by Jane Linfoot
The wink he gives me makes my tummy flip, even though I’m still in my Spanks.
‘Are you staying in your dress?’
I take it that’s not an invitation to strip. ‘Might as well keep it on and get my money’s worth. They were very practical and comfy in the end.’ I brush my hands over the full skirt, noting how the muddy tide mark at the bottom is camouflaged by the bright print. ‘Immie spilled half a bottle of red over hers, and it barely showed.’ I’d say we well and truly road tested the bridesmaid range.
‘Great to know.’
‘That was defo my best wedding ever.’ I say. ‘It used to be the one where I got together with Brett, but that lost its sparkle when we broke up.’ My voice is rueful.
Rafe sinks into a chair, and stretches out his legs, his rolled up sleeves exposing a dangerous amount of forearm. There’s something mesmerising about those wrists of his. That rare combination of strength and vulnerability. The flesh and the bone.
‘Isn’t it a bit of a cliché, hooking up at a wedding?’
That comment of his has me laughing. ‘The first wedding Brett and I met up at, he went off with another bridesmaid. My cliché moment happened at the next one. Talk about second best, he used to joke my dress were prettier second time around.’ No idea why I’m hanging this dirty linen out now, other than to try and remind both of us – okay, especially me – why I’m single and staying that way. Regardless of any heart fluttering, or nausea brought on by proximity to you know who.
‘I’ve learned so much since I worked here.’ There’s no trace of the girl who had a stack of bridal magazines before she even found a steady boyfriend. The same one who hung on Brett’s every word for years, in case it turned into a proposal. ‘Before, I was so desperate to have a wedding of my own, but since I’ve helped with so many, I realise the wedding’s hardly important. It’s more about the partnership the couple have. What matters is the strength of the relationship.’
‘The wedding dress you sold that day in the office …’ His searching stare turns me inside out. ‘It was yours, wasn’t it?’
I nod, chewing my lip in silence. I give a sigh, if only for how stupid and naive I used to be. ‘Weddings are so stressful, you need to be really strong as a couple to get through one. Brett and I fell at the first hurdle. Whereas Cate and Liam made it all the way.’ If I’m grinning wildly, it’s only because I’m so proud.
‘He really does love her doesn’t he?’ Rafe says.
‘Totally and utterly,’ I nod. ‘Liam’s promises to Cate were another high point of my day. He literally had everyone in pieces.’
Rafe’s lips twitch. ‘Actually, I helped him with those.’
So maybe that’s what that smile was all about, at the ceremony in the barn? I take a second to pick my jaw up off the floor. ‘How did you do that?’ I had no idea Rafe had a way with words. Although on second thoughts, maybe I did. When he’s not yelling, he’s very eloquent. And thinking about it, he’s pretty damned succinct when he is yelling too.
He shrugs. ‘Liam was in the marquee, really struggling, so I chipped in.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘We did them in no time.’ Rafe’s acting like it’s no big deal. ‘As soon as I took the pen, he unblocked. I asked him what he thought the first time he met Cate, then for the rest I thought of what it feels like when you really love someone, and it was easy.’
Rafe settles back in his chair, while I let his words sink in. ‘So you’re thinking of another job?’
If my glass hadn’t been empty, I’d have hurled the wine down my throat so fast I’d have choked. As it is, my hand lurches so hard, I practically bite the glass.
He’s gone quietly apologetic, almost embarrassed. ‘I couldn’t help but see the paperwork, at yours. The cake box was on it.’
So much for discretion. Blame myself for forgetting the cake. But sometimes I think it’s a shame there isn’t a town crier in the village. That way people could find out everything about everybody, straight away, and we’d all know where we stood.
I shrug. ‘An enquiry I made months back … it’s nothing really … still up in the air …’
‘A bit like your kitchen then.’ He sniffs. ‘If you feel you have to go, it’s fine.’ The words come out in a rush. A bit like when he was writing wedding promises then. Except instead of being all squishy and adoring, this time round he’s all matter of fact, and snippy. Like he’s dismissing me. Pushing me away.
‘Right.’ It’s all I can offer, and it’s close to a whisper.
Talk about bad timing. My completely irrational self falling head over heels, for a guy who isn’t on the market, but who I’ve got to spend a big part of every day with, for as far as we can see into the future. So why aren’t I happier he’s letting me off the hook?
‘Where is it?’ Now he’s effectively pulled up the draw bridge to keep me out, he’s moving onto polite conversation.
‘London.’
‘Better and better.’ He gives a grimace. ‘It’s really important you do what you have to do, Red. Don’t worry about the farm, we’ll muddle through here.’
‘You don’t understand, that job was only a safety net, in case I couldn’t get a job round here. Which is why I hadn’t told you about it.’ When the hell did this get so complicated? ‘Shall we have more wine?’ Suddenly it feels like a whole bottle wouldn’t begin to be enough.
Rafe gets to his feet, and next thing he pops a stopper into the top, and the bottle’s back in the fridge. ‘No, you’ll only regret it later if you have too much.’
‘Please play me something on the piano … just before I go to bed …’ I’m wincing at the whine in my voice, and really I’m bluffing. Where I’d put myself if I had to look at those fingers spreading over the chords, I don’t know. But tiny part of me wants to see if it’s possible to push him. And how far.
‘It’s three thirty in the morning.’ He’s almost as whiney as me. ‘Bed. Now. Please.’
It was worth a try. And I have my answer. He’s entirely unmoved. And unmovable. End of. ‘Okay, I’m off.’ Alone. Sober. A not quite perfect end to a perfect day.
Later, when I’m up in the guest room – grey and white sheets, broad stripes, impossibly high thread count, for anyone who needs to know – as I’m peeling off my high-line super-power panties, I can’t help thinking it’s a good thing I’m on my own tonight. If I’d tried the same moves as last time while wearing these, I might have catapulted Rafe as far as the coast.
Later still, I hear the clunk of his bedroom door closing. As I kick the sheets, aching to be somewhere other than in this very empty king sized bed, I know whatever lies ahead, it’s not going to be easy.
66
In the big tipi at Daisy Hill Farm: String quartets and butterflies
The last Daisy Hill Farm wedding of the season might have been sad. As it is, we barely mention the landmark, because we move seamlessly into the wedding fair. And instead of being filled with wedding guests, two days later the mammoth tipi is thronging with wedding suppliers. And seeing as many of them are people we’ve been working with all season, there’s a real party atmosphere. And Immie’s making the most of it.
‘Bloody hell, those filo and spinach tartlets are to die for. Have you tried them, Pops? Oh, and by the way, Jess says “Hi”.’
Immie’s been stomping round the wedding breakfast section of the tent, on a one woman quality control mission. In other words, she’s been lunching on the freebies. Big time. And Jess is here too, with some taster dresses and shoes. Sera is in charge back at the shop.
‘You don’t have to try one of everything, Immie.’ I give an inward groan. ‘Just make sure you leave some for the real customers.’
‘Who says I’m not one?’ she laughs.
Stomping? That would be because Immie’s currently embracing a neat half-way-to-high-heel compromise – the wedge trainer. Hunters with heels, for winter, are speeding their way from Amazon as we speak. True enough, if she’s up for changing her life-lo
ng Converse habit, it’s entirely possible she’s only a ring away from lifting her husband-ban too. Which goes to show the power of firemen. Except in his case he’s been lighting fires, not putting them out.
‘Are they going to be making that racket all day then?’ She cocks her head in the direction of three girls with music stands and floor length low cut dresses, playing violins and tossing their hair like they’re Vanessa Mae.
‘You’ll have to ask Jules,’ I say. ‘He’s been talking about “his” string quartet for weeks. And it’s not a racket, it’s Vivaldi. And Bach.’ Whether they need to do quite so much bending and stretching is questionable. They’re certainly getting plenty of attention. Along with the Wedding Day Camper Van and the stall with personalised beer labels, they’ve completely sidelined the groom audience.
Immie’s straight back at me. ‘So where’s the fourth one then? Got her bow caught in her cleavage?’
‘Ouch, that’s a bit harsh.’ Although I’m telling her off, I send her a grin too. ‘What’s the matter with you, lipstick envy?’ It definitely won’t be boob envy. As we saw the day of Cate’s wedding, when it comes to cleavage, once Immie is surgically detached from her hoodie, she’s not short of bootie. Sometimes the best way to deal with Immie in this mood is to ignore her. Maybe if I tidy my card piles, and tweak my cake area she’ll calm down. Moving along, I concentrate very hard on dusting the array of champagne bottles on the venue ‘Welcome’ display.
‘Free champers to any couple who sign up for a wedding, who thought of that?’ she says, as she descends on my sponge samples.
‘That’s Rafe’s idea,’ I say, whisking my plate of mini cupcakes out of reach before she hoovers the lot. I grin at her as she mouths ‘wow’ through a mouthful of popcorn and buttercream. ‘He’s really thrown himself into the wedding business lately.’ So much so, we’ve barely been apart for the last two weeks.
And how am I finding it? If I’m honest, it’s absolute hell. If Rafe being obstinate was difficult, Rafe being pro-active is totally bloody impossible. As for him being considerate – or even worse, meltingly kind – by the end of the day, I’m reduced to a grease spot. At night I’m so excited I can’t sleep.
Immie gives a snort. ‘A couple over there were having a full blown domestic over whether they need Save the Date cards. I doubt you’ll be picking up a booking from them today.’
‘Have you seen the new season booking files?’ They’re so pretty, I can’t help rearranging them at every opportunity.
‘Only about a thousand times,’ Immie grins, ‘but seeing it’s you, I’ll look again.’
‘There are different colours for different years, one design for the field venue, and another for the house bookings, and then there’s the Holy Grail, the email contact sheet.’ There you go, once I get started, I can’t stop.
‘Very nice too …’
Rafe arrives, peering over Immie’s shoulder.
‘So have you given much champagne away?’ His smile is laid back.
‘There’s serious interest,’ I hesitate for a second, forcing myself to meet Rafe’s gaze. ‘But I just wanted to have a final, final check that you were going ahead, before I let anyone put pen to paper.’ I couldn’t bear for anyone to be in Cate’s shoes again next year, and find their wedding venue was being pulled.
Before Rafe can reply, Immie cuts in. ‘It’s fine, Rafe and I had a serious talk. He’s definitely a hundred percent committed.’ She’s nodding her head with a beam is as broad as the tipi.
‘Hundred per cent,’ Rafe echoes.
I’m smiling, even though Immie’s input is vaguely perplexing. I just can’t put my finger on why. ‘In that case let’s give away some champagne.’
* * *
It’s dusk by the time everyone has packed away, and the procession of vans have wound their way back to the main road.
‘Last in the tipi, again?’ Rafe saunters in, hands deep in the pockets of his Barbour jacket.
Immie grins. ‘You know me, I never go home until the last free snack is packed away.’
‘And as long as there’s a bride and groom, I’ll be hanging on in there.’ I flick through my files one by one as I slide them into their box. ‘The good news is, I’ve taken so many firm bookings, we ran out of champers.’ As my phone beeps, I slide it out of my pocket, expecting it to be another confirmation text from a couple. But as I scan the text my tummy plummets. ‘Oh my …’ For a minute it feels like my knees are about to collapse.
‘Pops, what’s wrong, you’ve gone all green round the gills?’ Immie’s giving me one of her intense stares.
Oh crap. I’m not even sure I can speak. ‘It’s that London job … they’re asking if I can start straight away.’
‘Fucking hell,’ Immie turns on me. ‘I thought you told them you weren’t interested?’
‘I kind of thought I had.’ I sigh. I’d got as far as writing the email saying I definitely wasn’t available, then after one very long and excruciating day with Rafe last week, I deleted it. But in reality, I didn’t actually think it would come to anything.
‘Daisy Hill Farm or London?’ Rafe cuts in brusquely.
‘B-but I’m not sure I want to go.’ My voice comes out as a squeak.
Rafe rubs a thumb across his chin. ‘You’ve said how much you love London. If it hadn’t been for that tosser Brett, you’d never have left. You can’t let this one go, Red. Once you get there, you won’t look back.’
I’m opening and closing my mouth like a gold fish. Not just because of the shock of the job, but because Rafe’s intervention has the force of a hurricane. ‘But what about the farm?’
He stares at me as if I’m an imbecile. ‘With the bookings you’ve taken today, we’ll have wedding coordinators queuing up to work here. I’m sure Jess will help find someone.’ Although he’s breezing through this, his voice sounds strangely strangled. ‘We were chatting as she packed up.’
Rafe begins to back away. ‘I take it Immie will run you back to your car?’ He turns as he walks out into the field. ‘Take tomorrow off, we’ll manage here. Thanks a lot for today. I’ll catch you both later.’ And then he’s gone.
I’m left quaking. ‘What the hell happened there?’
Immie rounds on me. ‘Sometimes I’d like to wring your bloody neck.’
‘What?’ The sheer force of her fury leaves me blinking.
‘You are so damned stupid.’ Immie’s growling, her forehead furrowed by a zig zag of fury. ‘That talk Rafe and I had. He only went ahead with wedding bookings because I told him you’d definitely be staying. If you leave now you’ll be letting all of us down. Rafe, me, not to mention yourself.’
‘But he just told me to go.’ My voice is unnervingly firm and quiet. God knows, a huge part of me was aching for him to ask me to stay. Even if it’s hard working with him, it’s going to be a hundred times harder to walk away.
‘For fuck’s sake, Pops, you’ve really got no idea have you?’ She’s shaking her head. ‘He’s said that because he wants what he thinks is best for you.’ Her growl turns to a snort. ‘Because he loves you.’
It takes a second for her words to sink in. ‘That’s just bollocks.’ And in the wholeheartedly unlikely event it was true, it’s even more reason to go. Here’s me saying I’ve learned so much, and how strong I am. How I’ve learned to rely on myself, because I know that’s the way I need to be. I wouldn’t be thinking about a relationship for a second, if I wasn’t being weak. Going back to relying on anyone would be such a backwards step.
‘You’ve turned this place around Pops, think of what you’ve achieved. You never found it hard to stand up to Rafe before, tell him you want to stay.’
‘No, I can’t.’ However hard I’ve worked, his rejection has taken every bit of fight out of me.
Immie’s frown is indignant. ‘But you can’t just leave.’
‘Can’t I? Just watch me.’ Picking up my box, I step out into the halflight, where the outline of the giant tipi is like a se
ries of spires against the darkening sky. I can’t believe that things have spun around so fast. When it first came up, I was desperate to have the permanent job here. I admit I had no idea how hard it was going to be, working beside Rafe. Fighting an attraction when I don’t want a relationship makes every day into a battle. And whatever Immie says, she’s got Rafe wrong. He’s practically ordered me off the property. He wouldn’t do that if he saw me as any part of the future here. There’s no way I’m going to beg him to let me stay. What’s more, begging is too reminiscent of how I was with Brett. Now I’ve finally found myself, I need to stand on my own.
‘I think I’ll walk back to the farm thanks,’ I call to Immie, as she turns out the lights and heads for the pick-up.
Immie jumps in her truck, revs the engine, and yells at me out of the open window. ‘I can’t wait to hear what Cate says about this.’
But in the end there’s no intervention. Nor do I see Rafe again. And when I leave for London on Monday, Jess is the one who takes me down to the station and waves me off.
OCTOBER
67
London: Wall to wall pedicures
Although I’ve been away from London for so long, as soon as I’m back it’s less of a new start, more like picking up. It’s almost as if by returning, I’ve closed the circle I broke when I left to return to Cornwall to live with Brett. Okay, there’s a lot more denim in the office, some women have popped out whole families in my absence, people are drinking weird coloured juices. And biker boots have replaced pumps. But apart from that, the last eight years in Cornwall might not have happened. Career wise, I’m miles behind where I might have been, but the relief is I can do what they’re asking. And within hours of arriving I get the offer of a tiny bedroom near King’s Cross, in a flat belonging to someone who works in accounts.
The best thing about being in London is not having to look at Rafe every day. But in the end that’s also the worst thing too. When I walked away from Brett, it felt like my whole world fell apart, and so did I. Whereas now I have work and a solid, structured routine, in the place I always assumed I wanted to be. There are shops and bars and galleries and people. I can even afford to treat myself to pedicures. But the ache inside me makes every day heavy and desperately long. And somehow I can’t believe that the pictures that run through my head before I go to sleep every night, are the cows and fields at Daisy Hill.
