The Little Wedding Shop by the Sea

‘Except when you’re sitting in St Aidan harbour.’ Just saying. He’s been here weeks now. And if I sound a bit like I’m picking him up on every little thing, I am. Because however much we’re charging him, it’s not enough. To be brutally honest, I’m still annoyed that he thought I wasn’t good enough for him first time around.

‘You got me there.’ He’s smiling to himself now.

I grab my opportunity and go for it. ‘So does the bride sail too?’

His smile widens. ‘She loves it even more than I do.’

Result! I start my mental list with ‘tanned and outdoorsy’. Just like him. Add in ‘doesn’t mind teensy bathrooms’. But before I get to remark how much they have in common, he’s crossing his ankles and carrying on.

‘From what I’ve seen so far, weddings don’t sound like anything I’ll have an aptitude for.’ It’s a shame he’s already so negative.

I pull a face. ‘In which case, I suggest you start learning. The details are what make the day.’

His face drops. ‘You can’t be serious?’

I can’t help teasing him. ‘They don’t give marriage certificates out to people unless they put the hours in.’

He’s straight back at me. ‘And have you got one of those? I mean, are you?’

‘Am I what? Married? Me?!’ I’m so surprised, I stop steering and bump up the verge. Then I straighten up and flash him a smile. ‘Not at the moment. So I haven’t even got that piece of paper.’

I’m not going to go into how long my wedding to Ben was pending and how many hours of wedding planning practice I had there. How I woke up every New Year’s Day for five years and vowed that this would be the year. How with every new effort I’d search out better and more impressive venues, each time hoping this would be the one to get Ben onboard and keep him there. But the pattern was always the same. He was all for it on the first visit, but by the time we came to book I’d lost him. Then I’d be back to looking again.

‘So what about that other thing … the one with the ring?’

I can’t help my high voice. ‘Even for a guy, that’s vague.’ For a groom it’s spectacular, but to be fair when it comes to men having areas of wedding blankness, nothing will surprise me. ‘You mean the engagement?’

‘The one with the special hand?’

I flex my fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Third finger left side.’ A year on there’s still an indentation where my own ring used to be.

‘So how about that?’

As I look sideways and meet that dark gaze, I’m answering when I don’t mean to. ‘Only once.’ I shuffle in my seat. Remind myself he’s paying for my expertise not my life details. ‘Ancient history. It came to nothing and it’s way too complicated to go into.’

‘So there’s a story to tell?’

‘Definitely not today.’ Definitely not to him. And thankfully, the sign for Rose Hill village is coming up. ‘Not far now.’ The way this is going I can’t get there fast enough.

I swing the van into the pretty main street with its neat cottages, and can’t help smiling because the pots of pansies on the pavement by the brightly painted front doors are still so much the same as they always were my whole childhood. As we pass the end of the narrow lane where our cottage was, there’s the same surprise I always feel as it slides by. This is where I spent all my time until I was twenty-one, and yet apart from still being friends with Poppy and Immie, there’s very little trace now that we were ever here at all.

But one flash of those familiar grey-stone house fronts with their small-paned sash windows is enough to bring the memories rushing back. How they were pretty much all we saw for the years we were housebound. How the world shrank to the size of our front room as my mum was less able to do things. How determined and full of fight my mum was to begin with. How by the end that strength had ebbed into mute acceptance.

‘Everything okay, Milla?’

I jump as Nic’s deep voice penetrates my daze. ‘Fine. Just hoping you’ll like what’s coming next.’

As we leave the village behind and roll down the lane towards the farm entrance, there’s a tingle zithering down my back as the hand-painted signs come into view. Finding lovely things to say about Poppy’s venue won’t be hard at all.

Something about doing this now brings it all back to me. There is a poignancy to it all. All those bursting feelings of optimism and hope I had when I first had an engagement ring on my finger and started to search for a venue. How naive and young and hopeful I was back then. I try to forget the sting and make myself upbeat again to launch into my pitch.

‘So, Daisy Hill Farm! In summer the pasture bursts with flowers, ox-eye daisies and buttercups waft in the wind.’ There should still be a few left by July. ‘Whether you go for a formal marquee or a laid-back tipi vibe, you won’t find anywhere more beautiful for a meadow wedding.’ I’m giving silent cheers, because I didn’t let Poppy down at all with that.

Nic sends me a sheepish look. ‘Sorry, I should have said earlier – definitely no fields.’

My stomach drops so far it hits the road, but I make my beam bright. ‘My fault, I should have checked.’ And now I will. ‘So are we actually ruling out everything farm-related, or just big expanses of grass?’

The face he pulls wouldn’t fill anyone with hope. ‘We may as well see the rest now we’re here.’

As I drive up the cobbled courtyard past the farmhouse and pull to a halt by the picturesque stone barns and cluster of holiday cottages at the top of the slope, I’m hoping Poppy’s got some baking waiting in the kitchen. I know my initial expectations were maybe too high, but when it’s going downhill this fast I’ll definitely be needing a buttercream fix.

As the van doors clang closed behind us, a gust of freezing air wafts up my skirt and makes me wish I’d chosen something thicker than this flimsy crepe tea dress. ‘Fingers crossed, it should be a lot warmer in July.’

He gives a grunt. ‘Let’s hope so.’

Today I’ve put on my boots with the highest heels, so I’m at least three inches more impressive than I was on Saturday, even if I’m staggering a bit. Mostly I’m trying not to catch the heels in the cracks between the pavers, but there’s still time to take in the lovely grey-painted windows as I wobble towards the Wedding Barn. Poppy’s told us to help ourselves, so I push my shoulder against the huge oak entrance door and shove hard. As I lead the way into a space as big as a cathedral I pause to give Nic a chance to take it all in.

‘It’s equally magical filled with fairy lights or flowers, perfect for a surfer theme or a transformation to a ski resort.’

Until the break-up I’d have been literally gushing here, now I’m having to force myself. But it’s worth pushing myself, because a wedding here would work well for all of us. For Poppy, to get a booking. For Nic, because there would be so many of us around to look after him. And for me, because it would get me off the hook so neatly.

He blows through his teeth. ‘It’s a shame about those cobbles.’

And that came from left field to surprise me. ‘The ones outside?’

He nods. ‘They’re way too rustic, you could barely walk on them. Sorry, but we can’t have that.’ It’s not much, but the wrinkles in his brow say the rest.

‘So that’s another straight “no”?’ I take in another nod and kick myself for not walking better. ‘And it’s brilliant to be ticking them off the list so fast.’ I line up another fixed smile and stagger back across the offending cobbles. I mean, they go up and down, but isn’t that part of the charm? Realistically, if I can stand up on them in these boots, anyone can. ‘Let’s grab a drink with Poppy, then we’ll try the main house we passed on the way in. There are stone flags down there, they’re much easier on the legs.’

Walking into Poppy’s kitchen you always get a wonderful smell of baking, and today we’re hit by a wall of warmth from the Aga and a smell of chocolate that’s so intense I can almost taste the air as I inhale it.

I grin at Poppy as she waves from the sink. ‘Double chocolate muffins?’

She nods. ‘Too right! There’s a fresh pot of coffee, so help yourselves.’ Then she smiles at Nic. ‘Viewing venues is always hard work, I thought a cocoa fix might help.’

I fill three mugs and take them over to the huge plank kitchen table. Noticing Nic’s frown, I have to ask. ‘For someone ripping through the venues, you’re very quiet. Is everything okay?’ I watch his throat move as he swallows.

He’s three shades paler than he was. ‘I hadn’t counted on it taking this much time.’

If we’re barely an hour in and he’s flagging, it’s not a great sign for the next few months. This is the guy who, thirty minutes ago, was up for seeing every beautiful venue in the South West. I need to get him to be more open about what’s going on here. I can’t do a good job if I don’t have the full picture, so however reluctant he is, I’m going to have to lean on him harder. And even though I’d find it easier not to know who he’s marrying, I’m going to have to interrogate him sooner rather than later. As every approach has so far failed, I need to be more imaginative.

‘Have some of Poppy’s cake.’ I push the muffin stack towards him and take one myself. As I sink my teeth into the dense velvety sponge the tension in my neck falls away.

When Poppy comes to sit down, she’s laughing. ‘Two muffins in as many seconds? You don’t need to tell me how it’s going.’

I’m already peeling the paper off my next one. I turn to Nic and congratulate myself on the next veiled question. ‘I think we can safely say the future Mrs Trendell isn’t a fan of mud?’

Nic blinks. ‘She’s not the kind of woman to call herself Mrs, she’ll definitely stick to Ms.’

Even better than a proper answer! I’m suddenly on a roll. ‘And does the future Ms Whatever have a first name?’

‘Elfie – short for Elfinor. But mostly we call her Pixie.’

As Poppy and I exchange glances we don’t need a description, because the name says it all – she’s a waif. And suddenly this shadowy person has sprung to life. She has to be one of those truly amazing people who are so tiny and delicate they barely exist. I take an extra large bite of muffin. Whatever that pang in my chest, it’s nothing to do with another fleeting flashback to that kiss I can barely remember. Hell no! I’m really not wishing it were me instead of her.

Now I’m facing him, I’m getting the full benefit of the intelligence in those dark eyes, the flickering changes in his expression as he considers. The muffins seem to be working their magic, so I’m firing out more questions.

‘So is Elfie hard to please? I mean, will it be difficult for you to make choices she agrees with?’ For my money, with a groom this stressed she’s got to be a nightmare. Not that I’m biased; I’m actually being very careful to have no opinion either way.

Nic shrugs. ‘She’s never taken much interest in weddings, but she hates people looking at her. Left to herself I doubt she’d even bother.’

I add a few more to my bride list: indifferent, reluctant, super-thin, not keen on wellies. Then I’m forcing myself to picture them together but even when I let her slip back to being a shadow it’s quite hard to get him to put his arms around her. When he does it isn’t face to face. They’re side by side at the washbasin, cleaning their teeth. And the most I get him to do is one hand flopped over her shoulder. Which might seem unrealistic but it’s probably more than Ben ever did to me. Then as I push myself to think of them moving out of the bathroom and climbing into their super-king-sized bed together I get as far as the Egyptian cotton sheets and featherlight down duvet from The White Company and I swallow so fast I choke on my cake. Once I get my breath back, I decide to stop the pictures for now.

‘That’s very helpful to know.’ I’m trying to be gentle yet persistent. ‘But is Elfie happy about it?’ That sounds so challenging now it’s out, I’m immediately back-tracking. ‘I mean, weddings are hard work to put together, but they’re fun and fabulous too.’

‘And?’ Nic’s wrinkling his nose.

‘It’s a lot for you to take on by yourself.’ I brace myself to go in for a last stab at the truth. ‘Right now, I’m picking up a lot more angst from you than bliss. Not judging. Just wondering if there’s anything extra we can do to help at all?’

He rubs his chin. ‘On balance, I’d say, carry on as you are.’

Which takes us right back to where we started. Thank you, Nic. Except we have learned something crucial – however hard I imagined this was going to be, times it by ten. Or maybe a hundred.

I push the last of my muffin in, make sure I swallow without choking this time, then pull out another bright smile. ‘Lucky we’ve saved the most grown-up venue here until last. Even the most reticent couples fall in love with this one.’ Reticent is a politer word than fussy. Or demanding. Whatever he’s looking for, and however unfocused his thinking is, what’s up next might well make him fall in love. I pick up a last muffin. ‘Ready to take a look at the old farmhouse?’

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