Summer at the Little Wedding Shop: The hottest new release of summer 2017 - perfect for the beach!
Get married in the village.’
‘Brilliant.’ I couldn’t cope with a ‘destination’. At least this means a welcome extra booking for Rafe and Poppy. ‘The farm house at Daisy Hill will be ready for then too. And weddings there are so fabulous. There’s even a grand piano.’ Despite myself, I almost feel a flurry of excitement.
‘The farm?’ My mum sends David a wild-eyed glance. ‘Actually we’ve rather set our heart on …’
David holds up his hand. ‘No Barbs, we haven’t decided anything yet. Don’t let Lily think it’s a fait accompli.’ He turns to me. ‘We’re going to have a second look at Rose Hill Manor. We were there this morning. And it ticked a lot of boxes.’
Oh shit. A personal trainer who speaks French too. That’s me put in my place. It’s already in the bag. ‘Lovely.’ It comes out as a rasp. So Mr Penryn wasn’t lying about his booking rush. Damned ironic that it was my mother though.
My mum’s wringing her hands. ‘You know me, I was never one for mud.’
Which reminds me, I’ve been here for what feels like an age, and I still haven’t caught a glimpse of the ring yet.
David goes on. ‘You could come with us to the Manor next time? As you’re in the business now.’
Talk about walking on eggshells. Although it’s a surprise he’s butting in, when this is between me and my mum.
‘I don’t want to intrude.’ If I had any sense, I’d keep right out of this. Viewing wedding venues with love birds has to be the ultimate gooseberry activity. Although if they’re anything like Thom and me, they’ll be at each other’s throats soon enough. But I’m torn, because for Poppy and Rafe’s sake, I should be jumping at the offer. It’s the perfect opportunity to check out what that damned Penryn is playing at. ‘Actually, yes, thanks for asking me. I’d love to come with you.’
My mum’s face crumples in horror, and her mouth opens. She knows all about brides getting railroaded. And wedding interference. She perfected the art when Thom and I married. But before her protest has time to hit the air, a figure appears on the grass outside, and there’s a knock on the French window.
‘It’s only Fred bringing logs.’ As she gets up there’s a gleam in her eye.
I catch my breath when I hear the name. Which is a complete accident.
‘He’s from a very nice farm, Lily. And sells the driest wood in the area. You could do a lot worse.’ By the time her hand lands on the door handle, she’s fixing me with her ‘now or never’ stare.
Here we go. This is what I have to put up with. ‘A “nice” farm? That would be one without mud then?’ I say.
But she’s not listening, because she’s flinging open the door. ‘Fred, do come in, there’s someone here I’m dying for you to meet.’ That old line. ‘No need to take off your boots.’
What? Who gets in here in their outdoor shoes? What’s more, why has my heart done the tiniest cartwheel in my chest when I’m having no part of this?
She presses a pair of bright blue shoe covers into Fred’s hand so fast, she must have had them up her sleeve. Then she seizes a tartan throw from under a cushion, and with one flap it’s open, and covering half a sofa. As Fred’s blue feet slither across the shiny oak floor, and my mum escorts him to his mud-proofed area, he sends me a grin over the top of her choppy blonde streaks. It’s obvious he’s done this before.
David has too, given he’s arrived at Fred’s elbow with a mug of tea, a plate and the tea trolley.
My mum waits until Fred unzips his hoodie and eases back onto his rug, then she launches the Exocet. ‘So, this is my daughter Lily, she’s currently on her own, and she’d love you to take her out for a drink. Or better still, dinner and a drink. Or even …’
If I cut in rudely, it’s to shut her up. ‘Or a mini-break in London would work for me. Or even a romantic trip to New York if you’re up for that?’ I only hope my mum’s happy I’ve been reunited with my sense of humour. And note how she flagged up my status without mentioning the ‘D’ word. Then I put on my best ‘appalled of Rose Hill’ face – I get a lot of practice at that with my mum – and shake my head at Fred. ‘I’m divorced, by the way. Excuse me while I crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.’
From the way Fred’s choking behind his hand, he has to be laughing. Eventually he stops shaking, and smiles. ‘I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you, Barbara. Matchmaking isn’t the best look for mums. In any case, you’re too late, I’m already taken.’
My insides deflate like a popped balloon. Which really isn’t my style. Not that I was interested in Fred. Because I wasn’t at all. But whatever.
‘B-b-but …?’ My mum’s even more confused than my flattened ego.
Fred’s lips twitch, and one eye narrows as he catches mine. ‘I met a lovely girl last night. Given she went home wearing my shirt, I’d say I’m well in there. Wouldn’t you, Lily?’ As he holds my gaze, a tiny part of me melts. Then he dips to adjust a foot cover, and slides me a wink.
It takes a few seconds for my ego to brush itself down. Then it does a skip and canters back to where I can’t see it. ‘Absolutely right, Fred. I’d say the shirt’s a clincher.’ I’m getting out of my mum’s proverbial frying pan here, but who knows what hot place I’m ending up in.
Okay, I know I said winks were tacky. But it does depend on the wink. And who it comes from. And Poppy was so right when she said I could do with a wingman here. Right now, times are desperate. I’ll take whatever friendly support I can get.
‘So you’re saying she’ll be up for a mini-break, then, maybe New York?’ Fred laughs, and gives me a significant grin.
There’s no point leading him on when I’ve no intention of going. ‘That sounds like quite a lot of logs.’
‘Good thing I’ve got a chainsaw then.’
This kind of banter could go on all day. If I don’t make a run for it now, my mum will claim her cupid stripes, regardless of women with prior claims. And Fred will be another on her long list of men delivered on plates that got away.
I slide my French Fancy into my bag for later. ‘Well I’ll leave you guys to your wood delivery. Let me know about the Rose Hill Manor visit.’
Hopefully that gets me off every hook, and leaves the next move up to everyone else.
I’m half way back to St Aidan when I realise. I still haven’t seen the ring.
Tuesday, 21st Feb
At Brides by the Sea: Bare branches and customer service
When I told my mum I’d be back in St Aidan so soon, it didn’t feel real. But the up-side of living in a hotel room is there’s nothing much to move. My worldly belongings fit into Gucci, and there’s still left room for a trip to Ikea to pick up bedding on the way. Less than a week later, I’m clattering down the stairs from the attic flat at Brides by the Sea, to fill in for Jess down in the shop.
‘Tuesday morning’s our quietest time, as there aren’t any appointments. Acclimatise yourself, we’ll see you after lunch,’ she says, as she rushes off with Sera the dress designer, for an ‘at home’ appointment with a couture client. As Poppy’s not in yet either, I really am ‘home alone’.
Creating a new job and a new department, it’s hard to know where to begin. But given Jess has promised there won’t be any customers, I take my laptop over to the table in the White Room. I’ve decided to start by sourcing storm lanterns to