Confetti at the Cornish Café

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Do you think there’s any chance Lily would let me do her make-up?’

  ‘Sorry, hon, but I already know she wants to bring her own hair and make-up stylist. I know this isn’t as exciting but would you come and do my make-up on the morning of the wedding? I’d like to look my best.’

  ‘Of course I will. I’d love to be around anyway and see what’s going on.’

  Tamsin adjusts the jar on the final crook at the entrance to the tepee. ‘We can put the flowers in the jars now and then I ought to start getting my stall ready.’

  ‘Do you need a hand setting it up?’

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve got it down to a fine art now and my sister’s coming along later to give me a hand when the visitors arrive. I wonder if Kit fancies trying out one of my groom’s pre-wedding facial and massages?’

  Kit stretches his back after moving the wedding arch over to the log ‘altar’ in the glade. The arch is stunning, the twigs are intertwined with roses and peonies in a palette of soft white, pastels and blushes.

  ‘You could ask him. He’s really not as scary as I thought.’

  ‘I’d like to find out for myself. Hmm. A good shave, some sexy stubble and an eyebrow trim would do wonders for him, not to mention a scrub and regular moisturise. And if I could get him on my treatment table for a massage …’

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be strictly professional with your clients.’

  ‘I am. Always.’ She draws a halo over her head.

  ‘Look. He and Cal and have finished the arch. What about if I introduce you and we grab a quick drink together before you set up your stall.’

  With a gleam in her eye, Tamsin beams. ‘That would be awesome. I’ll offer him a freebie.’

  Our drink and chat with Cal and Kit didn’t last more than ten minutes, although judging by the way Kit was laughing at Tamsin’s cheeky banter, he might come round to the idea of a facial and massage after all. Although I don’t imagine lying down and relaxing with a scented candle is on his or any of our minds today because there’s so much to do.

  Robyn and Andi were up until midnight last night setting out the cafe as it might appear for a wedding tea. The tables have already been laid with vintage china we salvaged from the farmhouse last year, complete with some new paper tablecloths. We’re offering a limited but cute afternoon-tea style menu for the refreshments but have a table showcasing some of the menu ideas we can offer.

  Kit and Cal are now busy unfolding stripy deckchairs hired in from a local supplier. Added to the log ‘pews’ with their pretty retro cushions, the site is starting to look more like a wedding glade and less like Glastonbury after the loos have been towed away.

  And one by one, the suppliers have started to roll in to Kilhallon, marshalled by Rachel, who’s left Freya with her mum. Dad’s busy double-checking the power and lighting to the tepee. As well as Hazel the florist, we have two very different bridal-wear suppliers, a grooms-wear hire company, photographers, a videographer, a stationery designer and a vintage wedding bus which is parked next to the cafe. Robyn and Andi arrive late morning to set up Robyn’s jewellery design stall. Tamsin’s pop-up spa is ready and her sister has joined her to offer mini-makeovers to prospective brides and their guests.

  There’s even a company that offers neon signs in the initials of the bride and groom, as well as providing event lighting. Rachel and I take a look at them when we rendezvous in the tepee for a five-minute powwow.

  ‘Lily and Ben would love those signs,’ I say.

  ‘I thought we could get their names made to match the Hollywood sign and so when they come into the tepee for the evening party, they get a huge surprise,’ says Rachel. ‘It was your dad’s idea. He came across them when he was wiring a design company’s HQ in Plymouth. They had the signs in their reception but this company do temporary ones for events and weddings.’

  ‘Are they expensive?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Rachel asks.

  ‘No, because their PA is dealing with it, but I think we ought to get her approval. Lily says we can do what we want but Addison and Jade keep emailing me. I suppose I’m not surprised.’

  Rachel wrinkles her nose. ‘I’ve spoken to them a few times. Jade is seriously scary but we have to deal with them. Has she said any more about when we can officially announce that the wedding’s being held here?’

  ‘Not today. I don’t know. Originally, Lily and Ben said we could publicise it in advance but I think Jade has persuaded them to change their minds. It doesn’t make feel very confident that they won’t let us say anything, although I can see why for security reasons.’

  We turn away from the neon signs and wander past the stalls towards the florists’ display. ‘I think it’s the worst-kept secret in Cornwall. It’s one reason I had so many acceptances from the suppliers, even though I couldn’t confirm or deny the rumours. People love being associated with a celebrity wedding.’

  ‘Even after the newspaper pictures?’ I ask.

  ‘Even after that. Look’—she flashes me a reassuring smile —‘nothing’s going to go wrong today. I’m sure we’ll have lots of visitors, even if they’re only curious to see if Kilhallon really is that terrible.’

  ‘Shit.’

  She gives me a quick hug. ‘But it’s not going to be terrible. It’s going to be brilliant and you’ll have loads of bookings after this. What you need to do is think how many weddings you can cope with and at what time of year.’

  ‘We’ve discussed that. We’re keeping July and August purely for holidays and we’re only going to accept a few a year. The income is welcome and important but we’re a holiday resort first and foremost and I don’t think I could cope with this stress every weekend. Hey – Mitch! Get your nose out of there!’

  Mitch turns his head, debating whether he dare carry on sniffing the florist’s stall.

  I whistle at him and, reluctantly, he trots back to me. He’s submitted to a smart neckerchief that looks like a bow-tie on a tux. He’ll put in a brief appearance but for most of the day will be running free with some canine companions and Nina at the animal shelter she helps to run with her mum. She’s offered to look after him because with all the strange people, smells and tempting treats around, he’s sure to get over-excited.

  ‘Not long to go now,’ Rachel says, checking her watch. ‘Some people are bound to be early so we’d better have someone on the gates of Kilhallon in advance.’

  On a decked area in the corner of the tepee, the student folk band is setting up its instruments. They’re going to play quirky cover versions of traditional folk songs and wedding staples.

  ‘I hired two of Robyn’s mates to man the gates,’ she continues, ‘when they’ve finished helping the band set up.’

  ‘I had no idea there was so much to do. This is even more stressful than the launch,’ I say, already feeling as if I’ve run a marathon.

  ‘It’s a good rehearsal for the real thing though my feet are killing me already,’ Rachel says. ‘Which is one reason I suggested it for both of us! How’s the cafe set up?’

  ‘OK. We’re nearly ready. Thank goodness we got most of it in place last night. I haven’t had a second this morning but I have to whizz down there as soon as people start arriving.’

  ‘What time do you start serving the teas?’

  ‘We open at two-thirty to give people time to look around the tepee before they start thinking about a cuppa, but I need to go now. Are you sure you’ll be OK to run things up here?’

  ‘Of course. It’s a good job my mum could have Freya because I couldn’t possibly have managed this without her help. It seems strange to leave her but I won’t always be able to take her to meetings and events if I’m going to start my business, even part time. Even though I know she’s safe and happy with her nan, I can’t help the anxiety that niggles in my mind.’

  ‘It must be so hard to leave her. She’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Most of the time.’ With a smile that turns into a grimace, Rachel slips off
her shoes and wriggles her toes. ‘These look smart but I’ve learned my lesson. Comfy old shoes next time I do anything like this.’

  We wait at the entrance to the tent and on the stroke of two, our first customers begin to arrive, ushered from the car park to the glade by a line of bunting and box trees with ribbon created by our event florists and decor specialists. Considering the event was organised at short notice, we have a healthy amount of visitors, some of whom are actually interested in getting married rather than a free cup of tea.

  Hastily, Rachel puts her shoes back on and goes into professional mode. ‘I managed to get a quick mention feature on Radio St Trenyan though I did find myself dodging a question from Greg Stennack about Lily and Ben,’ she says in between greeting visitors with a smile.

  ‘You know, I think we should just pretend that we might have a celebrity wedding every year. They don’t seem to care whether the rumours are true or not. They only want some juicy gossip to share.’

  ‘As long as people come and nothing disastrous happens and they go home with the right impression, we’ll be OK,’ she says with a smile.

  With a nod, I head for the cafe. After recent events, the chances of all of those things coming together seems a bit slim, but all I can do is cross my fingers and get on with my part of the job.

  But within ten minutes of the fair opening, I realise that’s a forlorn hope.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘Come on, love. When are you going to give an official announcement that Lily and Ben are holding their wedding at Kilhallon?’

  ‘As far as I know, they’re not holding a wedding anywhere.’ The smug reporter from the South Western Bugle thrusts his mobile phone almost up my nose. My words are strictly true, because it’s a handfasting.

  He snorts. ‘Oh, come on, Demi. Everyone knows they’re getting married down here and you were seen with them at the Rockpool. It’s the worst-kept secret in the county.’

  ‘How do you feel about those terrible photos that appeared in the Daily News?’ a woman from the St Trenyan Mercury asks.

  ‘Look around you today,’ I say, then have to clear my throat because I’m so nervous. ‘You can see for yourself that Kilhallon would make a wonderful wedding venue for any couple looking for a special place to hold their ceremony and reception.’

  ‘So the wedding is here!’ Mr Smugface pipes up.

  ‘When is it?’

  ‘Has Lily chosen a dress yet?’

  ‘How much has it cost?’

  ‘Why have they chosen Kilhallon? You have to admit it’s not Hollywood.’

  Arghh. The press are like a pack of seagulls dive-bombing me with questions. I’ve never been in a situation like this and I feel like throwing up. It’s as bad as facing down Mawgan. Fortunately, Rachel steps in before I blurt out anything that really could ruin Kilhallon’s reputation.

  ‘When – and if – there’s an announcement about a wedding, it will come from Ben and Lily and until then, we ask to you respect their privacy,’ she says politely but firmly. ‘Thanks for your interest in Kilhallon and for coming along. Now, please have a look around the fair and if you have any questions about the venue itself, Demi, Cal and I will be happy to answer them. We’ve made our statement about Lily and Ben and that’s all we are prepared to say for now.’

  ‘That’s a “yes” then,’ says Mr Smugface with a snort. ‘You’d have denied it if they weren’t. They’d better be getting married here after this or you’re going to look pretty stupid.’

  This guy is really getting to me. ‘Don’t you want a look around the wedding fair?’ I ask him sweetly, but with murder in my heart. ‘Or would you prefer to visit the cafe for a cup of tea and a scone?’

  ‘Nah. I need to get this video uploaded to our website and social media pages. But thanks for the offer.’ With a delighted grin, he walks off, clicking away on his phone as I realise he was videoing the interview with us. It takes all of my customer-service skills to avoid telling him to shove his phone where the sun doesn’t shine. Luckily, since I ‘accidentally’ threw a smoothie over Mawgan Cade a year ago, I’ve learnt a few more coping strategies, but even they’re wearing thin.

  ‘Lily and Ben will have to make an official announcement soon. We can’t go on like this. It’s driving me mad,’ I tell Rachel.

  ‘They’re enough to drive you up the wall but the mystery is great for business.’

  ‘I don’t like having to lie and fend them off all the time. Imagine what they’d do if they knew Lily was going to be here after Easter. I guess they’ll be watching us like hawks from now on.’

  Rachel shrugs. ‘Whatever you say to them, the papers will print what they want.’

  ‘I know. I expect the big tabloids will probably make it up anyway.’

  A couple approach us, and to my relief actually want to talk about the possibility of having their silver wedding anniversary party at Kilhallon next summer rather than gossip about our celebrities. After a quick chat about the food that Demelza’s can provide, I leave them with Rachel and run down to the cafe to see Nina. I’ve already left her alone for too long.

  However, apart from having to fend off the reporters, the day seems to be going really well. It’s still fine and dry and we’ve had a healthy number of visitors considering the short notice. The suppliers all seem to have people looking at their stalls. The folk band has started playing their quirky versions of wedding favourites, which adds to the atmosphere. I wouldn’t say I start to relax, but my confidence is back and I believe that we can pull today off without any major disasters.

  The sight of people sitting outside the cafe makes me smile. There’s a mixture of the visitors to the wedding fair and casual customers who’ve wandered in off the coastal path out of curiosity. I hope we’ve got enough food … maybe we should break out the cakes and scones from the freezer …

  As I reach the cafe, I spot Nina’s mum with a few of their rescue dogs and Mitch. He barks joyfully when he sees me and although I’m busy, I can’t help going over for a quick word and a belly rub.

  ‘Is he being good?’

  ‘Having a great time. We took the dogs to the beach earlier.’

  She lets him run to me and he drops at my feet, snuffling happily before rolling over onto his back for a belly rub.

  ‘He looks happy. Thanks for having him.’

  ‘No problem. He’s fun to look after.’

  Mitch scampers along the path.

  ‘Mitch!’

  Instead of coming back, he darts into the gorse, on the trail of new and unfamiliar scents. I shout to him sternly but he’s hell bent on running towards the camping area and wedding fair.

  ‘Mitch! Not now!’

  ‘I’ll get him,’ Nina’s mum says.

  ‘Thanks, but I’d better go after him. He might listen to me. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  At least, I hope to be back in a minute as I set off towards the wedding fair with Mitch at full tilt ahead of me. I need to get hold of him quickly because not everyone likes dogs and the last thing I want is him running amok in the tepee. I don’t fancy the chances of the flower arrangements with an over-excited Mitch on the loose.

  Too late. Mitch is heading straight for the yurts. Heads turn and people stare at me. Some clutch their kids closer, obviously afraid there’s a wild runaway hound on the loose.

  ‘Excuse me. He must have scented a rabbit,’ I say, and run over to get Mitch under control. But he breaks free and hares back towards the yurts.

  I run after him. It’s not the dignified ‘everything-under-control’ image we want to portray, chasing an out-of-control animal through our wedding area. Especially not one hell bent on rooting out a fluffy bunny in front of the happy couples. If people weren’t paying attention to his barking before, they are now. Mitch stops by a yurt and barks. Then he starts digging at the entrance. Dirt flies up in the air.

  ‘Mitch. What the heck are you playing at? There are no rabbits in that tent. Stop it!’

 
As I make a grab for his leash, Mitch barks and dances around. His neckerchief is black with dirt, like his muzzle, and he’s going mad. He starts scratching at the door of the yurt and suddenly worms his way under the open flap. I try to grab Mitch’s lead but he growls softly and digs his claws in. He ignores me. Nothing new about that but a growl isn’t his style unless he’s warning me of danger, or letting me know that Mawgan’s in the vicinity.

  Mitch can go a bit off piste but he’s not a bad dog and there must be a good reason for his behaviour. I crawl into the yurt and my breath catches in my throat. Mitch lies at the entrance, his head on his paws. A few feet away, curled up on the furry throws, is a little boy. He can’t be more than three or four and despite the barking and Mitch’s attempts to tear down the yurt, he’s fast asleep.

  Moments after I spot him, I hear voices I recognise and some I don’t. Cal’s voice and Kit’s too, then a woman crying and a man saying: ‘Is it him? Keegan?’

  ‘Oh my God. Is he OK?’

  ‘He’s fine. He’s in here. He must have crawled in and fallen asleep.’

  I open the flap and a woman in tears pushes her way in. ‘Keegan!’

  His mother flies at him and scoops him up and hugs him so tightly. ‘Too tight, Mummy.’ The sight of his mum in floods of tears, squeezing him, and his dad muttering, ‘What if he’d fallen over a cliff’, is bound to upset him. In fact, Keegan was fine until he saw the adults around him freaking out.

  ‘Want tent!’ he screams as his mum carries him away. ‘Wanttttt tenntttt. My tent!’

  I follow them out of the tent and Cal walks over to me. His face has gone as pale as my pastry. ‘His mother thought someone had taken him or he’d fallen over a cliff. They’ve been looking for him for twenty minutes apparently and Rachel put a call out in the tepee. We’d just organised a search party to see if we could find him before we called the police.’

  ‘You look as white as a sheet.’

  ‘That’s all we needed, a lost kid.’ He tries to make a joke of it but I can see he’s shaken up. ‘Remind me never to have one of my own.’