by Jane Linfoot
Chas wanders out of one of the tents and squats down by the cool box. ‘Anyone for a beer?’
Despite the shade, he’s looking decidedly rosy, probably where Immie’s polish has rubbed off on him.
Shaking my head, I grin at him. ‘No thanks.’ Ten in the morning’s a bit early for me, even when the sun’s beating down. ‘Has anyone seen Rafe? I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find him.’ Given his telltale Land Rover is parked by the piles of poles and canvas that used to be the big tipi, he can’t be far away.
Ideally, I’d have steered clear of him for at least a few more days, but the guy from the tipi company has a query that won’t wait. At least if I see Rafe down here, we’re on neutral ground. Well away from the house and all the echoes of what I’m silently calling my night of shame. Who’d have thought it would be so hard to drive those few hours out of my brain and pretend they didn’t ever happen? No matter what I do, the flash backs keep coming. The truth is, I’ve spent more time reliving those two hours in the half light of dawn than I’ve spent concentrating on whatever I’m supposed to be doing. Whether it’s wedding dresses, or websites, it doesn’t matter – I can’t keep my mind on the job. Thank Christmas I haven’t got a big cake job on right now, because my mind is so upside down, I can barely tell my cupcakes from my chocolate soufflé.
‘Uncle Rafie?’ Immie gives an indulgent eye roll. ‘Try the wood. He’s found his new role in life – playing with the kids in the stream.’ She peels away from the group. ‘I’ll take you.’
‘Great.’ This seriously doesn’t sound like any incarnation of Rafe I’ve come across.
Once we’re walking across the field, her voice drops. ‘I don’t know what you did to him the night you stayed, but he hasn’t stopped bouncing since.’
My stomach goes into free fall. ‘He loved playing the piano that evening.’ It’s not that I don’t trust Immie to keep a secret, but no-one can know I had sex with Rafe. Even though I’ve been trying to get it out of my head ever since, what I can’t quite get my head around is how damned incredible it was. And I’d somehow hoped I could put off seeing him for a bit longer.
Immie grunts. ‘It must’ve been the music then.’ She swings around a birch trunk, as we reach the trees. The sound of laughter and splashing nearby carries on the air. ‘You don’t always have to sleep on the sofa you know, he’s got a lovely spare room.’ She turns to me with a scolding smile. ‘The cleaners went in, but they told me you’d slept downstairs. I knew you wouldn’t have wanted to dirty the sheets.’
I swallow so hard, I almost choke on my tongue. ‘Sometimes the sofa’s less trouble.’ I squeak. If I sound as if I’m about to expire, that’s exactly how I feel. ‘It was only for a couple of hours anyway.’
As we round the bend, the path opens into a clearing. I gulp again as I take in Rafe, in soaking wet cut off denims, bare legs planted in the broad stream. He’s surrounded by a crowd of kids, and Jet’s on the bank, watching patiently. For once Rafe’s tattered Fat Willy’s Surf Shop vest is entirely appropriate, even if it’s a shock to see him wearing a shirt without a picture of a tractor.
He eases the rock he’s manhandling into position. ‘Red, hey.’
If a shaft of sunlight had fallen across his face it couldn’t have lit up more, and my heart pounds so hard, it leaves me feeling queasy. At least we’ve broken the ice.
‘We’re building a damn,’ he says, turning to his crew. ‘Aren’t we guys? Only for today though, then we’ll take it down.’
Immie gives me a thumbs up as she slips away.
‘Brill.’ I shove my hands into the pocket of my skirt, and try to get a hold of my lurching breath. ‘Have you got a minute to chat about an idea the tipi guy had?’
‘Sure.’ Rafe shakes back his hair and wipes his wrist across his brow. ‘Building damns is very therapeutic, why not come in and help, we can chat while we’re working.’ He sounds suddenly doubtful. ‘Unless you don’t want to get mud on your clothes?’ Okay, when I said I’d prefer not to be trapped in the confines of the office with Rafe, I wasn’t thinking of trading it to meet thigh deep in water.
‘It’s only an old skirt.’ That came out in an unexpected rush, before I thought it through. It’s not that old, it’s my second best work one, but I bought it because it’s easy, washable, and hard wearing. When you share an office with thirteen hens, sad to say, some considerations count more than style.
I’m already kicking off my Converse. Next thing I know, I’ve hitched up my waistband, and I’m striding in. ‘Shit it’s freezing!’ The icy water numbs my feet instantaneously, then sets up a serious ache in my legs. ‘Whoahhh.’ I throw up my arms, wobbling precariously as my bare feet slide on the slimy stones of the stream bed.
Rafe twists to watch me as I stagger across to him. ‘So, we’re taking rocks, and putting them in a pile across the stream.’ The way his lips are twisting, he seems to be holding back his laughter.
As if to illustrate how easy it is, two small boys come across with rocks almost as big as themselves on their shoulders.
‘Nice work, Chip, steady there, Tommy.’ Rafe’s encouragement is as easy as it is warm.
As they tip the rocks into the pool behind the damn, an arc of water leaps through the air and catches me broadsides. The chill smacks against the warm skin of my arms, and I gasp and jump backwards. Very bad move. My feet slither and as I fail to find a foothold I make a wild lunge. With each lurch I lose my balance more, and then there’s an unholy splash, and the cold roars through my body, as I tumble sideways into the water.
The roar of sheer joy that comes from the delighted kids goes some way to soothing my dented ego. As my skin pricks to goosebumps, Rafe strides over, and his strong hands close around my wrists. With one yank, he hauls me to my feet.
‘Beginner’s error,’ he says. ‘If you’re going to fall in, make sure you do it downstream of the damn, the water’s much shallower there.’
‘Great timing, telling me now.’ I peel a piece of pond weed off my dripping skirt, and brush some mud off my leg. Even if I’m shivering, this is minor compared to winter soakings I’ve had on Brett’s friends’ ocean going yachts. Just to show the sea of waiting faces that I’m good, I take the stone the small girl nearby is holding out to me, and plonk it onto the damn wall.
Rafe’s staring at me and my chattering teeth. ‘Are you okay? Shall I run you back up to the house?’
I sniff, and push a soggy strand of hair out of my eye. ‘No thanks, I’m fine.’ Although I’m sticking my chin up in the air defiantly, it isn’t that much of a lie. In response to Rafe’s eyes sneaking towards my boobs, I peer down to check my pale grey T-shirt hasn’t turned completely transparent. If ever there was a time I’m pleased I grabbed a solid, every day bra, it’s today. I dread to think of the trouble I’d be in now if I’d put on the skimpy lace number from the shop that I blew Tia’s wedding tip on yesterday. Again, that totally irrational purchase was in line with how things have been the last two days. I mean, I never intend to need lacy underwear again. Those few short hours with Rafe have completely dislocated my sensible brain from my actions. If you need proof, you only have to look at me now. Why the hell am I standing here arse deep in a bloody country stream, with a skirt like frozen cardboard?
There’s what looks like a comfortable tree trunk lying midway across the stream, so I wobble across to it, and carefully edge my way to sitting. Then I bring my knees up, and hug them to my chest, solving the problem of any too-visible nipples.
‘So.’ If my hands were free, I’d be rubbing them now, but they’re not, so instead, I just sniff loudly to get Rafe’s attention, and it works. ‘There’s something I need to run by you.’ I hesitate, only because I’m not sure how he’ll take this.
Before I can carry on Rafe cuts in. ‘Wait, don’t tell me. You want to bring brides to weddings by water?’ Although his expression is dead pan, there’s a smile lilting on his lips. ‘Given the way you just made your entrance, I’d say
it’s a “no” to that one.’ He grins over the head of one of the other small girls as she delivers a stone into his hands, then he carefully pushes it into place. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’
Oh my days. I get what Immie means about Rafe acting like he’s taken happy pills. Dismissing that with a head shake, I carry on with what I’ve come for.
‘The tipi guys want to leave their big tipi up after the next midweek wedding they’re doing. And have a mini wedding fair the weekend after.’
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s the last weekend in September. They want an open day in the wedding field, to showcase the tipi range. The styling company and the caterers have said they’d exhibit in the main tipi, we can get Brides by the Sea to bring dresses and flowers, I can bring cakes, Jules will do a photo exhibition.’
‘Fine, so long as it fits in with our other bookings, it sounds like a goer.’ His shrug suggests he doesn’t really know why I’m involving him at all.
‘It’s a great first point of contact for future brides and grooms.’ I give it a moment for that thought to sink in, given I’ve no idea what Rafe’s plans are after September. ‘A wedding fair would be really good for you if you decide to carry on with weddings at Daisy Hill Farm next year.’ No pressure at all either way from me here, but at least I’ve said it. ‘That will be pretty much our last event of the season.’ I’ve spent so long aching to get this whole job over, that I’m surprised by the pang in my chest as I say that. Somehow life won’t ever be quite the same again without chickens perching on my desk, cows snuffling at me over the fence as I lock up my car, not to mention unscheduled dips in brooks.
Rafe’s eyes widen, but a moment later his hands are on his hips, and it’s business as usual. ‘Right, got that thanks.’ The way he narrows his eyes gives no indication how much of that he’s taken on board. ‘So unless you’re joining our damn building team for the day, I’d better run you back up to the house to change. Unless you can borrow something from Immie?’
The kids, wary they’re about to lose their gang leader, raise their heads, and stop work to listen more carefully.
‘Great idea, I’ll scrounge something from the campers.’ Even an already worn fireman’s shirt would be preferable to ending up back in Rafe’s kitchen. I ease myself off the tree trunk, and begin to slither towards the stream edge.
The grin Rafe sends me is wicked. ‘We could wear matching Fat Willy vests?’
‘Thanks, but no,’ I say firmly, to close him down. I’m about to clamber onto the bank, but Rafe’s already there, springing out of the water, arm extending down, ready to haul me out.
‘Happy to drag you out of the mud. Again. You wouldn’t let me take you home last time either.’ His tone is rueful.
I’m not letting him get away with that. ‘Like you even offered.’ My voice is high with indignation. If he’s harping back to that day in the ditch with Bolly and Brioche, it’s so long ago, I’m surprised he can even remember. Although on second thoughts, given the way he’s standing on the bank, all stubble shadows and tanned forearms, I’m so tempted to grab him, and snog his socks off, I’d better get a move on. Scrambling onto the drier ground, I grasp at a sapling to steady myself. ‘Think about what I said about the wedding fair, and get back to me.’ Snatching my converse from the ground, I hurry away. ‘See you.’ I shout that last phrase over my shoulder as I scurry away barefoot. Somehow it’s very important to have the last word, and to get the hell out of here as fast as I can.
55
In my flat at Brides by the Sea: My own front door
The rest of August is wall to wall cakes and weddings, and our list of bridesmaid duties for Cate is expanding exponentially. It’s all very well saying, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll do the wedding flowers.’ Ditto the favours for three hundred. Not to mention the hen night, which was supposed to be as last minute, low key, and low budget as they come, but still had to be organised. It’s been hard pulling it all together when I’ve been working three other jobs at the same time. And on top of all that, Rafe took it into his head that he wanted to discuss ideas for the business. About ‘taking weddings forward’. The down side is, I was up until the small hours preparing figures to persuade him it’s a goer. But on the up-side, to save me time, he’s coming into St Aidan so we can talk it through.
The trouble with not having my own front door is that I’ve no control over who Jess lets up to see me, or when. I’m getting ready to go and meet Rafe in town, when who should clatter up the stairs, but Jules. His excuse – he’d come to tell me how fab the Wedding Fair adverts are. They hit the local press today, and yes, I might have been jumping the gun, but they implied the farm is continuing as a venue. The real reason for his visit was to suggest we should join forces and launch a photography and wedding planning business together. And although I can see how the two services might complement each other nicely, I’m not sure I’m up for throwing myself into business with Jules. Although he was so enthusiastic and excited, I wasn’t mean enough to tell him that straight. I’ll have to let him down gently. But later.
Which brings is neatly onto the real business of the day, or evening. Cate’s pre-wedding bash. Shoe horned in, at the last minute. So small it isn’t even being referred to as a Hen Night, because officially she’s decided not to have one of those, for reasons of economy. So instead it’s Liam looking after the kids, while a few girlfriends go on a pub crawl in town.
Bearing all the above in mind, I’m not quite sure why a fairy costume just arrived by courier. But it did. If we’d had the opportunity to choose, I might have gone for a colour other than light mauve. So would Immie. She texted me a pic, saying how much she hates her pale yellow. So I’m all set to meet Rafe for an hour before, in my black wedding shop capri pants, topped off with an almost-sharp white shirt. Am I wearing the sexy bra? No. Of course I’m not. I’ve buried it deep in the drawer. Right at the bottom. So I don’t have to undergo a personal interrogation, asking myself why the hell I bought it, every time I dip in for knickers.
My secret plan is to keep the capri pants on under the fairy dress. But just in case I don’t, I’m ironing the lilac tulle, in the vain hope that smooth tulle will come further down my thighs than the scrunched up tulle, as delivered by Trans Global Express. I’m still staring at the tattered net despairingly, when there’s yet another clatter on the stairs, and a very familiar low voice.
‘Red, are you up there?’
It’s Rafe. Good thing I had my mouth shut, because given the way my heart lurched, it might have bounced right out of the open window and landed on the beach. Ten minutes early too. And when did meeting outside The Surf Shack turn into arriving on my landing, and walking straight on into my kitchen? Unannounced, and uninvited. Giving me no time at all to get my head around how I’m going to act around him, when the last time we were properly together was in his bed.
‘Hey, Rafe, I wasn’t expecting you to traipse all the way up here. Come in,’ I say, entirely unnecessarily, given he’s already level with the kitchen table.
Drawn by the sea view, he moves forward to peer out of the window. ‘You’re on top of the world here. Wow, who knew the sea actually sparkled?’ He’s obviously spent too many years inland to have noticed before. ‘And what a lot of baking tins.’
There’s a pang in my chest, as he mentions the sparkle, and the tins. With my future after October not exactly settled, I’m not sure how long I’ll be hanging onto my lovely porthole picture of the sea. Or be baking my cakes every day. ‘I never get tired of looking at the sea, it’s different every time,’ I say.
As I lean to catch yet another glimpse, I accidentally nudge my laptop, sitting on the table. The screen bursts into life, open at the email I’d momentarily forgotten. My former colleague in London, who’s been out-of-office all summer, is finally back at her desk. Not that she says anything other than good to hear from you, I’ll keep you in mind if anything comes up. Which is a great way of saying ‘you left, there’s no coming back’.
In a rush of guilt for emailing her at all, I slam the laptop shut. Too fast.
‘Hiding something, Red?’ Rafe’s laugh is low and teasing.
I say the first thing that comes into my head. ‘Only my Uniform Dating application.’ And before anyone says, I’m not secretly wishing.
‘You’re joking?’ His voice rises in shock. ‘You want your own fireman? Shit, I did not see that coming.’
‘Gotcha.’ I laugh. ‘It was an email from an old girlfriend in London.’
‘Phew, right … Nice kitchen you’ve got here,’ he says. If he’s trying to take the heat off and change the subject, it worked. ‘I like that it’s colourful, with all your utensils and work tools on display. It’s full of integrity, and very you.’ Wonders never cease. Now he’s giving feedback on interiors.
‘I painted the cupboards myself.’ I’m still pretty proud of the way the bright blue paint hides the hotch potch. ‘Otherwise the colour’s down to the tulips.’ Red and purple and yellow. ‘I couldn’t resist them. They reminded me of the colours my mum had in our cottage when I was small.’
‘Funny how nostalgia makes us feel safe.’ As Rafe sticks his hands in his pockets, for the first time I notice he’s wearing smart chinos. ‘Actually I came early to give you a chance to change.’
Fashion criticism? ‘Which bit of shirt and capri pants doesn’t work for coffee?’
‘I booked a table for early dinner at The Harbourside Hotel.’
What? Since when did agreeing to meet up for an hour at five thirty mean a commitment for a whole night out?
‘I hope that’s okay with you?’
I’m opening and closing my mouth like a guppy. ‘Sorry, there isn’t time, I’m going out … at 6.30.’
Before I get any more out his airy grin turns to a frown. ‘Going out? When do you ever go out?’
‘It’s Cate’s hen do, hence the dress.’ I nod at the ironing board.
‘That’s a dress?’ He screws up his eyes as he scrutinises. ‘There’s not much of it.’ Then the furrows on his forehead melt away.
