Summer at the Little Wedding Shop

by Jane Linfoot

  Poppy puts a finger on her lips. ‘I’ll bring the extra healthy version we serve in glasses not bottles.’ Great, she’s got me. Since she hooked up with David, Mum’s a devil for examining labels.

  ‘So we’re aiming to turn heads here, Barbara?’ Jess gets straight to the point, obviously primed by Poppy. ‘Well done for that.’

  My mum softens faster than ice cream in a microwave. ‘As David says, if you’ve got it, go for it.’ She smoothes her hands over the rose garden silk of her skirt, and rubs a shell pink nail. ‘That’s the up side of being over sixty – you can be “banging” without looking like you’re on the pull.’

  I grab a macaroon to save myself expiring on the spot. As a mission statement, it couldn’t be clearer.

  ‘So definitely not these then?’ Jess’s mini parade of the muted grey and cream linens and chiffons she’s brought down specially from upstairs are all dismissed in a single head shake.

  ‘And not lace either, because it’s aging. I’m thinking slinky rather than blingy, and I’m not ruling out backless.’

  Jess is listening intently, thinking on her loafers, working out her next move.

  As Poppy hands me my drink I suck on my straw. ‘What did you wear last time then, Mum?’ I’m curious rather than stirring here. My mum’s interior makeovers banished family snaps to the loft years ago, and she was too out of it to get them down when my dad died. It’s the kind of thing I think I know, but always forget to ask.

  My mum has a faraway look in her eye as she laughs. ‘Back then every bride wanted huge skirts, cream silk and puffed sleeves so she could look like Lady Di when she married Charles. But we’d spent so much buying the cottage, I ended up in a shift from C&A. It was all a bit of a rush.’

  ‘Was your hair darker then?’ Do I remember a brunette on a photo?

  She pushes at her carefully styled waves. ‘We’re all a lot blonder than we used to be, dahling.’ She makes it sound as if it’s down to climate change, rather than L’Oreal. ‘Except for you, obviously.’

  I squint down at my dark brown hair, and ignore the dig. She’s been pushing me to have highlights since I was fourteen. Well over half my life then.

  Jess pulls a couple of silky dresses off the rails. ‘Seraphina’s designs can be sexy and very flattering. We could start by trying these?’

  ‘Lovely.’ My mum perks up as Jess drops in the ‘x’ word, and zooms into the fitting room.

  When she appears through a gap in the white striped curtains five minutes later, she’s looking totally amazing.

  ‘Wow. So gorgeous. Bias silk and traces of beading.’ Sera’s dresses have a tendency to bring out the best in a woman, and they’ve certainly worked their magic on my mum, which is why we’re all crooning.

  My mum stands in front of the full-length mirror, tutting as she twists. ‘It’s a bit demure. More meek than I was hoping for.’

  ‘Okay,’ we chorus, because in dress trying, it’s the bride who takes the lead. ‘Next!’

  Every dress she comes out in, it’s the same story. Sedate … boring … modest … plain … Even though to us they’re anything but. The sixth has a back that plunges to the waist, and a front slashed almost as low, and still gets a ‘matronly’ thumbs down.

  It’s not often we see Jess perplexed. She wrinkles her nose as she leans on the mirror. ‘So what do you feel we’re missing here, Barbara?’

  My mum scrunches up her face, as she thinks. ‘Actually I was hoping for sequins. A lot more sequins.’ She hesitates. ‘Maybe even sequins all over.’

  As I ram down my fifth macaroon, I’m truly regretting backing off on the afternoon tea.

  Poppy smiles. ‘That’s very helpful, Barbara.’

  Encouraged, my mum goes on. ‘It’s so wonderful with the sun pouring through into the Winter Garden at the Manor where we’re having the ceremony. I really want to shimmer.’

  Jess nods. ‘If shimmering is what you’re after, that’s what we’ll do.’ She turns to Poppy. ‘Pop up to bridesmaids. Let’s try Ariel and Andrina. In moonshine and pearlescent.’

  There’s a clatter of footsteps on the stairs, and when Poppy bursts in again, her armful of sequined dresses are rustling like the tide rushing up the beach.

  Despite all her face-firming yoga gymnastics, my mum’s chin is wobbling. ‘Ah … They’re exactly what I was hoping for.’ She scrapes under her lashes with her finger nail.

  As she heads behind the curtain, Poppy and I are grinning at each other in sheer relief, and biting our lips in anticipation.

  ‘Okay?’ Poppy asks, after what seems like forever.

  There’s a mumble. When my mum appears in her cream sequined sheath, she’s taking teensy steps, because she can’t move her legs. And she’s tugging at the top.

  Jess steps back to assess. ‘The nice thing about these pearly white sequins is they only shine when the light catches them.’

  ‘I’m not sure about this one after all.’ My mum’s frowning at herself in the mirror. ‘It’s quite clingy.’

  ‘It’s pretty much a floor length boob tube.’ I’m bracing myself to accept that my mum’s hell bent on getting married in a skin-tight mermaid’s tail.

  Jess nods. ‘It’s snug. But then you’ve got the figure for it.’

  Poppy scratches her head. ‘It’s definitely banging.’

  My mum gives a groan. ‘I love the shimmer, but I feel a bit exposed. And a tiny bit slutty.’

  I sit up in my mother of the bride chair, because I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Wonders never cease. Excuse the cliché, but this is the last thing I expected from this ‘out-there’ version of my mum. ‘Maybe you’ve got to the edge of your comfort zone?’ And maybe there is a fairy godmother of embarrassed daughters after all.

  ‘Okay. Next.’ Jess’s war cry hurries her back into the fitting room.

  When the curtains part again, we’re all holding our breath. But after the last big build up and crashing disappointment, we’re not expecting too much. So when my mum swishes into view, it’s like she’s walking onto a blank canvas, and we’ve got completely open minds. And we watch in silence as the fabric flows around her body in fluid waves as she moves.

  Jess’s whisper is hoarse. ‘This is the pearlescent one. It shines across the pastel blue and pink spectrum.’

  The straps sweep down to a simple low neck at the front, and plunge at the back. But because of the way the fabric hangs and skims and swings, the effect is classy, not brassy, in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible.

  My mum’s flapping her hands in front of her face like she just escaped from an American teen soap. Turning backwards and forwards in front of the mirror. I think she might be mouthing silent omigods, but nothing’s coming out.

  I know I should wait for her to find her voice, but I can’t hold back. ‘I didn’t think I’d say this, but truly, it’s lovely, Mum. You look seriously shiny, and totally fabulous.’ Who’d have thought we’d stick my mum in a head to toe sequined bridesmaid dress and it would work. This is why Jess is so clever. She matches the bride to the dress every time.

  When it comes my mum’s voice is all strangled too. ‘The shape’s everything I imagined. And more. But just tell me … am I shimmering?’

  Poppy and I are laughing through our tears. As I stagger out of my chair I grab a handful of tissues from the mother of the bride box, and swab the slick from my nose.

  Then before I know what I’m doing, I throw my arms around my mum. And I’m squeezing her tighter than I ever remember. ‘You’re looking amazing. And yes, you’re damn well shimmering. You couldn’t be more shimmery, or more beautiful if you tried.’

  Just at this moment, I forget she’s engaged to a knob-head who thinks he’s a teenager and is after her cash, and that I’d rather she wasn’t getting married. Because when a bride finds her perfect dress, for a few seconds of her life, none of the rest matters. All that’s important is her. And how happy she is.

  As our hug loosens her hands are patting
up and down my back. And then they stop, and she pushes me to arm’s length. ‘Lily, have you been secretly working out?’ Her expression is accusing.

  No-one wrecks a moment like my mum.

  I stare back at her. ‘You know I’d rather listen to your Barry Manilow CD while having my tonsils removed with a rusty spoon than go to the gym.’

  Her nostrils flare. ‘But you’ve got traps and lats to die for under that little top of yours.’ You can tell she’s engaged to a fitness instructor. Who knew there were muscles called that?

  Maybe my aching shoulder muscles from all that watering were worth it after all. ‘Don’t worry. It’s probably the gardening.’ Or hurtling up and down five flights of stairs between the basement and the attic.

  She’s beaming with delight, and her extra loud laugh’s back. ‘Carry on like this and we’ll be back here choosing a wedding dress for you soon.’

  I’m about to swear. But Poppy’s behind her, doing throat cutting signs.

  Then Jess joins in. ‘The wine merchants are having an event next week. We’ll make sure we grab her a tall dark and handsome businessman while we’re there, Barbara.’

  I know Jess goes the extra mile to be a customer pleaser, but this is too much. Jess and I are united by our disinterest in men. But since Rafe came on the scene she’s developed an unhealthy interest in farmers and landowners. But when she says tall and dark, I can’t help thinking that Fred’s more on the sandy side.

  So a day of surprises all round. I’m happy my mum’s marrying in sequins, and she gave me a compliment. What’s not to like? Times as good as this can’t go on forever.

  Chapter 29

  Friday, 16th June

  At Rose Hill Manor: Rust and a fuchsia bloom

  ‘So for the ceremony room we’ll go with an archway of tall blossom trees, all the way down the aisle, with rectangular chrome vases, bursting with white hydrangeas at floor level.’

  Nicole and I are in the Winter Garden at Rose Hill Manor, which frankly needs to be re-named for summer ceremonies. The sun’s streaming in as we stand waving our arms, and finalising ideas. Although I say finalise in the loosest sense. Can you believe we’ve been styling and restyling Nicole’s wedding since March? And so far we’ve agreed four full schemes. Then hours later Nicole’s dumped each one, and seamlessly moved on to the next. I’m beginning to think our design consultations are simply an excuse to hang out at the Manor for Instagram opportunities.

  Nicole twirls on a blush patent stiletto. ‘That’s white with the tiniest hint of pink this time. And remember, the strings of diamonds draped through the branches are non-negotiable.’

  I smile. ‘As if I’d forget.’ Trailing diamanté is the one constant in our schemes. We’re shipping it in by the mile from the USA as we speak.

  ‘And tell Jess, I swear on my rock, no more changes. Every minute’s spoken for from now on.’ There’s a flash as Nicole sweeps her engagement finger through the air, then she brushes an invisible speck of dust off the sleeve of her white leather jacket. As she takes a step forward, and one elegant knee appears through the slit on the front of her pencil skirt, she doesn’t exactly look like she’s rushed off her Jimmy Choo’s.

  ‘Jess doesn’t mind.’ We can put together as many schemes as Nicole wants, so long as Miles is willing to pay. Jess’s tip for Nicole – say yes to everything, and she’ll eventually burn herself out. All good so far, in that we haven’t had any fights. But I’ve no idea how close to the end game we are.

  Nicole gives her donkey guffaw. ‘We’ll have to stop when the wedding happens.’

  There’s another lower laugh, coming in through the open window. ‘Indoor trees? I hope you know you can’t call 999 to get those installed, Lily. Not long now, Mrs Ferrara-to-be.’

  Despite my cotton dress, I’m already sticky with sweat due to the baking June day. But the thought of how close the wedding is, has rivulets running down my back.

  Nicole laughs, as Kip wanders in from the garden. ‘Still no hot tub though, Mr Penryn?’

  ‘Not yet.’ He’s unperturbed. ‘But I’m going to an event at the wine merchants soon. I promise I’ll look out for a special on champagne to fill a bath for you.’

  Damn. I only hope that’s not the same jolly we’re going to. There has to be more than one booze company having a promotional knees-up in Cornwall.

  Kip’s the same with all Nicole’s demands. If he wants what she’s shouting for he jumps straight onto it. Otherwise he brushes it off with a joke, and she sucks it up. Faster than Immie with squirty cream. So much for Poppy’s plan for Nicole to drive Kip round the bend. These two are like new besties.

  Nicole’s silvery nail lands on his chest, and pokes hard enough to make an indentation in the faded fabric of his T-shirt. ‘You need to talk to your hot tub installer fast, or you’ll be missing a few stars when my review goes up on Trip Adviser.’

  Yay. One – nil to Nicole. That wipes the smile right off Kip’s face. He knows reviews can make or break a wedding business, which is why he’s so jumpy. But there are times when we women need to stick together, and for now I can overlook Nicole’s ability to give it out like a true bitch queen from hell. And all the work she’s dumped on me. Come to think of it, if we were likening Nicole’s wedding to Monopoly, I’m the one who landed on Mayfair with hotels on, while Kip grabbed the Get Out of Jail Free card. Yet again.

  Kip pulls out his phone, and stares at it. ‘Three hours discussing crystals. Again. If you’re all done then Nicole, I’ll show you out.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Lily and I have other urgent business to discuss.’

  ‘We do?’ This is news to me.

  He nods. ‘In the office first, and then the garden.’

  A few minutes later, we’ve dropped Nicole off at her impossibly shiny Mercedes convertible, and he’s burrowing in a parcel under the desk.

  ‘This is for you.’ A folder slides towards me, and the fact it travels across the polished oak at a hundred miles an hour, then shoots off to land in my hand shows exactly how glossy it is. ‘Feel free to show it to the competition, I’d like them to know what they’re up against.’

  If my eyes are popping out as I take in what I’m opening here, I can’t help it. ‘A full colour brochure … with package options and prices?’ Okay, I’d be picking my jaw up off the floor at that alone, but there’s more. Lots and lots more. As I leaf through the pages, I can’t find anything he’s not covered.

  Two more folders whizz across the desk. ‘And a welcome pack for couples who book, and another for the day itself.’ He’s looking steely, rather than pleased with himself. ‘You’ll find we’ve pretty much nailed the communications and information.’

  I’m opening and closing my mouth, but nothing’s coming out. Holy crap would do. Or toad bollocks, thank you, Immie. ‘But why now?’ I rasp, when I finally find my voice. As my eyes slide to the wall to my left, they get wider still when they land on year planners for the next three years, complete with colour coded booking stickers. And a startlingly large number of them too. This guy is hitting the top of his game, and is so far away from being the Kip who didn’t used to give a damn that I practically don’t recognise him.

  Kip’s cheeks flex as he digs his hands into the pockets of his denims. ‘Just ensuring we’re unbeatable, for when the Awards team visit.’ If he’s still clinging onto the faded jeans, at a guess it won’t be for long. ‘I wasn’t sure weddings were for me, but now we’ve had a couple, I’m damned grateful to Quinn for suggesting them.’ Implacable doesn’t begin to describe the determined line of his mouth.

  ‘You did this all on your own?’ He always says we, so it’s hard to tell.

  He gives a shrug. ‘Uncle Bart dropped in for a brainstorm.’

  ‘I thought he was somewhere exotic?’

  Kip laughs. ‘It’s a flying visit. His carbon footprint’s a disaster, but his air miles are ace. As was his input. My dad might be a financial disaster area, but Bart makes up for it tenfold. And luckily he treat
s me and my brothers like his adopted children. Let’s face it, if he didn’t I wouldn’t be here in the first place.’ This is the first Kip’s mentioned of his dad. Since that day in the stables he’s been pretty guarded about his family.

  Talking of Uncle Bart, I’m wondering if he’s worked his magic with the wedding magazine. ‘Has the Manor been featured in Perfect Brides yet?’ I flick through all the big magazines Jess gets, but I haven’t spotted it yet.

  The shadow of a frown crossing Kip’s face suggests that particular bubble isn’t floating into happy land in quite the same way as all his others. ‘That’s been delayed until November, because the photos they took are wall to wall snow. But this business is all about taking the long view. I’m confident the Ferraras’ wedding will get picked up for next summer’s edition too.’ He gives me a significant nod. ‘You’ll get a shout out, and a shed load of commissions from that one.’

  ‘Great.’ I say, trying to look the right amount of excited. Next year sounds like a lifetime away. With any luck, I’ll be long gone, making a fresh start where no-one knows me.

  From the way he wrinkles his nose, he’s not pleased with my reaction. ‘Don’t knock me over with your enthusiasm. Maybe you’ll look happier when I tell you the flower news.’

  Now it’s my turn to frown. ‘There are roses cascading in front of the windows, lilac in the distance, irises, carnations and forget-me-nots by the door. You need to be more specific, Kip.’ He might have his wedding communication under control, but he hasn’t got a clue about the rest.

  He’s biting back a smile. ‘Cosmos ring any bells?’

  ‘I planted some chocolate cosmos, which reminds me how long it’s been since breakfast. And some pink ones.’ I screw up my face to drive away the hunger pangs. ‘Have you been on Google again?’ It’s the only place Kip would come across them.

  He tugs on a handful of hair. ‘Yes, but only for identification purposes. Sorry, I’ve got to tell you, there’s a cosmos flower out in our garden, Water Lily. How amazing is that?’ His voice is high as he lets his grin go.