Christmas Promises at the Little Wedding Shop: Celebrate Christmas in Cornwall with this magical romance!

‘He would be.’ Most days I try not to think about it. I pick up my cup to cover up that one tiny fragment of news about him has my pulse racing. ‘Although, actually, I’d rather not talk about him.’ A deep draught of dark cocoa is just what I need to slow my heart rate again. Who knew I’d feel this uncomfortable?

‘He’s still on his own, too.’ She tilts her head to gauge my reaction. ‘It’s a shame he can’t come to the wedding. Second chances and all that?’

If spluttering with my face in my mug is a bad move, sloshing hot chocolate right down my coat is worse. The amount of drink I’ve lost, it’s a good thing I’m cold rather than thirsty. But at least the wipe-up gives me time to regroup. Leopard print is so forgiving, that’s why you have to love it every time. I’m frantically dabbing my soggy fake fur with serviettes, racking my brain to move on to an easier topic. ‘So how are the wedding plans going?’

Becky rolls her eyes. ‘There are so many decisions to make. Nachos or tacos for the burger van. Do we want hog roast or fish and chips for the main. We even need council permission to erect our own beachside marquee.’ She gives a guilty squirm on her stool. ‘We haven’t even begun to choose groups for the photos from the lists on Pinterest.’

‘Absolutely no worries on that one.’ Although organised group photos don’t fit with the kind of informal wedding she’s talked about before.

She lets out another sigh. ‘The only thing Nate’s looking forward to is getting his hands on our own Roaring Waves beer, with Mr and Mrs Croft labels on.’

‘No surprise there.’ Another reason for my heart to sink. Let’s just hope the brewer’s not on the guest list. ‘So how many people have you invited?’ As Becky’s repeatedly using the word ‘small’, I’m confident this won’t be an issue.

‘Not many. Although weddings have this awful tendency to grow.’ She thinks for a second, then looks up brightly. ‘A hundred and forty-seven, tops.’

The way that number makes me lurch, it’s a good thing I’ve already tipped most of my drink away. What’s that expression? Three steps forward, two steps back? Or in my case, fifteen steps back, ending up with falling off a cliff top.

Which just goes to show, your blindsides don’t always come from where you expect them. Here I was, assuming I’d be thrown off track by hearing about Luc, when all along I should have been worried about an out of control guest list. I was expecting twenty, tops. Add in an extra hundred and twenty, I’ll be needing to find a lens with a wider angle.

Chapter 5

Sunday, 3rd December

At Brides by the Sea: Hidden cameras and flash photographers

‘So how did it go?’ Jess asks, as I come down into the half light of the White Room later, clutching my laptop. If I wasn’t blanking Christmas this year, the fairy lights playing on the lace, making the wedding dresses in the window glisten against the night outside would make my heart flutter.

Jess turning up again and calling me downstairs to show her my pictures isn’t quite what I’m expecting on a Sunday evening. But as this is her shop, I can hardly argue.

‘It was a bit stiff to start with.’ I’ve had time to up load the pictures and sort a few of the better ones into their own folder, so at least I know they aren’t too awful to show her. ‘And the wedding party’s going to be a bit bigger than I’d first thought.’ I’m understating this to play it down. There’s no point panicking about something I can’t change.

‘That’s exactly what I’d heard. A hundred and forty guests is a lot for a photographer to take on for a first time. It’s lucky I’m on hand to get you the extra support you need.’ Her nostrils are flaring. ‘So did the shooting get any better once you took Nate and Becky out?’ From her prompting smile, it almost feels like I’m her latest project.

How did I forget? There are no secrets in St Aidan. Everyone, including Jess, will know every last detail of Nate and Becky’s local wedding orders, as well as our exact route around town this afternoon. I put my MacBook Pro on the table and open it up. ‘Have a look, see what you think.’ There’s silence as I flick through the first few photos. ‘Once we got into town they relaxed a lot.’ I look round for Jess’s reaction.

‘Oh my.’ Her mouth is open as she murmurs, then she snaps it shut. ‘Keep going, then.’

I’m flicking through, trying to find a picture she’ll like. I get through the first fifty, then pause for her reaction.

‘Well, well, well.’ Her loafers clatter towards the winding staircase up to Sera’s dress design studio and she calls up the stairs. ‘Okay, Jules, you can come down now.’ As she turns to me, at last, she drops her voice to a husky whisper. ‘Poppy was right, your pictures are wonderful. Now we need to persuade Jules to give you a helping hand, so you get to know your way around weddings enough to tackle your expanded one. And I’m going to lean as hard as it takes to make him cooperate.’

‘Jules?’ My voice comes out as a squeak. ‘Is that really necessary?’ From the aftershave cloud that suddenly wafts up my nose, I don’t have to look round to know he’s behind me. I can tell by his disparaging sniffs that he’s giving me the evils.

‘Go ahead, show us a few more, Holly.’ Jess’s purr is so proud, I don’t dare to do anything else.

There’s a choking noise coming from Jules’s throat. When he finally forms words, he sounds like he can’t get them out for yawning. ‘Very bland, very reportage. And I’m really missing the drama here.’

As I turn to Jess, she’s giving an incredulous headshake. ‘They’re shots of a windy walk in St Aidan, not the bloody coronation.’ Her voice rises to a shriek. ‘For goodness sake, Jules, stop being so silly. They’re incredible.’

I have to butt in here. ‘Really, I wouldn’t go that far.’

Jess is growling. ‘Come on, Jules, even you have to admit they’re good.’

Jules gives a kind of shiver. ‘Okay, technically, they aren’t the disaster I was expecting.’

‘Bloody hell, Jules, the last thing I expected was prima donna behaviour from you.’ Jess is shouting now. ‘There’s only one reason you’re playing the diva here, and that’s because you’re jealous!’

Jules obviously isn’t the kind of good looking hunk who smoulders when he’s angry, because he’s gone pale and very snappy. ‘Well, you’re the one who’s brought in the competition right under my nose. You bill her as someone who snaps quiches for Lidl and then bring on bloody Annie Leibovitz. What am I supposed to do? Cheer?’

I’m sitting with them shouting over the top of my head, wanting to yell, ‘excuse me, I am here,’ but I’m so shocked at how wrong they’ve got it, the words won’t come out.

Jess’s cheeks are scarlet. ‘After all the support Brides by the Sea has given you, Jules, we deserve better than this.’

Jules sticks out his chin like a petulant three-year-old. ‘And my point is, ditto. From where I stand, I’m the one with the talent. And I’m the one who’s lost count of the times I’ve hauled you out of the shit.’

Jess drags in a breath, and at a guess she’s speaking through clenched teeth. ‘Holly is a fellow professional who needs a tiny bit of support from you so she can come through for her friends when their wedding has unexpectedly expanded to whopping proportions. It’s for one time only, she’s not trying to steal your clients. We put a huge amount of business your way, Jules. If you won’t oblige on this, I promise I’ll run you out of town.’

‘Fighting talk. You’re really getting your salopettes in a twist over this, aren’t you?’ Jules’s nostrils are flaring.

Jess’s voice becomes a roar. ‘If I’m about to disappear off up a bloody mountain pass, the last thing I’m going to leave behind me is you two up to your zoom lenses in bloody wedding photographer warfare.’

I’m waving both my hands frantically, trying to get my squeaks heard. ‘I’m definitely not fighting. And definitely nothing to do with weddings.’ Other than a surfie party that accidentally expanded, obviously. Although hearing how loud she shouts, I’m just pleased Jess is sticking up for me and not going against me here.

Jules gives a sneer. ‘Don’t take it out on me because you’ve got holiday jitters, Jessica. If you’ve got polar bear toes at the thought of jetting off to Switzerland, seriously, you need to tell Uncle Bart.’

Ouch. This man is mean.

‘That’s enough from you, Blue Eyes.’ The blood has drained from Jess’s face now. But despite her cheeks being the colour of wedding dress lace, her voice is booming louder than ever. ‘Jules. You’re going to let Holly second shoot your next wedding, on Tuesday. I know Zoe and Aidan will be up for it. What’s more, you’re going to give her all the benefit of your vast experience, without any of the temperamental star crap.’ Thunderous doesn’t begin to cover it. ‘That’s non-negotiable. Understood?’

I have to stand up for myself here. ‘No! It’s not necessary, and not happening.’ A whole day following Jules around? Even if I would learn a lot, I’d rather eat my own Nikon. But they’re both ignoring me.

Jules’s mouth is all bunched up. ‘And?’

Jess’s expression is steely. ‘In return I’ll give your suggestion for the studio serious consideration. Although you do understand, I’ll be asking top price for that space.’ Her eyes glint. ‘Agreed?’

As Jules unwinds his scarf to wipe the sweat off his brow, the sound he lets out is almost a whimper. ‘Okay.’ His naked Adam’s apple does a lurch as he swallows. ‘I’ll be round tomorrow at two to brief you, Holly. You’d better charge up your battery packs.’

‘Lovely.’ Jess is suddenly beaming again, ‘Well, that went well. Anyone for a Winter Warmer while we look at the rest of Holly’s photos?’

But no one replies, because Jules is already out of the door and I’m busy working out what the hell I can do to get out of Tuesday’s wedding.

Chapter 6

Tuesday 5th December

In the Bride’s dressing room at Daisy Hill Farm House: Drain pipes and perfect shots

‘So, Holly, the dress and the girls are all yours now.’ Jules flips his scarf so high it bangs on the brides’ dressing room chandelier, and sends it jumping wildly. ‘I’m off to catch Aidan and the boys having breakfast at the Goose and Duck.’ As he flounces towards the door there a brief flash of sapphire as he glances at his watch. ‘I’ll be back at twelve, for Zoe’s “bride gets buttoned up” pics.’ As yet, he’s still avoiding eye contact with me, and he hasn’t cracked even a fake smile in my direction either. This far, his lips are as zipped up as his next shot with Zoe.

Another day, another couple. First Nate and Becky. And now Zoe and Aidan. What started as a favour to some friends has somehow got right out of hand. And this pair couldn’t be more different from Nate and Becky and the huge ‘let it all hang out’ beach bash they’ve ended up with. Today’s couple are trying the knot in Rafe and Poppy’s amazing Georgian farmhouse at Daisy Hill Farm, in front of a mere forty guests. And having their reception and evening party here too. Although technically, given there’s chamber music rather than a disco, that part sounds more like a soiree than a wild party. As weddings go, this one’s teensy according to Poppy. And so far, I’ve managed to get some gorgeous shots of the flowers. So whatever happens, I haven’t scored a complete fail.

To be honest, I’m still picking my jaw off the floor at the idea of complete strangers welcoming me into their getting-ready room at all. We’re in the newly converted bridal suite, downstairs in the Old Farmhouse venue, where Poppy and Rafe have done a brilliant job with their renovations. It’s wall-to-wall luxury, with white carved chairs, whisper-grey velvet cushions and huge mirrors. And enough space to be hit by the explosion of a bride’s party complete with hair and make-up entourage and all the props, and still look elegant. According to Jess, who phoned from the first class lounge yesterday, as she waited to take off for Zurich, Zoe was – and I’m quoting here – ‘completely delighted to have an award-winning London photographer on board to add another dimension to her wedding album’. Jess might be the queen of spin, but when I see the curly hand- painted wooden sign hanging on the door, saying The dressing room, it leaves me feeling someone should hang one around my neck saying Fraud. And that’s the only point Jules and I would ever agree on.

When he whooshed through the shop yesterday afternoon to give me my briefing, it was a flying visit. However hard his mouth was working, his feet didn’t appear to touch the floor.

‘Fuel up in advance … prepare to be crushed by the weight of your cameras … your people skills will be pushed way beyond their limits …’ He was rapping like a machine gun, only pausing to give Jess’s desk a once-over. ‘You will be ready here for an eight thirty pick up?’

‘Yep.’ I was shrinking back against the wall as he nosied at the piles of papers on the table. ‘Absolutely.’ Despite only being an apprentice assistant, I managed to whisk the appointment book away from him just before he opened it to snoop.

Then he started again. ‘The bride and the groom will be jangling with so many nerves they won’t know which way’s up. You are the voice of reason they look to in their day of craziness. The sober one, when the rest of the room are off their faces. It’s high octane, high expectation and a lightweight won’t last two frames.’ He delivered his entire manifesto in the time he took to do a circuit of the White Room. ‘Oh, and no flashes, unless they’re off-camera.’

‘Great.’ No idea how I managed even a grim smile after that lot. This is exactly why I’d take pictures of a biryani rather than a bride every time. It’s a doddle in comparison. ‘Got you.’

Except he wasn’t quite done. He paused by the mannequin for one last sideswipe on his way to the hall. ‘If you think you can mosey in from Oxford Street and swan all over this, prepare yourself for an epic fail, Holly. If the only thing you learn is to stay the hell away from weddings in future, it will not have been a wasted day. For either of us.’

I was completely in agreement with him on that. But I never got the chance to tell him. Next thing, the hallway Christmas tree jingled as he bolted past. And before I got my words out the shop door slammed.

I’d heard that Jules is big on playlists for setting the mood. But more fool me for expecting Now That’s What I Call Love tunes on the way to the farm this morning. Instead it was Music To Go To War To. Rather than being lulled by the Coors and Adele, we left St Aidan to the battle music from Star Wars and hit Rose Hill to The Ride of the Valkyries, with the volume at 16. As far as subliminal messages go, it couldn’t have been more in my face. But whatever my preconceptions, I’m determined to give this opportunity everything I’ve got. After all Jules’s animosity, it’s a massive relief when he closes the door behind him again this morning. Now it’s just me, Zoe, her bridesmaids and the make-up ladies.

I warm up with a few shots of the jars spilling out of the make-up team’s boxes. I even dare to take a few reflections of the girls in the mirror. Then I walk across to where the dress is hanging and turn to Zoe. ‘Is it okay if I move this to where the light’s better?’ I’m feeling so guilty for being here, my apologetic plea couldn’t be further from Jules’s masterful orders.

Zoe peers past the hairdresser pulling rollers the size of drainpipes out of her hair. ‘Of course, help yourself.’

The champagne silk drifts as I move it across the room to a hook on the other side of the room. ‘Is this one of Sera’s designs?’ Even after only being in the shop for a couple of days, I can spot her trademarks. Fabulous flowing satin. The exquisite embroidery winding across the straps, the slight flare of skirt.

Zoe looks delighted that I’d know. ‘That’s right. It’s very light for December, but I fell in love with the way it moves. I’ve got a little fur jacket to go over it.’

‘I’ll try to capture how amazing the beading is.’ I hang on to the one useful thought Jules threw at me this morning. Never rush. Take your time for that perfect shot. A few minutes later, all thanks to Sera’s lovely work, I have some fabulous close ups.

Despite the hairdresser dragging her hair through the tongs, Zoe carries on, with a wistful look in her eyes. ‘We got engaged on Christmas Day last year, so we wanted to get married in winter too.’

I swallow my gulp at the coincidence and force my face into a smile. ‘Lovely.’ It comes out a lot too brightly. Although, truly, it’s good to know that someone’s festive proposal worked out well, even if mine crashed and burned. And if I’m silently groaning, this could have been me, I need to stop.

Zoe frowns at me as I put the dress back. ‘Are you sure you’re okay there?’ She dodges the hairdresser’s comb and nods at the ice bucket and champagne flutes. ‘Would you like some bubbly? You look even paler than I feel.’

And damn that it’s that obvious. ‘I’m fine.’ I’m lying. And dying of embarrassment too, because everyone knows the bride should have the monopoly on wobbles on her wedding day. I smother the shock waves and concentrate on how I was before. ‘Actually, I’m a bit nervous.’ It’s the ideal way to cover up that the moment I heard about her Christmas Day proposal I felt like passing out. ‘Whatever Jess told you about me, this is actually my first wedding.’ I can see the make-up girl’s eyebrows hitting the ceiling as I blurt out the truth. But I can’t help it. Now they’ve noticed, I have to come clean.

‘So what about the awards?’ The bridesmaid in the baby-pink Team Bride dressing gown is looking daggers.

I’m ready to take my camera and go. ‘I have won stuff, but for pictures of food, not brides. Things like …’ I rack my brain for anything to block out Luc and his engagement ring. ‘Country Living Food Campaign of 2016 for my sausage casserole shots?’ Sausages? That sounds worse than nothing now it’s out.

‘Right.’ Six faces are giving me bemused stares.

‘I’m really sorry. I started off in food design, but I moved across to photography after a massive roast beef and meringue debacle.’ I take in the bridesmaids’ expressions getting more horrified by the second. I know this isn’t the moment to babble my entire life story, but I can’t stop. If my feet weren’t welded to the spot, I’d already be out of here.

‘One moment.’ Zoe lifts up the hair tong wire. ‘It’s good you’re not on the catering team. Show me what you’ve got so far.’

As I move in and flick through the frames, she’s nodding. Then she pushes back a stray hair grip and grins up at me. ‘For an assistant, I’d say you’re acing it. Don’t forget, it’s my first wedding too.’

I can’t help but smile back at that. ‘So you don’t mind if I stay?’

Zoe laughs. ‘I’ll throw a bridezilla fit if you don’t. Jules is lovely, but it’s nice to have a woman around too. Especially if you’re taking pictures like those. How about you go and beg some leftover cupcakes from Poppy before you expire?’ From the way Zoe’s taken command from her hairdressing chair, I suspect she might be an army general in her day job. ‘We’ll all feel better after some of those. Better still, bring back some pictures of what’s going on outside.’ She nods beyond the door.

‘Brill, back soon, then.’ I don’t need to be asked twice to escape. As I yank my camera bag onto my shoulder and dash out into the hallway I can see Poppy amidst a sea of tables and chairs. She’s deep in discussion with Lily from the shop, who is here sorting the styling and the flowers.

Poppy grins as I skid to a halt on ancient floorboards, polished to a sheen. ‘How’s it going?’

I give a shrug. ‘Getting there.’ It’s not ideal to be this anxious to leave the wedding venue when I’ve barely been here half an hour. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I was coming to find you in the kitchen.’

Now her bump’s getting bigger, Bart’s nephew Kip, who is Lily’s new boyfriend, is supposed to be taking over Poppy’s wedding work here. And since Kip started work as wedding manager, and Poppy’s got more pregnant, she’s supposed to stay in the part of the farmhouse where she and Rafe live, for at least some of the time.

Poppy wrinkles her nose. ‘Kip and I are still in the hand-over phase. I’ve been working with Zoe all year to make today perfect. It’s hard to let go.’

Lily pulls a face. ‘We’d have to tether Poppy to the Aga to keep her away today.’

I sense I’m treading on proverbial eggshells here. ‘Zoe’s asking for spare cupcakes. Does that help at all?’

Poppy sighs and rubs her tummy. ‘Okay, we’ll have to go back to the kitchen for those. But remember, I’m not broken, I’m simply growing a small person.’ Poppy and Rafe have only known about their surprise baby for a couple of months, and it seems like they’re still catching up.

From the ease with which Lily chimes in, it’s an ongoing problem. ‘Eighteen hours on your feet at a wedding isn’t ideal when you’re this far pregnant, though.’

‘I’m fine. Most pregnant women these days go straight from work to the labour ward.’ Poppy brushes away Lily’s concern and nudges me towards the front door. ‘Come on, Holly, let’s get those cupcakes. The first rule of weddings – if the bride’s hungry, feed her. Otherwise she may explode.’

‘Great.’ I store that nugget for when Becky gets married. And make a mental note to forget it the day after.

As I follow Poppy outside and along to the part of the house she and Rafe live in, Immie is ahead of us in the courtyard, showing a group of early wedding guests towards the holiday cottages. It’s great to see so many of our friends all pulling together in such a brilliant team. The people where I work are more colleagues than friends, and we rarely go out after hours. I’m asking myself when Rose Hill became so buzzy? Or when my fabulous life in London became so quiet in comparison? Although even if it’s temporarily shrunk to nothing, I definitely wouldn’t swap it.

After the cold breeze that blasts us as we hurry up the cobbled yard, the farm kitchen is deliciously warm. Jules wasn’t joking about the cameras weighing a ton. As for me being a lightweight, I’m holding my hands up to that already.

I slide my bag onto the table, rub my cramping shoulder, push the kettle onto the Aga and reach for a mug. ‘I’ll make you some tea while I’m here, Pops.’ At least then she’ll have to stay to drink it.

Poppy shuffles a stack of cake containers. ‘I’ll give you vanilla ones. We can’t risk chocolate smudges before the ceremony.’ She frowns at me as she hands me a box. ‘You look like you could do with one now.’

I’m already regretting skipping breakfast. ‘Chocolate stains won’t show on leopard print, will they?’ It’s worth a try.

Poppy answers that with a beam. ‘That’s my girl. How many?’

‘No more than two.’ I’m feeling mean that I’m only passing her ginger tea in return. ‘I don’t want to spoil my appetite for the vanilla ones.’ Now I’m back in the normality of the kitchen, sinking my teeth into soft chocolate butter cream, I’m reluctant to leave.

Poppy squeezes my arm as she sinks onto the bench. ‘It’s lovely to have you home, Hols. We’ve all been hoping we might tempt you into coming back here full time.’ By the time she drops that bombshell, she’s looking innocently out of the window. ‘To live, I mean.’

‘What, and leave London?’ If I sound shocked, it’s because a move back is in the wrong direction entirely. We spent all our time at school plotting how to get away. For Poppy, it was all about the lure of the bright lights. Whereas for me, I was desperate to get to a place where I could be anonymous. Where I wouldn’t always be the girl whose much more popular sister died.

She laughs. ‘I did it and I survived. It’s different when you get a bit older.’ From the way she bites her lip and looks guilty, she’s going to push it. ‘It isn’t as if London’s brilliant for you right now.’