and bottom lines

  Getting in shape for the wedding … NOT … #selfiebride #bridezilla

  You have to hand it to Immie, she’s really going for it on Instagram. A bathroom selfie, on the scales, swathed in a towel, while eating a cupcake, calls for advanced camera skills. Given she’s already got ninety-three followers, I’m not the only one LOL-ing at her posts either. This photo has me laughing so hard, when Kip creeps up behind me, I only hear him tutting at the last second.

  ‘It’s the first wedding at the Manor, and you’re out here on your phone? That’s really not the kind of professional image we want to portray.’

  He sounds apoplectic, whereas I’m just delighted I found some signal. Given I finally got hold of the reporter from the Cornish Guardian, I could hardly persuade her that Daisy Hill Farm Weddings would make a great story, with Kip listening in.

  Vee and Salvador just got married in the Winter Garden in the sweetest early morning ceremony ever. The pansy posy was perfect against her simple embroidered silk dress. In the end she had a matching head piece too. Pretty didn’t begin to cover it. And the sun stayed out all the time the outside photographs were being taken. But Kip’s obviously moved on from that now.

  Looking at his grave expression and his ‘I don’t believe this’ tone, it crosses my mind to share Immie’s picture to help him lighten up. On balance, I decide against it. But he’s not the only one who can act outraged.

  I put on my own shocked screech. ‘Excuse me? Get real, Kip. Thirty guests are currently up to their ears in a six-course lunch. They’ll be tied up in the ballroom for hours. So it’s hardly likely they’ll fall over me when I’m hiding round the side of the house for all of ten seconds.’ As for the guy who didn’t know the customer’s names, and forgot he’d taken the booking? How are standards suddenly so important, when a week ago he didn’t know the word existed? Although from the point of view of future couples, this is no bad thing.

  His voice is all low and implacable. ‘I’m the one making the rules here, and I did ask you to stay in, or around the office.’ Since when did laid back Kip get so kick-ass?

  I sigh loudly, because I learned long ago you can’t argue with idiots. ‘Fine.’ Although it isn’t at all. On a lovely day like today, even if there is a tiny office terrace to sit on, being cooped up on it with Kip and his bloody gnome is my all-time nightmare.

  As for why I’m at the Manor at all, so many guests are dropping in to Vee and Salvador’s wedding in helicopters, they’ve engaged me for the day to sort out the damage to the outside floral decorations caused by the down draft. How unbelievable is that? You can see the blades sticking up where they’re parked down in the field.

  ‘Shall we go then?’ Kip’s propping his shoulder on the house wall as he waits. And for those wanting a fashion update, for one time only he’s dropped the ubiquitous faded jeans. Dropped as in left them in the wardrobe, obviously. Not in the other sense. If anything shows he’s got serious, it’s that. As for how he’s looking in his suit, if it was anyone other than him I’d say smoking. But luckily for all of us, his pain-in-the-butt mix of arrogance and hypocrisy takes away every bit of heat.

  As I follow him round to the front of the house, I nod at the cars lined up along the gravel. ‘Jeez, it’s like stumbling into the parking area for Top Gear.’ They’re the kind of sleek vehicles that slide past you on motorways and make you feel like you’re not moving. What’s more, now I’ve got a better measure of the clients, I’m cringing at some of the stuff I said to the bride. ‘If I’d known Vee’s family were gazillionaires, I’d have been way less chatty in my emails. And I’d never have suggested pansies either.’ In truth, I’d have been scared so rigid, I wouldn’t have been able to type a word. Let alone talk to her on her mobile, or sort out her flowers.

  Kip pulls a face. ‘People who are loaded have more noughts on their bank balances, but otherwise they’re only like the rest of us.’

  Gucci might be way shinier than his bashed up Landy, both parked around by the stables, but this is the guy who lives on his own in a manor house with twenty plus bedrooms. So I have to call him on this. ‘Us?’ Even the word makes me shudder. ‘Sorry Kip, but no way can you and me be lumped in the same affluence bracket.’

  He gives a shrug. ‘These are Quinn’s friends not mine. And w
hatever flowers you’ve given her, she’s ecstatic about them.’

  ‘That’s pure luck.’ I jump in to point it out. ‘This could have gone so wrong.’

  As he pushes the front door, and holds it open for me, the hard line of his mouth softens. ‘Or maybe you are up to the new job after all, Water Lily. Had that occurred to you?’ This is Kip. If there’s a half smile, it just has to be sardonic.

  And if we’re back to that, I need to move on as fast as I just skipped past him. ‘As for today, so far I’ve replaced two roses that dropped out of the rustic arch I decorated for photos down in the garden. It’s hardly a lot.’ And one reason I’m resorting to looking at Instagram.

  He gives a low laugh. ‘And I’ve shown one confused caterer to the kitchen. But the point is we’re here, and we’re available. We’re willing, yet invisible. As far as customer service goes, now we’re off our phones …’ He pauses to send me a pointed glare ‘… we’re nailing it.’

  ‘Right.’ Holy crap. Who’d have thought he’d be taking this so seriously? I’m having a ‘pick me up off the floor, because I’ve just fainted’ moment here. And then I remember. ‘This wouldn’t, by any chance, be part of your Vegas Three Six Five initiative?’ How stupid am I? Of course it bloody would. This has nothing to do with making sure people have a wonderful day. It’s all about drumming up more bookings. And more importantly, racking up those noughts on that bottom line Kip was talking about.

  By the time we reach the office he’s whooshed past to open the door again. ‘Got it in one. They certainly know what they’re doing in Yorkshire and Lancashire. And I’ll be following them all the way. So long as no-one lets the side down.’ He ushers me out onto the terrace. From the way he nods and points to the Adirondack chairs, he’s expecting us to sit down. ‘I see it dried out okay then?’

  I choose the chair furthest from the gnome – not that it’s possible to get very far away from anything when the terrace is this tiny – and roll my eyes. Quite apart from his ethos-from-hell, three hours of random questions like this from Kip were what drove me round the end of the house in the first place. Is he talking soil structure here, or leaks from champagne buckets?