Cupcakes and Confetti

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘Right.’ When did my voice get this small and weedy?

  ‘And anyway, what’s the worst that can happen?’ Immie’s pushing me here.

  ‘Collapsing marquee, flooding, stampeding cows …’ None of which will be down to me. But that’s the whole thing about disasters – you can never predict what’s going to go wrong.

  ‘The sky falling in?’ Immie helpfully adds the one thing I hadn’t thought of. ‘As soon as it’s over you’ll wonder what you were so worried about,’ she adds breezily. ‘In the meantime, grab some lanterns. And for chrissakes …’

  ‘What?’ I grin at her, but only because I already know what she’s going to say.

  ‘Man up!’

  22

  In the Office at Daisy Hill Farm: Guard dogs and sparkle cleans

  ‘Rain’s still holding off.’ It’s Rafe, and if he’s poking his head around the office door to discuss the weather, he needs to remember that an hour from now some of us have a wedding to organise.

  ‘Great,’ I say, meaning anything but. I put down the insurance certificate I’m reading through for the twenty fifth time, and dive onto my laptop to turn down the music. True, I wouldn’t usually be so obliging with the volume, but right now I’m not up for another argument about Bat Out Of Hell being too loud.

  ‘Forecast is awful for later, we might get as much as an inch,’ Rafe says, still shouting over the non-existent music. ‘Are you sure you’re okay, Poppy?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lie, and throw in a beam for good measure.

  ‘It’s just you’re looking a bit …’ Rafe tilts his head, and screws up his nose.

  I brace myself for whatever insult he’s selecting. Rough, ill, tired, stressed, green? Like I’m in the middle of a silent nervous breakdown? Any of those would fit.

  ‘Errrr … prickly … perhaps?’ He says tentatively.

  ‘What?’ Seriously, I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  He tries again. ‘Spikey maybe?’

  Oh shit. In the excitement I’d momentarily forgotten yesterday’s hair disaster. Chopping off the straggly bits of my growing out pixie cut before I went to bed, after another medicinal dose of Jess’s Hendricks, was definitely a mistake. How the hell could I have thought it would make me look more sophisticated?

  ‘And possibly a bit on edge?’ He’s doing a strange wiggle as he holds the door open for whatever animals are following him.

  Luckily it’s only Jet the dog he’s bringing in. No way can I cope with hens and ducks today. Actually, I couldn’t be more jittery if it were me getting married, but I’m not going to share that thought with him.

  ‘My wellies have had a sparkle clean,’ I say, desperately trying to pat down the most unruly bits of my hair. ‘I’ve got Immie’s best Barbour, I’m good to go.’ Or at least I am now I’ve run around the desk, punching the air, singing along to Don’t Stop Me Now. Thank Christmas Rafe didn’t walk in five minutes earlier and catch me doing the actions.

  My Spotify playlist, Five Tracks to Fight the Fear (It’s only a wedding dammit!), as suggested by Jules, is proving to be a total life saver, although right now a blast of easy confidence from the man himself would go a long way. There’s no chance of that, given he’s capturing the bridal party getting ready, the groomsmen at the pub, and then will be heading straight to the village church. Instead I’m stuck with Mr Moody droning on about rainfall figures and my hideous hair.

  ‘Fancy a sandwich?’ Rafe’s crossed to the desk now, and he’s putting down a tray with the nearest thing I’ve seen to a smile for days. ‘I assume you haven’t eaten, given you’ve been here since four?’

  ‘Damn, I’m sorry, did I wake you?’ So much for sneaking in under the radar. As for breakfast, I might be chewing my fist, but I’m never hungry when I’m this anxious.

  ‘I didn’t hear you arrive, but Jet did.’ Rafe nods at the dog. ‘He’s good like that.’

  Jet, standing next to Rafe, lifts an eyebrow in appreciation of the mention, and thumps his tail against the desk. As the scent of fresh coffee wafts past my laptop screen, my mouth begins to water.

  As I spot the plate piled high, and a ketchup bottle I can’t resist asking. ‘Are those bacon sandwiches there?’

  ‘Yep. You need to put away your spreadsheet and eat. You’ll be far too busy running around later to think about food.’

  As Rafe pushes the tray towards me, a warm glow spreads through my chest. Who’d have thought he’d be so considerate and understanding. Maybe he’s not so bad as a boss after all.

  ‘Thanks.’ As I grab a crusty cob and take a bite, my empty stomach growls in anticipation. No way am I admitting I’ve been to the marquee and back six times already.

  Rafe clears his throat, and drums his fingers on the filing cabinet which he’s now leaning against. ‘Another small thing …’ The way he hesitates is ominous. ‘I … err, just wanted to confirm you won’t be drinking later?’

  ‘Sorry?’ I stop in mid chew as my mouth drops open in surprise.

  ‘There’ll be lots of alcohol around, it doesn’t look good if the staff get drunk.’ He’s saying staff, but this is directed entirely at me. ‘You have the responsibility, you need to stay sober.’ The stare he’s giving me is hard enough to rival Immie’s.

  As if I didn’t know that. The back of my neck prickles with indignation. ‘I wouldn’t dream of getting drunk.’ My voice has gone all squeaky and high. ‘Definitely not at work,’ I add, blinking away the image of Jess’s gin.

  ‘You made a pretty good job of it a couple of weeks back.’ His forehead wrinkles into a frown. ‘Unless you’ve forgotten?’ He’s looking right down his nose at me now. ‘Alcohol can cause memory blackouts.’

  Shit. He’s got me there. Although accidentally getting legless on a night out is another scenario entirely, but I’m not about to argue the point. Whatever I said before about an understanding boss, I take it all back. He obviously doesn’t have the first idea.

  ‘Right, well this time I’ll remember not to knock back every bottle of wine I come across.’ If I’m sending him a mocking sneer, it’s only because he deserves it. ‘And you make sure your locked up cows don’t stampede through the wedding.’ Hopefully neither is likely to happen, but if he’s got the point I’m making, he’s not reacting.

  ‘If we’ve cleared that up, it’s over to you,’ he says, his face impassive as he backs towards the door. ‘Have a good day.’

  That’s it? A food delivery masquerading as a lecture on alcohol abuse, and now he’s off.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say airily, as he steps out into the yard, making it clear I don’t give a damn that he’s walking out on this. I’m just muttering, ‘thanks for bloody nothing,’ when his head appears around the door edge again.

  ‘By the way …’

  He can stuff his ‘By the ways’ up his …

  ‘If something important crops up …’ He’s drumming his fingers on the door, annoyingly.

  If he was the last man on a desert island, I wouldn’t be asking for his help. ‘There won’t be anything the team can’t handle.’ I stick my chin in the air. ‘And if I fall over drunk I’m sure someone will call you.’

  ‘Whatever.’ He rolls his eyes, and his long sigh leaves me in no doubt how much he’s hating every minute of this. ‘I’ll be in the office or the kitchen all day.’

  23

  In the office at Daisy Hill Farm: Disco rabbits

  ‘So that went well.’ Immie’s beaming at me, leaning back in the office chair. Feet on the desk, a lop-eared rabbit cradled on her lap. ‘See, I told you there was nothing to worry about.’ At least she’s taken her boots off.

  ‘It isn’t over yet,’ I remind her, as I slam the door against the wind, and shove my dripping umbrella into the bucket, which someone – probably Cate – has thoughtfully provided. ‘There’s still another half hour to go.’ Although I’m only here for a moment I ease down my jacket zip. ‘How are the bunnies anyway?’ Okay, it’s confession time. When the
heavens finally opened at ten, I gave up on vanity, and took refuge in the yurt coat. It might not look great, but who cares if it keeps you dry in a downpour like we’re having now.

  Immie took over rabbit care when Cate finally gave up on looking for ideas for her own wedding and went home. Who’d have thought Cate would have overlooked a chocolate fountain? She remedied that by putting in an order straight away, except – no surprise – hers will be super-sized. The doting way Immie is tickling the bunny’s head reminds me how she used to make us sit through back to back screenings of my mum’s Watership Down video when we were nine. ‘The bunnies have been fine since we brought them up here.’

  ‘I’m counting myself lucky, rabbits almost having heart attacks because of the disco is the worst thing that’s happened today,’ I say. ‘That and Rafe assuming I was going to get paralytic.’ I give that the eye roll it deserves. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to mention it.

  Immie pat’s her rabbit’s back. ‘You might need to forgive him for that.’ She gives a rueful smile. ‘He probably didn’t want to say, but Carrie got rat-arsed at every wedding.’ Her smile turned to a grimace. ‘And she usually made a lunge for the best man at some point too.’

  ‘That explains a lot.’ If I’d known that I’d have saved myself a day of fuming. At least he spared me the lecture about jumping the guests. ‘So,’ I go on, sliding back into organiser mode, ‘Lara’s mum is picking the bunnies up on her way home, which should be in about half an hour. Where’s the other one anyway?’ I glance around the floor nervously. ‘A lost bunny is all I need.’

  ‘Keep your hair on,’ Immie chides. ‘He’s only under the bookcase, he’s having a great time making a nest out of paper.’

  I let the hair reference go. ‘Paper?’ I’m puzzled. ‘There isn’t any paper, not since Rafe had his filing fest.’

  When I stoop under the bookcase to investigate, sure enough there’s a fur ball of a bunny, surrounded by scrunched up paper scraps. As I pick one up, and smooth it out, my heart gives a lurch. ‘Oh shit.’ I pick up the next piece and let out a long groan.

  ‘Problem?’ Immie looks up from twisting her bunny’s ear.

  ‘These look like wedding notes.’ I fish out the rest of the papers, and spread the bundle out on the desk. ‘I think our nesting bunny just found the rest of Carrie’s filing system.’ Opening the drawer, I ram them in. ‘There’s no time for this now, the taxis will be here any minute, I need to direct them to the parking area.’

  Grabbing my umbrella, I’m about to make a run for it, when the door opens and Rafe saunters in. When you’re racing around like a mad thing, there’s nothing more annoying than someone all laid back and nonchalant, blocking your way.

  He scratches his head, oblivious, and peers at Immie’s knee. ‘Rabbit?’ he asks slowly. ‘I saw the No Dogs, Due To Loose Livestock notice on the door.’ He’s acting like he’s just woken up from a snooze, although he’s fully kitted out in all weather gear, which seems a bit extreme as he’s only walked from the house to the office.

  ‘Two actually.’ Immie gives a laugh.

  ‘Nice one.’ The corners of his mouth pull downwards, as he leans forwards and tweaks the bunny’s ear. ‘I see our Wedding Planner’s relaxed her rules about livestock in the office then?’

  I haven’t got time for this. ‘I’m your Event Coordinator,’ I snap, immediately regretting saying ‘your’. ‘And if you don’t mind moving, I need to go to meet the taxis.’ I put my hands on my hips, to show him I mean business.

  ‘Taxis? Here’s me talking about rabbits, and I should be telling you about taxis.’ He rubs his chin but doesn’t move. ‘Morgan just rang me to say there are ten taxis, all in the bottom field.’

  My stomach plummets. ‘But they’re early.’ And in completely the wrong place. Even as I wail, I know this is my fault, because I was supposed to show them where to go. ‘And they’re supposed to be in the top field.’ The bottom field was already a quagmire this afternoon, and that was before the rain.

  ‘The taxis always arrive at least half an hour ahead of time for wedding pickups.’

  I can’t help snapping. ‘It might have helped if you’d told me that.’

  He shrugs off my complaint as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘What matters more is that they’re currently stuck fast, up to their axles in mud.’

  Shit. Worse and worse. I grab my shrinking stomach, because I think I’m going to be sick. ‘What the hell am I going to do now? The guests will be stuck here all night, it’s my worst nightmare, a wedding that never ends.’ I hear my voice getting higher and higher. This is the ultimate cock up, and it’s all down to me.

  ‘Keep your hair on, Poppy, it’s only a few bogged down taxis.’ From the way the corners of Rafe’s lips are twitching, I suspect he might be enjoying this. ‘The tractor’s outside ready, we’ll pull them out in no time.’ His face splits into a full blown grin. ‘Hop in, I’ll give you a lift back to the front line.’

  As we bounce through the darkness towards the cosy glow of the marquee, the rain is hammering down on the tractor cab, and the strings of lights around the field are swinging wildly, in the gale.

  ‘I hope the bride’s brought her wellies.’ Rafe says, as he swings the tractor into the wedding field. ‘I knew she was going to need them.’

  Don’t you just hate know-it-alls? Especially when they’re right. Even more when they’re filling the space with the smell of really nice aftershave, which by rights, given the stubble on their chin, they shouldn’t be using at all.

  ‘Lara chose to get married in a field in March, she was completely prepared for mud,’ I bluff through gritted teeth, because I can’t bear him gloating. Now I know Lara and Ben better, I’m even more desperate for them to have an awesome day.

  ‘More fool her,’ he sniffs, and even though it’s dark, I know he’s rolling his eyes.

  ‘Let’s hope she’s had a brilliant day,’ I say, a lot more brightly than I feel. Right now I’ll just be glad when the taxis have all been pulled free, and everyone’s driven away. Thank goodness they’re all from the village, so no-one’s staying over in the cottages.

  ‘You’ve certainly gone the extra mile for her,’ he grunts, as he pulls up by the marquee entrance. ‘I hope they damn well appreciate it.’

  Excuse me? Was that Rafe handing out a compliment, albeit a back handed and grouchy one?

  ‘I’m sure they do,’ I assure him hurriedly, when I finally pick my jaw up off the floor.

  Rafe pulls up by the burger van outside the marquee. As he reaches across me and opens the tractor door to let me out, a figure in a sodden parka springs into the headlight beam. There’s a flash of a camera lens, and a glimpse of familiar stripy scarf, and suddenly, I’m smiling.

  ‘David bloody Bailey’s still here then?’ This is Rafe, signing off the day, as ‘disgusted of Daisy Hill Farm’. ‘Do me a favour, and tell that tosser it’s past his bed time, he needs to go home.’

  ‘Thanks for the lift,’ I call, ignoring the insults. Gingerly I climb down from the tractor, knowing I owe Rafe for a whole lot more than that. I’m deep in the shit here, and this is the guy who’s saving me.

  Rafe is still blustering about Jules. ‘On second thoughts, tell him …’

  Except I don’t hear what he has to say, because there’s a throng of guests under the marquee awning, clutching umbrellas and armfuls of daffodils, who rush towards me, all asking where their transport is.

  APRIL

  24

  In Brides by the Sea: Something for the walls

  The down-side to having a bright yellow car is it makes it difficult to hide, and as I only go to two places anyway, I’m not hard to find. If I’m not at Daisy Hill Farm, I’ll be at Brides by the Sea. Which is probably why, yet again, Jules is outside on the pavement, waving past the gauzy wonders of Sera’s bestselling dresses in the window and making ‘I’m coming in right now’ gestures. Okay, I might be making this more complicated than it sounds. He’s putting up t
wo thumbs, bouncing in the direction of the shop door, and giving me his broadest, most enthusiastic, puppy dog smile. In fact it’s so broad, I’m not the only one who catches it.

  ‘Jules? Again?’

  I can tell by the little purr Jess gives, that despite her one raised eyebrow, and the fact that I’m supposedly working for her, not for me today, she doesn’t mind at all.

  ‘I wonder …’ She gives another purr. ‘Is he bringing us some pictures at last?’

  Given he just put up two thumbs, I’m guessing he’s here empty handed, at least for today. But Jess is putting on the pressure big time, trying to persuade him to let her have some fabulous shots for her walls, in return for what she calls ‘invaluable wedding shop exposure’ and ‘downstream marketing’. We all know what she’s actually angling for is for him to rent some exhibition wall space from her, but this far, he’s holding out. No mean achievement. When Jess puts the screws on, she’s very hard to stand up to.

  ‘I’m sorry he’s always crashing in here,’ I say to Jess, ‘I’d much rather he invited me to his loft apartment, just so I can have a look.’

  Jess is onto me in a second. ‘And who said he lived in an apartment?’ She peers at me over her specs.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ I admit, ‘A loft goes with his lifestyle somehow.’

  Jess gives a laugh. ‘Jaggers is a great place for gathering information. Sorry to disillusion you, but Jules lives in a bungalow.’

  ‘Really?’ This doesn’t fit with my image of him at all, unless it’s one of those super swish places.

  ‘With his mum.’ She adds, grinning at my shock, as she brings the final hammer crashing down on my illusions.

  ‘Surely not?’ I gawp at her. I’m supposedly cleaning surfaces for an hour while my cakes cool, but my feather duster is hanging limp in my hand.