Cornwall weather gives new meaning to the word ‘unpredictable’. It can be gloriously sunny first thing but pouring down an hour later, and it varies widely from coast to coast.

Salt Bay lies on the thin strip of land that leads to Land’s End. We’re on the east coast and the west coast is only half an hour’s drive away – but some days they might as well be different countries. Nip over to the other coast if you wake up in Salt Bay to grey skies and mizzle, and often as not you’ll find sun sparkling on blue seas.

Fortunately, I wake on Saturday to bright sunshine. Sunbeams are pouring through the open curtains of our bedroom and coating the wooden floorboards in light. I often sleep with the curtains open because falling asleep looking at the stars is awesome. They were hidden by light pollution in London but here the stars are scattered like brilliant diamonds across the inky sky.

Yawning, I push my legs across the bed but there’s no familiar shape of Josh. It’s daft because we live together but tradition decreed he spend the night at his mum’s so we won’t see each other until we meet in church. When I walk up the aisle in Alice’s dress which he’s never seen.

I’ve woken ahead of the alarm so I lie under the covers for a few more minutes, thinking of Alice and Mum. Two women who’ve had a huge effect on me and should be here to see me marry the love of my life

Today is going to be bitter-sweet. But mostly sweet, I tell myself firmly, swinging my legs out of bed and pushing my feet into my slippers. There’s been too much sadness and uncertainty in this house lately. Today we’ll redress the balance with love and joy and happy ever after. Mum and Alice would approve.

I’m brushing my hair and wondering if Emily’s already had a shower when there’s a tap-tap at the door and she pokes her head into the room. She blinks at me from behind her thick-framed glasses and grins.

‘Brilliant, you’re up! Happy Wedding Day, Annie. Is it OK if I come in?’

‘Of course. Is everything all right?’

‘Yeah, I just wanted a quick word before it all goes mad later. There’s already six people in the back garden putting up tables but you’re not allowed to look ’cos it’s a surprise.’

It certainly is. Heaven knows what the choir’s got planned because Josh and I were told in no uncertain terms to butt out when we tried to get involved. ‘We’ve got this covered,’ said Gerald, putting his hands on my shoulders and ushering me out of the pub when I accidentally wandered into the choir’s planning meeting. And even Kayla’s been tight-lipped about it.

When I sit on the bed and pat the cover, Emily sits down beside me. She’s still in her bunny onesie with tousled bed-hair.

‘I just wanted to say thank you again for taking me in and looking after me and trusting me with your B&B idea which would have so been a go-er if you hadn’t run out of money.’

‘I’ve told you that you don’t have to keep thanking us because we’re not doing you a favour. You’re part of our family now and you’ll come with us to Trecaldwith. Did you see the details of the house that Josh brought back?’

‘It looks nice.’

I nod because the house we’re planning on renting while we decide what to do next is nice. It’s smaller than Tregavara House and quite modern and it doesn’t have a view of the sea but it’s close to a parade of shops and Josh’s school. I wish I could feel more enthusiastic about living there but I expect that will come.

Emily sucks her lower lip between her teeth. There’s something else bothering her but I can’t worry about that today. Or mourn Alice and my mum and leaving Tregavara House. Or flap about whether Barry will turn up on time to walk me up the aisle. Or, indeed, at all. His band’s tour is over but, the last I heard, he was carrying out some errand in London that couldn’t wait. I sigh. Nope. Today is a day to forget all troubles and heartaches. Today is a day for celebration and love.

‘I’m getting married to Josh Pasco in exactly’ – I peer at my bedside clock – ‘three hours and fifty-two minutes.’ I wrap my arms around my body as excitement fizzes through me.

‘And I can’t wait to be your bridesmaid. I’ve never been one before. It’s just…’ Her words trail off and she bites her lip. It seems there’s no escape, not even on my wedding day.

‘It’s just what?’

She looks up at me with huge eyes. ‘I’m a traitor,’ she whispers. ‘A traitor to the feminist cause.’

Oh, Lordy.

‘Would this have anything to do with Tom?’

She nods. ‘I think I like him.’

‘And not like a gay best friend?’

‘No, more than that. I’ve been feeling a bit weird about him for a while, but I ignored it ’cos I’m off all men. But he’s so kind and he seems different these days. More grown-up and more…’

‘Fit?’

So it’s a bit blunt but I’d really like to get back to my wedding day.

‘Yeah, exactly. But what will Storm think if I sell out my principles and me and Tom get it on?’

‘Storm will probably make a few wisecracks and then she’ll find something else to focus on. Going out with a boy you like isn’t selling out your principles, Emily. It’s just having fun.’ I put my arm around her shoulders. ‘You should try it sometime.’

Before Emily can reply, the door flies open and bashes into the wall.

‘Here comes the bride!’ sings Kayla at the top of her lungs as she hauls a suitcase onto the bed. ‘Come on’ – she physically pulls me and Emily apart – ‘you haven’t got time for any of this kissy-kissy business ’cos you’re getting married in exactly’ – she consults her watch – ‘three hours and fifty minutes’ time.’

She opens the case and starts rooting inside while Emily scurries off to bag the shower first.

‘Is everything between you and Ollie OK?’

‘Yep,’ says Kayla. ‘And I don’t want to talk about it now ’cos there’s loads to do.’

She studies my sleepy face and winces. ‘I’ve brought everything with me – make-up, curling tongs, blister patches, industrial grade anti-perspirant. Operation Get Annie To The Church On Time is on!’

---

Kayla is as good as her word. I’m ‘beautified’ (her term) to within an inch of my life, though I draw the line at false eyelashes. And once Kayla’s worked her magic I must admit I look far less meh than usual. It’s still me staring back in the mirror but a better version of me. A me that can be bothered to use blusher and lip liner. And when I put on Alice’s dress, I can hardly believe the transformation.

‘You look brilliant, mate,’ gulps Kayla. ‘I’d marry you myself if Josh hadn’t got there first. You’re missing something though.’

She points at my shoulder-length hair, curling gently around my face.

‘I don’t have a veil. I’m not too keen on them, really – all that covering your face on the way in and uncovering it when you’re a respectable married woman seems a bit archaic.’

‘You don’t need a veil,’ agrees Kayla, ‘but this might help.’ She delves into her suitcase that’s more a Mary Poppins bag full of endless surprises. ‘I bought you this ’cos I thought it would complete your wedding vibe.’

She thrusts a small silver box at me. Inside, nestled on black tissue paper, is a gorgeous, glittering tiara.

‘It’s absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much.’

After Kayla’s fixed it into my hair, I turn my head this way and that in the mirror. The tiara catches the light and adds a touch of bling that’s just the right side of tasteful.

‘Wow!’ Freya has just arrived with Marion, her ebony hair already set into ringlets that cascade across her tiny shoulders.

‘Wow is the right word. You look wonderful, Annie.’ Marion has started crying and Kayla fishes out a box of tissues from her magic bag. My soon to be mum-in-law is looking pretty wonderful herself in a fitted purple dress that complements the silver streaks in her dark hair.

‘Did Josh sleep all right?’ I ask her.

‘He was up very early because he’s nervous but looking forward to today. We all are.’ Marion dabs at her cheeks with the tissue and sniffs. ‘You’ve made my son very happy, Annie, and I wish you both all the love and luck in the world.’

‘Tissue?’ Kayla hands one over in case I start blubbing too but my frantic blinking seems to be doing the trick.

‘You look like one of the princesses on my bucket,’ says Freya, peeping out from behind her grandmother.

‘Yep, the Princess of Salt Bay – and it’s time to go marry your prince, Sunshine,’ says Kayla with a grin.

---

Kayla, Emily, Marion and Freya go ahead of me to the church. And Storm too, who nipped off without showing me what she’s wearing. I can only hope she’s ditched her jeans and boots for a few hours.

When they’ve gone, the house is eerily quiet and there’s no noise from the back garden. I’ve solemnly promised not to look out there or to go into the kitchen, which was taken over by the choir earlier. So I pace up and down the hallway until the grandfather clock shows quarter past eleven. There’s still no sign of Barry so I’ll have to walk alone to the church and call on the services of my stand-in dad, Cyril.

‘Thank you, house,’ I murmur, pulling the front door closed behind me. ‘I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be married from.’

I’ve reached the garden gate when a car speeds along the road and screeches to a halt in a cloud of dust. What the hell? I step back, worried the dust will settle on my dress, as Barry clambers out from behind the wheel. He’s flushed and flustered but wearing a smart suit and his shoulder-length hair is pulled into a tidy ponytail.

‘I made it,’ he gasps, slamming the door of the clapped-out Polo that’s surely held together by rust and dirt. ‘Gazzer let me borrow his car though I’m not insured for it. Mind you, I don’t think he is either. Anyway, it got me here in time to give you away.’ He winces. ‘Oops, sorry, walk you up the aisle seeing as you’ve gone all feminist on me. I’d have been here earlier only I had something important to do in London. Hell’s bells, Annie. You look a million dollars in that dress.’

‘Thank you and I’m glad you got here but we have to go now. I don’t want to keep Josh waiting.’

‘That man of yours can wait a bit ’cos I want to give you your wedding present first.’

Barry starts fishing in the pocket of his waistcoat and pulls out a folded sheet of paper.

Oh no, he’s written me another song. It’s great that my dad enjoys composing music and he’s good – the song he wrote for Salt Bay Choral Society bagged us the Kernow Choral Crown. But he’ll sing my wedding song at the reception after having a few too many and Storm will totally go off on one.

My fingers tighten around his arm. ‘That’s lovely, Barry, but could you save it until after the ceremony? I’ll be able to fully appreciate it then and if I don’t get to the church soon, there won’t be a wedding at all.’

Barry hesitates while the paper flutters in the breeze and then he shoves it back into his pocket. ‘Righty-oh. This can wait. Let’s get you to the church on time.’

It only takes a few minutes to walk to the church: me, holding up my dress to stop it trailing in the dust and Barry striding along beside me. Organising a lift was pointless for such a short journey and, anyway, I want to feel a Cornish wind on my face and taste salt in the air before stepping into the church. Before the ceremony begins and I marry the love of my life.

---

My bridesmaids and flower-girl are waiting for me outside the church porch – Emily and Kayla are wearing pretty mint-green maxi dresses they picked up in Topshop, Freya is gorgeous in a blue dress with a tutu-skirt, and Storm is a revelation. Her hair is up off her shoulders in a soft bun with tiny ringlets around her ears. And she’s wearing a dress too! It’s short and dark grey with silver studs across the tight bodice – not very bridesmaidy at all – but she looks wonderful. She tugs at the hem self-consciously when I get closer.

’I had no choice. They bullied me into it. You turned up then, Barry.’

’Sorry I’m late but I had something to sort out first. Something big and very important.’

’Yeah, course it was,’ says Storm, rolling her eyes.

Cyril’s near the church door and smiles when I do a twirl. ‘You look beautiful, Annie.’ He’s in the old suit he wears for choir concerts, but his dark shoes are shining, his grey bristles have gone and he’s had a haircut that’s more of a head shave.

He spots me looking and rubs his hands across his scalp.

’Florence brought her clippers round and insisted on giving me a haircut. I think she’s done some sheep shearing in her time. I was waiting out here in case I was needed but I see your real dad has turned up so I’m not wanted.’

And he looks so sad, I make a sudden executive decision. ‘You stay right there, Cyril. Why don’t you both walk me down the aisle if you’re up for that, Barry?’

My father nods. ’That’s fine with me.’

But Cyril frowns. ’It’s not very traditional. Jennifer will have something to say about it.’

’She can say whatever she likes! It’s my wedding and the people in Salt Bay are my extended family so it’s right that I have my dad on one arm and you on the other.’

Oh, crikey. I think Cyril’s about to cry. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down while he swallows hard but then he pulls himself tall and holds out his arm. ‘It would be an honour. You really are an unusual woman, Annabella Trebarwith – it’s as though you’ve always been a part of Salt Bay.’

Which is the most wonderful compliment on my wedding day. I take a last look at the village spread out around me and, with Barry on one arm and Cyril on the other, I step into the church and my new life.

The tiny granite building is almost full of people and heavy with the scent of flowers. Salt Bay Choral Society have done us proud – colourful posies adorn the ends of every pew and two huge arrangements of verbena, agapanthus and valerian flank the altar. Light is flooding through the stained-glass windows casting streaks of brilliant blue, scarlet and gold across the flagstones.

The first chords from the organ bounce off ancient stone and everyone stands to watch me walk up the aisle. It’s all a bit of a blur – Lucy’s passing a tissue to Marion, who’s welling up again, Jennifer in an enormous hat is hanging on to Jacques’ arm, Fiona’s dyed her greying hair ash-blonde in honour of the occasion and I glimpse Toby standing alone out of the corner of my eye.

But the only person I’m focused on is Josh. My Josh, who’s waiting with Best Man Ollie at the altar. He’s ridiculously handsome in his hired dark-grey suit and deep-red tie that matches my bouquet of roses from Mary’s garden. But he’s nervous. I can tell by the way he’s shifting from foot to foot.

His eyes light up when he turns and sees me and he whispers: ’You look amazing!’ when I reach his side and clasp his hand. He breathes out slowly and his shoulders relax. ‘Let’s do this.’

---

Reverend Hilary Baxham waits for Freya to sit on her mum’s lap, gives us a very unvicar-like wink and the ceremony begins.

All’s going well until Roger does a humongous sneeze and Kayla starts giggling. She’s been threatening to disrupt the ceremony by shouting: ‘Annie keeps a sex slave in the cellar at Tregavara House’ and I’ll kill her if she does anything daft. But her giggles are drowned out by the creaking of the church door, which is in urgent need of some WD40.

The loud noise echoes through the building as a short woman in an immaculate white trouser suit ushers in two small children dressed identically in plaid skirts and short-sleeved jumpers. She shuffles them into a back pew and, when she holds up her hand in apology, diamond rings on her long fingers split the light into a prism of colours.

’I don’t believe it,’ mutters Barry behind me but Storm is beaming. Proper full-on beaming like she’s properly happy for once and not about to slip into sullen teenage silence.

‘It’s my mum,’ she mouths at me. ‘She came after all!’

Hilary gives a discreet cough. ‘Is everything all right? Shall I carry on?’

’Yes please. It’s a member of my family arriving late.’ Josh raises his eyebrows at me. ‘It’s Storm’s mum,’ I whisper to him. ‘I’m afraid my dysfunctional family just got bigger. Can you bear it?’

’Our dysfunctional family. What’s yours is now mine and all that.’

’For better or for worse?’

’Definitely, though to be honest I’d prefer for better.’ And he grins and squeezes my hand as Ollie ferrets in his waistcoat pocket for our wedding rings and Salt Bay Choral Society prepare to sing.

---

Everyone applauds when we walk up the aisle which doesn’t seem very British, but it matches the celebratory mood in Salt Bay. I’m married! And though Mum and Alice aren’t here, I know they’d be delighted for me and my new husband.

Josh and I emerge blinking into a Cornish September afternoon to a peal of church bells and the cheers of strangers. A little huddle of tourists has gathered by the church wall to see what all the excitement is about and they start snapping photos of us on their iPhones. Ooh, I feel like Amal Clooney in Venice after marrying gorgeous George.

Twenty minutes later and we’ve all decamped to the cliff top for our official wedding photos. It’s not the most traditional of places for wedding pictures, and I don’t suppose I looked very elegant slogging up the cliff path with skirt in hand and wellies on. But Tom is insistent the ocean backdrop will be amazing. He’s been studying photography so was the best person to take on the role of official snapper – and, boy, is he taking it seriously.

His usual diffident manner has disappeared and he’s ordering everyone around with gay abandon. Safe behind the lens, the real Tom is emerging and it suits him. He’s more confident, more grown-up, more at ease in his own skin. He’s even chatting easily with Emily in between shepherding us into position though presumably he’s still unaware of her change of heart.

Tom takes several photos of me and Josh hand in hand with our backs to the sea, and when he shows me one of the pictures on his camera I can hardly believe it. We’re laughing as a breeze whips back my hair and billows my skirt, revealing my wellies. And behind us, the land ends and the indigo ocean stretches to the horizon. Tom has a real talent.

Storm has done little more than wave at her mother so far but sidles up to her while Tom’s trying to get a good shot of Ollie and Kayla together. Poor lad. The atmosphere’s tense because they’re still scratchy with each other so getting them to smile is hard work.

Amanda greets her daughter with a brief hug and stretches out her hand to me when I wander over.

’You’re obviously Annie. I can tell from your resemblance to Storm and the gorgeous dress, of course. Is it vintage? You look absolutely wonderful. Congratulations.’

Her long, blood-red nails tickle my skin when she shakes my hand. My nails were like that once, when I lived in London and regularly visited the nail bar at Westfield shopping centre. Now they’re short and practical though Emily insisted on painting them pearly-pink last night.

‘Thank you so much for coming to my wedding.’

Amanda gives a tinkly laugh. ’Thank you for inviting us and I’m so sorry for turning up unannounced – and late.’

When she does an ‘eek’ face, her muscles hardly move. Her forehead is suspiciously unlined and the skin around her eyes is taut and smooth.

’I didn’t think you were coming,’ says Storm.

’Neither did I because Cornwall is such a long way from London. But then I realised we could combine the wedding with a few days in Padstow. Simon’s boss has a bolthole near Rick Stein’s seafood restaurant and said we could borrow it. It’s not ideal, actually – full of antiques so a bit of a nightmare with Poppy and Eugenie but they’re being very good.’ She smiles at the girls, who are sheltering behind her as though they’ve never met people like Salt Bay villagers before. ’But our trip gave me a chance to nip across to see you being a bridesmaid. Doesn’t she look lovely, girls?’

Poppy and Eugenie nod and eye their half-sister warily.

’Simon didn’t come with you then, Amanda?’

’No, I’m afraid he had some urgent business to attend to. He was very disappointed because he’d have loved to see his step-daughter. You don’t mind, do you, Storm?’

Storm gives the slightest of eye rolls as she shrugs. ‘It’s fine. Are you coming to the reception?’

’Gosh, no. I’ve already gatecrashed Annie’s wedding and wouldn’t dream of imposing any further.’

’It’s really not a problem,’ I tell her. ‘I’m sure we can make room for you and the girls. We’re holding the reception in our garden and it’s pretty informal.’

Amanda glances at the wellies peeping out from under my skirt and gives a puzzled smile. She’s not the sort of woman to wear wellies to a wedding and especially not her own.

‘I can’t stay long but maybe we could come back for an hour or so. It would be lovely to spend some time with my daughter when she’s looking so gorgeous.’ She puts one arm around Storm’s shoulders and uses her other hand to pull her phone from her tiny, shiny handbag. ’Talking of which, I must get a photo or Simon will never believe me. He’s only ever seen Storm in jeans and Doc Martens.’

Storm stands awkwardly, one foot crossed in front of the other, while her mother snaps away.

’Smile, darling,’ commands Amanda, taking another half dozen pictures. ’You look so much prettier when you’re smiling.’

’Can you take one with Annie?’ Storm beckons me over, puts her arm tightly around my waist and leans against me. Amanda takes another gazillion photos but suddenly glances past us and lowers her phone.

‘Balls!’ mutters Storm.

Barry is striding over to us, ponytail undone and hair blowing around his shoulders. He looks pretty rock-star cool actually with his suit on and huge mirrored shades covering half his face.

’Amanda.’

Barry nods at his ex-wife, who’s fished her own sunglasses out of her bag and put them on.

’Barry.’ She pushes her girls forward. ’I don’t think you’ve met my daughters, Poppy and Eugenie. Girls, this is Storm’s father.’

The girls stare open-mouthed at the strange man in front of them while Barry and Amanda eyeball each other from behind their sunglasses – Amanda’s designed by Prada in Milan, Barry’s bought from Superdrug in Kettering.

’Hello, girls,’ says Barry, ruffling their hair. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever met my daughter, Annie, either.’

’From what I’ve heard, it’s not that long since you met her,’ snipes Amanda, but she clamps her lips tight when Storm groans.

Barry pulls back his hair that’s being whipped by the wind. ‘Simon not here then?’

’Working!’ says Amanda, sharply.

’Of course he is. I know it’s the weekend but I’m only taking a quick break from work myself.’

’Still busy in a band then?’ Amanda’s face looks weird. I think she’s trying to wrinkle her nose but nothing’s moving.

’Barry’s doing really well,’ butts in Storm. ‘His band’s touring all over the place. They were in Wales last week.’

’Wales? Heavens! You’ve really hit the big time at last, then, Barry.’ If Amanda’s eyebrow could move, she’d be raising it.

‘Yeah, he’s doing really well,’ protests Storm but Barry places his hand on her shoulder.

‘It doesn’t matter, love. Leave it.’

I feel a sudden rush of affection for this odd little man who only pitched up in my life eleven months ago. How on earth did he and Amanda ever get it on? I can’t help it. I’m imagining them kissing and cuddling and, ooh, I really don’t want to go down that road. But they seem the most unlikely couple ever. Was Amanda ever a rock chick? She certainly isn’t now. She’s moved on, but Barry hasn’t.

’My dad’s doing brilliantly with his band and has been absolutely wonderful since we met. I don’t know how we’d manage without him.’

I’m not quite sure why I said that because it’s not strictly true. Barry drove me demented when he first arrived in Salt Bay with Storm in tow. But now’s not the time for honesty; not when his ex-wife is being sneery.

‘Thanks, babe. That means a lot,’ says Barry, lifting up his sunglasses and giving me a wink.

Storm’s mouth twitches into a half-smile and she lets Tom lead her away for yet another photo of my unusual bridesmaids against the magnificent backdrop of the roiling Atlantic.

Ten minutes later and we’re all pretty much photo’d out but Tom is still angling for a group shot of everyone.

‘Please all group together,’ he shouts while Emily tries to round up stragglers spread out across the clifftop. It takes ages but at last everyone’s huddled together facing the windswept cemetery where generations of Trebarwiths are buried. Everyone except Toby, who’s hanging back.

He hasn’t been mingling with the other guests and loneliness is coming off him in waves. Usually he’s full of swagger but today he’s muted as though someone’s flicked his off switch.

Peter shuffles along from Jennifer, whose hat is trying to have his eye out, and holds out his hand. ‘There’s room here for you, Toby. Though you might not fancy getting too close to the cliff edge after your heroic climb.’

My heart sinks. In all the fuss of almost hurtling off the cliff and getting married, I totally forgot to ask Peter to keep the rescue quiet.

‘Heroic climb by Toby? Why don’t I know about this?’ Jennifer’s almost twitching with agitation at being out of the loop.

‘Toby climbed the cliff without a rope to rescue his daughter and Annie,’ says Peter. ‘One of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.’

‘Or most foolhardy,’ insists Jennifer as my guests cluster round Toby asking him how he managed the climb without breaking his neck.

‘Will you please all stop moving and get in place for a photo,’ yells poor frustrated Tom, but no one’s listening.