Friday 8th December
At Brides by the Sea: Ready and unwilling
‘Opening up at nine?’ As I lug my camera stuff down four flights of stairs and into the shop next morning, Poppy’s already behind the desk. ‘I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy?’
She looks up from checking through a stack of parcels. ‘With some clients it’s worth going the extra mile.’ The corners of her mouth droop. ‘It’s damage limitation. Stave off the problems before they happen and everything will be fine.’
I’m getting the message. ‘So you’re expecting a difficult customer?’
Her grin is rueful. ‘Let’s just say, if Marilyn had told me to be here at dawn, I wouldn’t have argued.’ She laughs. ‘But at least coming in early meant I was here at eight to talk Jess down.’
‘What did Jess want at that time?’ Usually she waits until the shop opens at ten.
Poppy raises her eyebrows. ‘Last night Bart took her on a moonlight ride in a pony and trap, followed by a five star fondue on a private balcony at the smartest local restaurant.’
I’m impressed. ‘He’s not stinting on the romance, is he?’
‘Poor Jess spent all evening convinced she was about to dip into the melted cheese and pull a ring out. So much Gruyère and nothing at the end of it. Reading between the pauses, I think she was devastated.’
Oh my. ‘I wish I’d never mentioned proposals.’ I’m feeling very guilty for raising her expectations.
Poppy shakes her head. ‘Engagement must have been on her mind or she wouldn’t have cornered you. And I’m sure she’ll be back with a diamond on her left hand. I just wish he’d get on with it and then we can all relax and enjoy their holiday.’ She peers at me more closely. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You’re very pale this morning.’
Result! As I put my fingers to my cheek, despite the cakey feel, I’m mentally punching the air. ‘Probably just my late night. It’s hard to stop watching Friends once you start.’ It’s too embarrassing to admit I’ve splashed out on some Red Alert blush hider. At forty quid for a teensy tube, I’m pleased she’s noticed because, to be honest, miracles come cheaper.
‘You aren’t going to puke again are you?’ Her frown deepens. ‘It’s just you look a bit crusty.’
I hadn’t anticipated an inquisition. ‘Really, I’m all good.’ Which is a complete lie, seeing what’s ahead. But as it might stretch to an entire morning with Rory, I went for four layers. Then just to be doubly sure, I added a layer or two of talc I found in the bathroom cabinet. Crusts are a minor drawback, if it means I stay pale.
She glances at her phone. ‘Is Rory late?’
Me hopping from one foot to the other is probably the giveaway. I’m twitching the chiffon layers of the wedding dress in the window display so I can get a better view down the mews. Although it’s only to be expected. He doesn’t exactly come across as Mr Reliable. ‘He’s probably still struggling to get the kids up and dressed. Although there’s someone coming now. She’s blonde, powering down the street like she’s going into battle.’
Poppy pulls a face. ‘Damn. Our nine o’clock must be early.’
From the sheer confidence in her stride, she’s already making me want to find a corner to hide in. ‘I’ll stay out of your way. Unless you need me to help, that is.’ I dive and perch on the end of the bridesmaids’ chaise longue furthest away from the desk.
‘Marilyn! How are we doing with the spreadsheet?’ Poppy’s welcome couldn’t sound warmer, considering Marilyn’s arriving in the White Room like a force-ten gale, cape flying. If her hair was less mayonnaisey she could stand in as a body double for Theresa May. As she storms to the desk it’s obvious from her jingling wrist chains she’s got a serious Tiffany habit.
‘I’m here to talk cakes, Poppy.’ Hands on hips, and she’s not holding back. ‘I know Seth and Katie asked you to make theirs. But honestly, chocolate sponge at a wedding?’
Poppy purses her lips. ‘They took a long time to decide. And they did take your wishes into account and hold back on the complete alpine scene. But they loved the idea of the white drip icing looking like snow on top of a chocolate mountain.’
Marilyn makes a choking noise. ‘That doesn’t count as a wedding cake in my book. Which is why I’ve had to overrule them and make my own. Square, dark fruit, glycerin icing, five tiers. All I need now is a miniature bride and groom to top it off. Preferably with a blond haired groom, as I said on the phone.’
‘We’ve got three here.’ Poppy widens her eyes as she fiddles to open the boxes. ‘Although Katie did want winter berries and skis to top er – whichever cake she’d chosen. To go with the bouquets?’ This is Poppy treading super carefully.
Marilyn’s eyebrows shoot up so fast they almost collide with the chandelier. ‘Berries?’ Her voice has shot up an octave. ‘No one mentioned berries when I spoke to the florist yesterday. How do berries fit with glittered classic white-rose posies?’ She picks over the bride and groom ornaments. ‘This one will do. Now please tell me the favours are here.’
Poppy’s looking bemused. ‘They are. A hundred and three personalised silver keepsake boxes. Lily and I checked them personally, the names and the hallmarks are all perfect. Is that everything for this morning?’
Marilyn dives into her bag. ‘One last item, because I won’t be backing down on the headgear issue. I need a veil to attach to this.’ The heavy, diamond encrusted tiara she pulls out would be more at home in a safe in the Tower of London than being dragged around St Aidan in a Longchamp Le Pliage bag. ‘We need to try this. The girl in the corner will do.’ A second later she’s sprung across the floor and rammed it onto my head. Then she grabs a veil from a display and impales that on me too.
By the time I wail ‘ouch’ she’s snatched them both off again and she’s pushing the veil across the desk to Poppy. Along with half my messy topknot too.
Poppy winces as she teases the hairs off the soft tulle. ‘Would you like that in a bag?’
‘So long as you’re quick.’ Marilyn scoops up the box of favours. ‘I’m on double yellows and I’m already hours late for the caterers. I’ll take these out and come back for the veil.’ Hours? So maybe she does make dawn appointments.
As she sprints away, Poppy’s blowing her fringe up.
‘So that’s what a fully stressed-out mother of the bride looks like?’ I ask as the shop door slams. It’s almost as if I’m spotting rarities for a wedding version of those I Spy books we had in the holidays as kids. Mother of the bride, five points. Add two more points if she’s in a bridal shop, and ten more if she’s pulling her hair out. Make that fifty if she pulls out someone else’s. Freya filled in every line. On hers and mine. She had The Seaside, which was a bit of a gift, given we came to St Aidan so often. Mine was Pets, but even though we lived in pirate country, I never did find a parrot.
‘Not quite.’ Poppy’s expression is pained. ‘Katie and Seth are the sweetest couple, organising their own fabulous alpine-themed wedding in the converted barn at the farm.’ She shakes her head. ‘Marilyn is Seth’s mum, and her vision for Seth getting married couldn’t be more different from Seth and Katie’s.’
‘Mother of the groom on an uninvited takeover mission, then?’
Poppy screws up her face. ‘Pretty much. Hijacking the cake is minor compared to the rest. The favour order is entirely without consultation. A while back she tried to change the colours of the bridesmaids’ dresses from brights to pastels. She wanted to line the barn with silk to make it look less stoney. Katie’s more likely to get married in ski goggles than in a veil or the family tiara. No doubt Marilyn’s on her way to the caterers to re-do the menus.’
‘Oh my days.’ I can completely see why Poppy came in to handle this client personally. I just hope it doesn’t push her blood pressure through the roof.
‘I’m sure she’s coming from the best of places. Lily has worked so hard with them and the ski-lodge styling is going to be amazing, regardless of Marilyn. But it’s impossible to second guess where she’s going to strike next.’ Poppy rolls her eyes and laughs.
I laugh too. ‘If you’re a wedding manager, she’s a total loose cannon.’ So long as you aren’t involved, there’s definitely a funny side.
As Marilyn comes back in, I make sure to wedge my cheeks in place so my smile is appropriately wide. Although this time round I’m ready to dodge any more tiara moves. And this is not being two-faced. It’s simply taking a leaf out of the customer service survival guide. As weddings go, Marilyn sounds like she’s at the nightmare end of the spectrum.
Marilyn takes her carrier bag from Poppy. ‘Just put everything on my account. Jess found me the most wonderful fuchsia fascinator before she left.’
‘Lovely.’ Poppy’s trying for a soothing croon. ‘So only the final dress appointment left now, then it’s downhill all the way to the big day.’
Marilyn holds up her hands dramatically. ‘And I’ll be full speed ahead to Christmas straight after. For my sins. As if getting married on a farm and pretending it’s a mountain wasn’t awful enough.’
Despite my smile I give a gulp. ‘Christmas? Which Christmas would that be, then?’
Marilyn glowers down at me as if I’ve got an IQ the size of an apple pip. ‘The one in nineteen days’ time. Why, is there another one?’ As she backs towards the door, for the first time since she walked in, there’s an uncertain look in her eyes.
Meanwhile Poppy’s doing her best to examine the plasterwork on the ceiling. She waits until the shop door slams before she speaks. ‘You managed to baffle her there with that Christmas question of yours. Well done on that, it takes a lot to knock Marilyn off her stride.’
Except I’m the one who’s confused here. ‘So if this wedding’s at the farm before Christmas, who’s doing the photos?’
Poppy blows out her lips. ‘A Christmas ski-themed wedding is going to be an absolute gift in terms of pictures. You should see what Lily’s got lined up. There’ll be a roaring log fire and a ski lift gondola for selfies, and fairy lights and fake snow and antlers and red gingham cushions. And signs and vintage ski posters.’
I’m talking over her. ‘Frig the snow and soft furnishings. Who’s the photographer?’
‘There’s a hot-chocolate bar and frosty cocktails, the bridesmaids are wearing tulle mini skirts and knee-high fake-fur boots.’ Now she’s in full flow, she’s unstoppable. As her list comes to an abrupt halt, she couldn’t look more guilty. ‘Actually, it’s Jules.’
This I can’t believe. ‘Jules?’ I’m struggling to get this straight in my head. ‘That’s Jules, meaning me?’
‘Yep.’ As she nods her expression is pained. ‘I was holding back, because I didn’t want to load too much onto you all at once.’
I can’t hold in my wail. ‘That means Marilyn’s going to be at one of Jules’s weddings … that I’m doing?’ If she’s hell bent on taking over the rest of the wedding, she’s hardly going to hold back with the photographer.
‘I’m sorry. You weren’t meant to meet her today.’ Poppy’s face crumples. ‘Really, we’ll handle her. I promise, she won’t be a problem to you on the day.’
‘And I’m a snowman,’ I say. What’s more, I can’t help wondering how many more hidden Marilyns and alpine ski weddings are going to jump out of the snowdrifts at me in the next few weeks.
‘Snowman?’ There’s an echo along the hall and a second later Gracie comes pelting in, followed by Rory swinging Teddie.
‘Jeez, where the hell have you been Holly Berry? We’ve been stuck out there for hours behind some car parked on the double yellows.’
However huge a problem looming in the future, a current one will dwarf it. And as current problems go they don’t come any bigger than a day out with Rory Sanderson that should have started ten minutes ago. At least he won’t be calling me Red Cheeks today.