Cupcakes and Confetti

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘Sorry, only trying to warm you up.’ His face cracks into an awful wounded dog expression. ‘Nothing more.’

  ‘Right.’ I believe him, thousands wouldn’t.

  I don’t even like Rafe. Although that’s not strictly true. I didn’t used to like him. Nine months ago he was an arse. But credit where credit’s due. Now not so much. Lately I’ve seen a whole different side.

  ‘If you’d rather get hypothermia, that’s up to you.’ Stripping off his polo shirt with one easy movement, he hands it to me. ‘At least put this on.’

  ‘G-g-great.’ I say again, although this time I’m being ironic. But once I’ve tussled my arms into the polo, I immediately feel the benefit. ‘Thanks.’ I grimace as my head pokes through the neck, and I take in a six pack, and low slung jeans. A feather of hair running down from his belly button and disappearing beneath his belt.

  ‘Race you down?’ His eyes are glinting.

  Just this once, it makes sense to let him win. Which is how I end up slithering down Daisy Hill, watching a bare backed Rafe leaping ahead of me, arms outstretched, his tanned skin shiny in the rain. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn he was pretending to be an aeroplane.

  By the time we reach the Landy we’re red with cold.

  ‘Feed sack?’ Rafe drags a knife from his pocket, pulls a crumpled plastic bag from a pile in the back, and makes a few slits. ‘The rural equivalent of the survival blanket. Some people round here wear them all the time in winter.’ He hands it to me, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to put it on.

  ‘Only for the ride back to the farm.’ Okay, in style terms, a fluorescent yellow sack counts as such a huge disaster, it’s probably edgy. But I care less than I should have because despite the crackling plastic, once I’ve slipped it on like a waistcoat, it’s surprisingly warm.

  ‘Binder twine belt?’ He grins as he cuts me a length of rough string, and tosses it over. ‘Essential to complete the outfit.’

  Worse and worse. On balance I decide to manage without that final accessory.

  ‘For the record …’ I’m yelling over the roar of the engine, as we bounce back down the lane. ‘Daisy Hill Farm Weddings would still be a good proposition, regardless of me.’ Just saying. Because someone has to. Carrie messed up, but other people wouldn’t.

  ‘Good to know you’ll be here though. It wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.’ He shoots me a sideways grin as he shouts back, his own sack flapping as he wrestles the Landy into the courtyard. ‘Hey, we finally got our matching outfits. Lemon’s big this season, did you know?’

  Dammit. This man knows exactly which buttons to press.

  ‘Rafe …’ I wait until he negotiates the bend by the house, and looks me full in the face again. ‘Fuck off.’ As for not liking him, there are times, like now, when one glance is enough to turn my toes to syrup. When I kick myself for liking him way too much.

  ‘Whatever.’ He’s laughing as he yanks on the handbrake. ‘This is too good to miss, fancy a selfie?’

  61

  In my kitchen at Brides by the Sea: Fumbling and favours

  What with preparations for Cate and Liam’s wedding, and the small matter of their gigantic wedding cake, the next week passes in a blur, most of it spent up to my elbows in cake and biscuit mix, in my kitchen. As for Rafe, the most I see of him is a silhouette on a distant tractor.

  ‘So here’re the bags for the favours, with labels, and pink and red ribbons to tie them.’

  We’re closing in, and Cate’s popped in to see me on her way back from work. She drops her soaking brolly into the sink, before dropping a damp carrier on the side.

  ‘Hey, nice hair, Pops.’

  I ruffle my fingers through, to make it as messy as it’s supposed to be. ‘I splashed out on a choppy bob for your big day.’

  ‘It’s fab, and the orange has finally gone too.’

  ‘Orange was my break up colour.’ I grimace at the memory. ‘I’m not in pieces any more, so faded blonde’s okay for now.’ I laugh, as I reach for a plastic container. ‘Here, have a peep at the favours, see what you think.’ I prise the lid off, and Cate peers in at the pile of heart shaped biscuits, inhaling deeply.

  ‘Wow, they’re so pretty, and they smell delish.’ Poor Cate’s on a last minute diet of air, in a final attempt to get slender before the wedding in two days’ time.

  ‘That’s the butter shortbread. They’re only small, can you allow yourself one?’

  Cate hesitates for a second, then dives straight in, wiping the crumbs from her lips as she crunches hungrily. Then she goes straight back for a second. ‘And how many have you made?’ She’s mumbling with her mouth full. Her third disappears in one swallow. If she keeps this up, I’ll be needing another batch.

  ‘Six for each guest, so that’s one thousand eight hundred biscuits altogether. I’ve got hearts imprinted on my retinas, after that, believe me.’ I’m only teasing, I’m used to industrial quantities. ‘I’ll bag them up later tonight. Here, I’ll show you one of the cakes.’ I reach for a container from another stack. ‘Have you decided what kind of butter cream you’d like yet?’ I can see her salivating on the spot at the mention of icing.

  ‘Well Liam’s favourite is chocolate, but I’d set my heart on raspberry jam and vanilla.’ She peeps in at the giant sponge, nodding. ‘Gorgeous, how many are there?’

  ‘There’ll be sixteen altogether.’ I’ve still got a couple more to bake. ‘Four cakes, stuck together with icing for each tier. I’ll make the tiers here, then stack them up and do the final touches in the marquee.’ A dusting of icing sugar, and a scattering of fruit and flowers will complete the job. If it sounds massive, it’s only because it’s in scale with everything else about Cate’s wedding. Right now the poor woman looks hungry enough to eat it single handed. ‘Then we’ll have some cupcake towers too.’

  Cate swallows loudly. ‘So what do you think for the icing?’ She’s agonising as she asks. ‘With the red and pink theme, maybe Liam can get his chocolate fix with the cupcakes?’

  Given their history, I reckon she needs to bend on her colours, just this once. ‘The sponge is vanilla, so how about chocolate icing in two of the tiers, and vanilla and jam in the others.’ I’m not sure I’ve swung her yet. ‘Lots of people love chocolate,’ I add, hastily. ‘It’ll be great with raspberries and strawberries.’

  She licks her lips, then takes a deep breath. ‘Sounds fab, we’ll go with that.’ Fumbling in her bag, she brings out another packet. ‘I almost forgot, the bride and groom for the top.’ She pulls off the tissue paper. ‘Ta-dah. What do you think?’

  The pottery groom dressed in a rugby kit cracks my face into a smile. As I take in the bride in her long white dress tackling the groom, my beam widens. ‘I love that the bride’s going in for a horizontal tackle, with her arms round his hips.’ I’m laughing now, not only at the humour, but with relief that Cate is so in tune with Liam after all. ‘It’s perfect, Liam’s going to love it.’

  ‘So it’s all settled that Rafe’s coming too?’ Cate asks, going straight in for a low tackle of her own.

  After the hen night rescue he’s guest of honour, obviously. In my absence, Rafe and Immie got together and decided that we’ll all manage any problems jointly, in our wedding clothes. Although frankly, I could have done without spending an entire day with the scrubbed up version of Rafe.

  ‘As far as I know he’s coming,’ I say, ‘not that I’ve seen him.’

  ‘We’ll soon put that right.’ Cate beams. ‘Liam and I are doing the seating plan later, Immie’s asked for you all to be together. Chas has volunteered to help, so he’ll be there too.’

  Immie’s recent surgical attachment to Chas is getting worse, not better. ‘Chas volunteered as what? Gigolo for bridesmaid two?’

  Cate shakes her head. ‘I think it was for traffic management. Or maybe crowd control?’ Poor girl, wedding stress is giving her a sense of humour bypass. ‘And then they’ve arranged for you to stay ov
er in Rafe’s spare room.’

  Oh, shit. My stomach’s plummeting like a lift in a twenty storey building. ‘You’re joking?’ Even as my wail is bouncing off the sloping ceiling, I know she’s not.

  ‘No, the cottages are full, so Rafe’s insisting you sleep at his.’

  Dammit. Definitely no drinking allowed for me, then. There’s no way I want to end up where I did last time. In his bed, begging is such a bad look. Something about the rugby tackling bride bringing down the groom is horribly reminiscent of my night in Rafe’s bedroom.

  ‘Great.’ If I sound ten times too grateful, it’s only to mask how appalled I am.

  ‘Okay, well I think that’s everything.’ Cate peers out of the porthole as she goes for her umbrella. ‘Except the bloody weather, of course. Have you seen it out here? It’s been throwing it down all day.’

  ‘All week actually.’ Ever since that day up on Daisy Hill. And for the first time in months, the view from the porthole has been wall to wall grey, without a hint of glitter on the sea.

  ‘But I so want a sunny wedding.’ Cate’s groan is heartfelt.

  ‘I know, I want sun for you too, but England’s a rainy place. At least you’ve ordered a load of umbrellas.’ A load being a hundred. White to match the wedding. What else can I say? ‘Jules will get some fab shots, whatever. His stormy shots are legendary.’ I guess it’s good if Cate can come to terms with rain before it ruins her day.

  ‘Pops, what’s this?’ As she moves to pick up her bag, her voice takes on a quiet urgency. ‘You didn’t say anything about a job?’

  Cate stumbling over the job description I just printed out wasn’t in my master plan for this afternoon. ‘That’s because there wasn’t any job until ten minutes before you got here. And probably there still isn’t.’

  ‘Tell me to butt out if you like.’ She nods towards the pile of papers on the draining board next to her bag. ‘But I’m here if you want to share?’

  ‘I told you I’d emailed the place I used to work in London ages ago. They didn’t have any openings, but now someone’s gone off sick, and it might be long-term. Nothing’s certain, but they sent the job details through anyway.’

  ‘And?’

  I shrug. ‘No idea, I haven’t read it yet.’ That’s how new it is. And given I’m pretty sorted here now, I can pretty much dismiss it. ‘It won’t come to anything. I’ve been away from the industry for so long, I’m probably unemployable.’

  ‘Not from where I stand.’ Cate sniffs, as if to say she’s an employment expert. Which admittedly, she possibly is. ‘But I thought Immie said you and Rafe are taking the weddings forward? As a team? Did she say you had a uniform?’

  Oh my days. I knew those matching feed bags would come back to haunt me. And however reluctant I was to start back in February, I’m really excited to be to staying on now. Three damp pages outlining a job that hasn’t come vacant isn’t worth either of us bothering about.

  ‘I’m really looking forward to next year at the farm.’ I’m being truthful there. ‘But first things first, we need to get you married.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ she says. ‘You’re always so sensible. Let me give you a huge thank you hug, and then I’ll go.’ The way she flings her arms around me and draws me into that Diorissimo-infused warmth is achingly familiar.

  ‘Thank you, and not just for the cake.’ She’s mumbling into my neck now. ‘We wouldn’t even have needed a cake if you hadn’t bailed us out with your dress money … and you working at the farm saved the wedding in the first place … if it wasn’t for you there wouldn’t even be a wedding, Pops.’

  There have been so many times over the last few years when Cate’s hugs are the only thing that have got me through. Every time Brett wasn’t there for me, she was. When my mum died she couldn’t have done more. And when Brett screwed up big time, she was here, mopping up my tears. It’s good that I’ve finally got to a place where I’m the one who’s come through for her.

  ‘Right.’ She finally stands back with a sniff. ‘I’ll go now.’ Wiping her nose with the back of her hand is not what Cate would usually do.

  As we stare at each other, I swallow back the huge lump in my throat. My eyes are blurry with tears, simply because it’s taken so much for Cate to get here. ‘Off you go, Mrs,’ I bustle her towards the stairs. ‘I’ll be at yours first thing to help with the flowers,’ I call, as she sets off down the stairs. ‘Two days from now you’ll be Mrs Williams.’

  As her footfalls fade as she winds her way down, I go back to my kitchen to make the last batch of sponges and worry about how I’m going to cope with spending the whole of the wedding day with Rafe.

  62

  At Daisy Hill Farm: Missing bits and willing helpers

  Hair and make-up for a bride and eight bridesmaids, in time for a wedding at twelve? When you do the maths, you pretty much have to start before you go to bed. As it is, we’re in the marquee until late the day before, ignoring the depressing patter of the rain, doing the final touches like flowers and bunting and fairy lights. I dash home for a couple of hours sleep, then there’s a hundred trips up and down the stairs at Brides by the Sea to load up my car. I’m back at the farm by seven, dodging the showers in my rain coat, to unload into Rafe’s kitchen. Then I head over for my bridesmaid beautification.

  Despite feeling like the crack of dawn to me, albeit a dismal one, Rafe’s already up and out when I reach the farm. As I drop my overnight bag next to his sofa, the delicious scent of grilled bacon hanging in the air makes me wish I’d found time to squeeze in a breakfast of my own. Given how scared the bridesmaids are of bloating, there’s no chance of finding any food in the cottage that’s become Bridesmaid HQ for the morning. But I grab my dress and shoes from the car, and head straight over there anyway.

  We’ve agreed I’ll be first in, so I can dip out and build the cake, before we put the dresses on for a photo call with Jules at eleven. Even so, by the time I arrive, the long living room is buzzing with women in dressing gowns and rollers, all waving ‘hello’ with their flutes of buck’s fizz. Everyone’s clearly avoiding mentioning the rain, although I can’t help thinking it would all be so much more relaxed if the sun was out. Someone’s already put on their music, and Adele’s competing with the background chat and laughter.

  ‘Cate …’ There’s barely time for me to bend in for a kiss, before she’s whisked off by Jules for some pics with her mum in the bedroom. Jules must have his mind fully on the job, because he scales back his full on hug greeting, and offers me an eyebrow wiggle instead. A second later a full glass lands in my hand, the next I’m being guided to a chair, by three women, intent on transforming me.

  There are times when bridesmaid hair and make-up feels sticky and awful and you end up looking more like a drag artist who got on the wrong end of a builder’s trowel. Then there are other times when the person who gets out of the chair afterwards is you, but a thousand times prettier. Which is what happens today. But hey, this is Cate we’re talking about here. It was always going to be the beautiful outcome. Let’s just say, if I was rich enough to employ these women to do their thing on me on a daily basis, believe me, I’d consider it. Even if I worked on a farm.

  ‘Hi, Red.’ Rafe squints at me from where he’s standing by the island unit, as I arrive in his kitchen quite a lot later. ‘You look different this morning.’ He narrows his eyes. ‘Are you wearing make-up?’

  Great start. My look took so long to achieve, and he seems to have entirely overlooked that despite my hair still being short, the hairdresser has managed to twist it into gorgeousness. I consider telling him to fuck off, but I hold it in. There’s a very long day ahead. We don’t want to get off on the wrong foot.

  ‘Maybe a bit of lippy,’ I concede.

  ‘I thought so.’ He gives a satisfied smile. ‘Different, but nice. Bacon cob? There’s one ready.’

  Honestly, I could hurl my arms around his neck for that. The cob that is, not the compliment. ‘Yes please, I was already rave
nous, but the bucks fizz made it worse.’

  ‘You’ve been drinking already?’ His lips are twitching as he hands me the cob.

  I know drinking was not in the plan for today at all, but hopefully one glass will have worn off by tonight. Or was it two?

  ‘First and last of the day.’ I’m promising myself more than him. As I add a dollop of ketchup, and bite into the sandwich, I’m hungry enough to inhale it. But bearing in mind bridesmaid’s bloat and the up-coming tight waist, after the first wolf sized chomp I try to nibble it.

  ‘So what’s next?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m heading down to the marquee with the cake, then coming back to change for photos.’

  ‘It’s great to get an insider view of a Daisy Hill wedding.’ He rubs his thumb across the stubble on his chin, the way he does when he’s thinking a lot. ‘Today’s like a dry run for us too.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I stop in mid chew. What the hell is he talking about?

  There’s another proud smile. ‘I’ve decided to be much more hands on with the wedding side, so we’ll be spending a lot more time together next year.’

  ‘What?’ As my gasp of shock drags cob crumbs straight down my windpipe, I begin to cough uncontrollably.

  ‘Whenever there’s a wedding, obviously.’ He pours tea from the pot and slides the mug in front of me. ‘Here, a drink might help, sorry, I should have offered before.’

  It’s hard to choke, drink tea, and have a nervous breakdown all at the same time. Especially when you’re trying to keep your hair and makeup flawless. ‘Thanks,’ I croak, as I move straight into a massive sneeze.

  ‘Farming can get quite lonely. Working with you – and the guests – will give me a new perspective.’ He grins. ‘It’s exciting when a new project gives you a whole new lease of life.’ He gives a rueful shrug. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’ His voice takes on an edge of concern. ‘Are you okay there?’