The Little Wedding Shop by the Sea

‘I’m the accountant in the family. If Liam ever does the sums, he’s in for the dirtiest night of his life.’ Cate laughs. ‘Although this is nothing compared to the other thing I splurged on this week.’

Immie and I both squint at her. When did careful Cate turn into a cash splasher?

‘The marquee company got in touch with a special offer on the most gorgeous open sided tents. I couldn’t resist so I ordered two.’

‘What, instead of the main marquee?’ I’m not sure ‘open’ is a good idea, as for two …

From Cate’s airy waft of her hand, she might have been talking about tenner-a-go pop up tents, not three grand a time event venues. ‘No, I’ve ordered these as well, I thought they’d make a nice extra.’

I’m still picking my jaw up off the floor, but Immie’s covered it. ‘Liam’s going to be up to his boxers in filthy sex when this shit hits the fan.’ Eloquent as ever, she takes another swig.

Jess looks at her watch. ‘Time to try on then?’

She’s got a bride coming in for a final fitting at six, so she’ll have to go downstairs for that. Given Immie’s stroppy scowl from behind the prosecco bottle it may be no bad thing.

‘You go to your bride,’ I say to Jess. ‘Sera and I can carry on here.’

I knew I should have given Immie twice as much fizz before we started. With Immie the line between making her compliant and keeping her standing is indiscernible. She goes from saying no to falling over, with barely a second to catch her saying yes.

As Jess slips away, Immie’s starting to rant.

‘Do I look like I’m ready to be transformed into a trifle?’

To be fair, she’s a committed jeans and sweatshirt girl, so I’m not sure how this is going to go. The last time she wore a skirt out of school was probably when she was a carnival rosebud, thirty years ago. I don’t have to dig too deep to come up with the kind of bribe she’ll go for.

‘You try on the dress, Immie, and we’ll send Sera for another bottle of fizz.’

Sera grins at me and heads for the stairs.

Immie rolls her eyes, and sighs, but she gets up. As soon as she’s on her feet I shoulder her into the fitting room, shove the dress in with her, and whisk the curtain closed.

Cate and I take deep breaths as we retire to a safe distance.

Cate frowns and turns to me. ‘I’ve been thinking, you can’t struggle with a man as difficult as Rafe from now until September.’ She runs her fingers through her hair. ‘There must be something we can do to soften him up.’

I shrug. ‘He doesn’t respond to cake.’

Cate sniffs. ‘He probably needs a good roll in the hay, we’ll have to find him a woman.’

After Immie’s rundown on the history of his nonexistent love life, I grin. ‘Good luck with that one.’

‘There is one person he doesn’t object to.’ Cate’s lips are flickering. ‘Immie has him eating out of her hand. That has to mean something.’

I’m not sure I agree with Cate here. ‘It means she scares the bejesus out of him.’

‘But he spends a lot of time with Morgan,’ Cate observes.

She’s right about that. Morgan’s always dragging what I assume to be bits of broken tractor round the farmyard after Rafe.

‘Rafe wouldn’t take an interest in Morgan if he wasn’t interested in Immie, would he?’ Cate leans in, and she’s whispering. ‘In the interest of smoothing the way for my wedding …’ She says those two last words very close and very loudly. ‘I think you might need to sprinkle some cupid dust on Rafe and Immie, okay?’

I reel. Cate’s not usually this forceful. ‘Hold it there Bridezilla, how exactly am I supposed to do that?’

‘Organise a Daisy Hill Farm night out, and we’ll work on it together.’

‘Night out?’ I query, as I sink onto a stripy director’s chair. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Cocktails here in town might be good?’ Cate gives a satisfied nod, as if it’s already in the bag. ‘You’ll thank me for this. It’ll make the run up to the wedding easier for all of us.’

Cate’s wiggling her eyebrows excitedly. ‘We could start at Jaggers.’

‘You go to Jaggers too? So does Jess.’ If I hadn’t already sunk into a chair, I would do now.

‘We often call in there on Fridays, they do great mojitos, you should try them.’ She shakes her head at me. ‘You need to get out more, Poppy. Starting this week. I’ve been too easy on you, giving you the excuse of babysitting for me. I shouldn’t be taking advantage. You need a life too.’

And here’s me thinking that Cate and Liam barely get further than the village pub. Has the whole world gone mad while I’ve been hiding under my duvet?

‘Everything going okay here?’ Jess breezes through the doorway that leads to the shoe department, a pair of rhinestone stilettos balanced on each hand.

‘Immie’s currently trying the Miranda, in blush,’ I tell her. Every dress in the shop is allocated a different girls name, and that’s how we refer to them.

‘Well done, we don’t often get bridesmaids as reluctant as Immie,’ Jess raises her eyebrows. ‘There’s good news from downstairs too, Poppy.’

‘Celebrity gossip?’ Given the fall out after last week’s Josie Redman Twitter storm and Sera’s huge spike in popularity, I’m not sure I can cope with more.

‘No, no much closer to home … I think I’ve found your lost couple.’ Jess flashes a triumphant beam. ‘My six o’clock bride just mentioned she’s getting married at Daisy Hill Farm the week before Easter. I’ll give you her number later.’ Jess gazes doubtfully at the shoes in her hands. ‘I’m not sure these will mix with mud though. If you’re going to be putting on lots of weddings in fields we’ll need to order in some sparkly wellies.’

Before I have time to tell Jess that any weddings in fields will be strictly short term she’s sped off back to her bride, and Immie is pushing her way out of the fitting room, face like a stormy sea.

‘Great news, we’ve found our missing Easter bride.’ I say it brightly to take her mind off what she’s wearing.

Immie’s talking through gritted teeth. ‘Well my news is, I’d rather wear the curtains than this dress.’ She’s wading through waves of chiffon.

As Cate and I stand back to assess, I’m ready for the worst.

We both hold our breath.

‘It is a bit long,’ I say, ‘but actually you’ve got curves for the first time since … forever.’ It’s surprising to think Immie’s been hiding that hour glass figure under her baggy T-shirts. ‘You have to admit, you’re looking pretty sassy.’ Despite her cropped hair, the pretty dress suits her.

Immie’s holding her hand in front of her chest, screwing up her face. ‘You know I hate fitting rooms,’ she protests. ‘I refuse to look, it’s too humiliating.’

Cate bites her lip. ‘If you lose the anger, and have a yard chopped off the bottom, you’ll look amazing. Maybe with a little tiara too …’

Immie lets out a yowl. ‘I’m not wearing a fucking …’

Cate laughs. ‘Okay, no tiaras.’ She bites back a grin. ‘How about floral crowns made from daisies?’

‘Worse and worse.’ Immie’s pulling her vomit face again.

‘There’s no such thing as a happy bridesmaid,’ I say to Sera. Given she’s brought up three bottles of prosecco, I’d say she’s catching on fast.

‘Okay, my turn next.’ I grab a Miranda in cream, and head into the empty fitting room.

I’ve helped with enough bridesmaid fittings this last few months to know the majority of bridesmaids walk down the aisle in a dress they would prefer not to be wearing. But they all love their brides too much to argue. I’m already cringing at how the scoop back is going to show off my muffin tops. But that’s a minor worry when I think that next week I’m going to have to make contact with a bride and groom to plan their special day and admit I know nothing about it. And somehow I have to persuade the worst tempered guy in Cornwall to come out for cocktails. Cate might think throwing Immie and Rafe together is the recipe for true love and an easy year, but from what I know of both of them, tiaras or no tiaras, it’s more likely to cause World War Three.

11

In the office at Daisy Hill Farm: Monday blues and craggy trees

Things to do first thing Monday …

Chase up the missing Bride and Groom, who’ve had their phone off all weekend

Tackle Rafe about sharing office with chickens!!!!

Chase up Portaloo company

Organise work trip to Jaggers

Sort out Daisy Hill Website

Daisy Hill Farm Weddings Facebook Page??? :(

‘Morning Pops!’ Immie dashes into the office, trips over a chicken, and sends us both into a spin as she saves herself by grabbing onto the padded arm of my executive swivel chair. As she comes to a halt, she’s practically sitting in my lap. ‘Oh my god, you’re on Facebook …’ Her squawk echoes in my ear, as her chin bumps against my shoulder.

So this is me with my self-imposed Facebook embargo, caught red handed. It’s the first time I’ve logged on since the morning I had the second most horrible shock of my life – being faced with Brett, tagged right left and centre in a friend’s stag night photos, his mouth surgically attached to some bimbo. It wasn’t as if it was just the once. This tonsil hockey was on a tournament scale, and they looked like they were playing for England. And enjoying it. Even thinking about it now brings the sick into my throat. Two days later we’d broken up, and I’ve stayed away from Facebook since.

‘Happy Monday to you too.’ I take a slurp of the coffee I made when I arrived half an hour earlier, and try to change the subject. ‘Drink?’ Brett was full of excuses, but with thirty odd guys all posting their take on the party, his cheating was covered from every angle. I scoured the photos frame by frame. I pieced the whole sordid evening together before you could say ‘hangover’. There’s nowhere to hide when a thousand people around the world have seen the pictures.

‘No time for tea, I’ve got lots of cottages to sort after weekend checkouts.’ Immie slides back to standing, addressing me, then the bird. ‘Sorry for squashing you, Pops. Sorry for kicking you, Henrietta.’

We’ll have words about her talking to the poultry later, not to mention the whole ‘hens in the office’ issue. As for Brett, in the end he put the blame on me, and at the time I went with that, because I wasn’t in the habit of disagreeing with him.

‘So why Facebook? After all this time?’ Immie screws up her face as she puzzles. You have to give her full marks for persistence. ‘You vowed you’d never go on again.’

I sigh. ‘The farm needs a Facebook presence.’ We both know that’s true. ‘And when I looked down today’s work list, making a Facebook page for the wedding venue was the easiest job.’ I’ve rushed the page together, using a picture of calves from my phone, from last week’s farm tour, and added in some dreamy half focused photos of lace and sparkles I took in the shop yesterday. Somehow using Facebook for work is okay. The last thing I’m going to do is stalk Brett. ‘The rest of my jobs for today are worse, believe me.’ Explaining to the bride that we’d lost her details is bad enough. Reassuring her that she can trust us with her wedding is something else.

‘Nice photos.’ Immie nods as she scrolls down the screen looking at the new Facebook page. ‘I think you should call the page Weddings at Daisy Hill Farm though.’

‘Brilliant idea,’ I say. ‘I wanted to get the page up and running, to catch people who might have fallen through the holes in Carrie’s booking net. If we get everyone we know to share the page, I can offer a gift for every couple with a booking who get in touch via the page.’

There’s a flurry of wings and feathers and squawks in the corner, as Henrietta flies onto the top of the filing cabinet.

‘Good thinking Mrs.’ Immie scratches Henrietta’s head as she settles herself down next to the broken document shredder.

I’m cringing at the thought of touching feathers, when there’s a knock, and the door pushes open. Immie and I turn. As a guy in a soft grey parka walks in, muffled against the cold with a bright stripey scarf, our mouths open in a silent, but collective, ‘wow’.

There aren’t that many guys around here who look like they’ve escaped from some high fashion magazine, complete with the expensive clothes. True, there are some good looking surfer types at the beach, but none of them go in for the kind of grooming we’ve got here.

‘Hi.’ He shakes his perfectly cut, artfully messy, nut brown hair, and holds out his hand. ‘I’m Jules, I’m here for the photo shoot. Rafe said to come on in.’ His gaze is a startling topaz blue. ‘I take it that’s okay?’ As his coat slips open to reveal a chunky knit that might have walked off the pages of Telegraph Living, there’s a delicious waft of expensive aftershave.

He has to keep on talking, because Immie and I are still gawping. We’re halfway between being lost for words, and convulsing in giggles.

No surprise that Immie recovers first. ‘Fine, come on in.’ Immie leaps forward and grabs his hand which looks clean and buffed. ‘I’m not sure you’re at the right place though,’ she adds doubtfully ‘Definitely haven’t seen any cameras or lights anywhere round here this morning.’

That makes him smile, and when he smiles his cheeks crack into deep lines. You know those long ironic dimples you get on guys like Johnny Depp? The ones that make your legs dissolve? That’s what I’m talking here. And from the way Immie has sprawled against the desk, I’m guessing in her case, dissolving is fully complete.

Then he gives a long low laugh that bounces off the whitewashed office walls and leaves me helpless too.

‘No, I’m bringing the cameras, I’m the photographer.’ The smile he flashes is luminous enough to suggest he’s on great terms with his dental hygienist.

‘Remind me what you’re taking pictures of?’ Immie’s doing well here, given her legs are all floppy, and she hasn’t got a clue what he’s talking about.

‘The engagement shoot for Lara and Ben’s wedding … back in December we booked to have it here this afternoon …?’ Those blue eyes are full of hope as they search our faces.

I struggle to make my expression less blank as he goes on.

‘I say engagement shoot, it’s really just to get the happy couple relaxed in front of the camera before the big day. Some people do their engagement shots in New York or Paris or somewhere exotic, but these two went for Cornwall in February. I came early to check out the best shots. Let’s hope the weather’s improved for the real thing at Easter … it’s only four weeks away now.’

And finally the penny drops. He’s a wedding photographer. And the couple he’s talking about are the bride and groom I’ve been trying to get hold of all weekend, and they’re coming here this afternoon. If ever I wanted a fairy godmother moment, this is it. Not only has a hunk of a guy been delivered to my office – not lusting, just admiring here, you understand – but my most dreaded task of the morning just melted away.

‘Of course, I’m so sorry,’ I begin. ‘We’ve had staff changes, you’re down in the book for later.’ Shhhh, I know it’s a porky, but he’s not to know there isn’t a book yet. ‘It’s absolutely fine for you to be here now.’ I can tell Immie thinks I’m gushing, but I’m so damned relieved. ‘I’m Poppy Pickering, Events Manager, tell me what you’d like me to do, and I’m all yours.’

I grab Jules’ hand and give it a vigorous shake, ignoring Immie, smirking behind her fingers.

‘I’m in my 4x4,’ Jules voice is half purr, half growl. ‘If you could possibly spare the time to show me a few locations …? With the weather as it is, we’ll be working to big up the rugged side. I’m on the lookout for five bar gates, craggy trees, backdrops of sky, picturesque barn doors, stuff like that.’

‘No problem.’ Immie is straight in there. ‘I know this farm like the back of my …’

Whatever happened to those pressing weekend check outs she was off to? Not to mention her disdain for men in general. No doubt if she stopped to think about it with her uni head on, she’d have a lot to say about how her reproductive instincts are completely over-riding her sensible brain, when she’s faced with this vision of genetic male perfection. I’m guessing Jules’ resemblance to an over-sized puppy probably swung it for the animal lover in Immie too.

I jump in before she has me sidelined completely. ‘It’s fine, I know you’re busy Immie, I’ll handle Jules.’ Wincing a bit at the word choice there, but I’ve been to so many weddings, and poured longingly over the pictures afterwards, wishing it were me, that I know exactly what he’s wanting. And this is my first real taste of my new job. ‘Promise I’ll shout if I need you Immie.’ I sweep across the office to grab my jacket, noting that the fairy dust hasn’t extended as far as the yurt coat. With luck and a following wind Jules might read my over-sized Barbour as extreme boho chic. ‘Shall we go?’ I’m suddenly tingling with excitement at the thought. And it’s nothing to do with any hot guy hormone rush, it’s all about getting Daisy Hill Farm Weddings up and running.

12

On Location, at Daisy Hill Farm: Step ladders and panda bears

As the day goes on, Jules proves to be a lot more than a pretty face. He’s scarily organised, meticulous about his work, and he’s brilliant at putting people at their ease. And I don’t only mean the happy couple, Ben and Lara here, I also mean me. Somehow the morning disappeared as we whizzed around finding suitable gateways and hilltops for the shoot. And the next thing I knew, I was agreeing to swap my afternoon plans to work on the website for Daisy Hill Farm, and go and be a photographer’s assistant instead.

‘It’ll be a great way of getting to know Lara and Ben,’ Jules promised. ‘And in return, I’ll help with that website you seem so stressy about.’ Given he offered to provide me with an unending supply of wedding pictures, in return for credits, and that I’m shooting in the dark as far as websites go, the only answer was ‘yes’.

I also took my notebook, and jotted as we chatted. So I now know that there will be forty guests in the day and a hundred in the evening. At night they’ll be dining on hot dogs, served from a retro burger van. The ceremony is booked for midday at the church, which means I don’t have to deal with registrars this time, and they’d love Morgan to help with the parking. I also got the names of the marquee company, the caterers, the florists, the stylists, and the furniture hire people, not forgetting the band. All of whom will be arriving to set up.

The downside for me was the twang in my chest as Lara and Ben chatted about their excitement, and all the details for the day. At Brides by the Sea, when I’m discussing cake orders or helping with dress fittings, I see brides with their friends, or their mums, and that’s fine. But being so involved in helping a couple realise their wedding dreams is something else. Ben dropping devoted kisses onto the top of Lara’s head, untangling the hair on her forehead, gently twisting her engagement ring round so the camera would catch it. Lara digging her elbow in his ribs and teasing him about his wedding spreadsheet. All the coupley love I’ve lost is being paraded under my nose. Whereas in normal life if I see it I can simply look the other way, here it’s part of my job. There isn’t a Wedding Coordinator in the world who wouldn’t get involved. Yet when I see the easy way his arm flops over her shoulder, as they put their heads together and share a joke about for better or for worse, I’m there thinking how close I came to doing the same. That this was almost me.

‘Let’s just do it.’ Those were Brett’s exact words, the last time we talked about us getting married. If someone said that to you, you’d think it was happening wouldn’t you? You would feel safe to build up those expectations you’d held in check so carefully for so many years. And a week later he’d stuffed it all up.

I hadn’t expected being a firsthand spectator in someone else’s wedding build-up to hurt quite this much. And in the next few months I’m going to be faced with couple after couple, all about to tie the knot, and every time it’s going to make me feel like shit.

‘Are you okay over there, Pops?’ It’s Jules calling, and he’s already fast forwarded to Immie’s nickname for me. More scarily, he’s also picked up that I’ve dropped out of the game momentarily. ‘Any chance you could bring the steps over?’

Judging by the pictures Jules has been flashing at me on the screen of his camera as we’ve worked our way around the picturesque places on the farm, he’s a hot shot photographer.

‘So, for this one last picture, how about you both climb up onto the wall.’ Jules yells to be heard above the wind.

I whisk the step ladder in place right on cue, help Lara and Ben into position, then whip the steps out of shot. As Ben and Lara shuffle uncomfortably on top of the wall, I pull my woolly hat over my eyes, and haul up my coat collar.

‘We’re going for wild here, sit facing each other, let your jackets flop open, and let the wind blow you.’ Jules leaps around, his movements fluid and easy, snapping from all angles, constantly checking his shots. ‘Camera bag please, Poppy, I’ve a feeling the sun’s about to break through those clouds.’

I lug the holdall across to him, and he swaps cameras, and seamlessly swoops to take more shots of the couple laughing amidst chaotic strands of windswept hair, silhouetted against the sudden brightness of the sky behind. He’s been like this all afternoon – exhausting, yet exhilarating to watch, working with what was there, seizing every opportunity, catching Lara’s surprise when a flurry of rooks rose from the trees. The moment when Lara fell off the gate and Ben instinctively dived to catch her in his arms.

‘Okay, got you. Everyone into the car, we’ll head back to the farm.’

His voice is throaty, as he swigs from a bottle of water as he jumps into the driving seat, and throws a flask of coffee to Ben and Lara in the back seat. ‘Here, warm up with that, you’ve both been stars out there.’ His nonstop praise has definitely kept Lara going when she looked like she was flagging.

‘Phew, I’m exhausted, and all I’ve done is watch.’ I heave myself into the car, and flop into the passenger seat beside him. It’s been amazing to watch how this guy took this inhospitable afternoon, and somehow managed to warm up and coax these freezing cold lovers into beautiful moments he could capture. ‘Hardly ideal weather for a photo shoot either.’

As Jules turns on the engine, the music starts too. I forgot to mention the whole afternoon has been played out against the most romantic soundtrack in the world ever. Earlier we were bouncing down the lanes to Hozier’s Take Me To Church, and right now Nothing Compares 2U is coming and going in the background. I deliberately don’t listen too hard to the words, or I’ll have to swallow back the tears.

‘You’ve done a whole lot more than watch. I certainly asked the right person to help.’ Jules gives a low laugh. ‘And actually the weather’s perfect – extreme conditions make the most interesting pictures.’

It may be unfair to make comparisons, but I can’t help think of Jules with his can-do attitude, and easy coaxing manner, beside grumpy Rafe, and his tractor load of negativity. As if to underline the impression, Jules flashes me a wide, warm smile.

‘Is that the last stop?’ I ask with a sigh. Even though it’s exciting to see Jules at work, after three hours I could kill for a mug of sweet tea and a chunk of chocolate shortcake.

‘I think we’ll call it a day at that,’ Jules confirms to all of us. ‘I’m confident I’ve got some pictures you’ll like.’ He shoots a satisfied beam over his shoulder to Lara and Ben in the back.

In my head I’m already putting the kettle on and opening the biscuit tin.

‘Ohhhh.’ A groan of disappointment comes from Lara.

This far I hadn’t got her down as whiney.

‘What’s wrong, Panda?’

And this is something I forgot to mention earlier. Panda Bear is Ben’s slightly annoying pet name for Lara. Whoever thinks I only mind because I’m jealous is totally wrong. As I’m basically only meeting them for a day after this, I don’t need to stress about it, but to be honest, if someone started calling Immie Panda Bear in public, Cate and I would have to put a stop to it. Immediately. With physical force if necessary.