Friday 22nd December
The Barn at Daisy Hill Farm: My worst day ever
The Snow Surf Board Wedding
The funny thing about dreading something is, it rarely plays out the way it has in your head. At any time in the last week I’d have billed this as the worst day of my life this decade, but it begins with Rory popping in to make his second breakfast, and my first. And I have to admit, smoked salmon and scrambled egg on wholemeal bagels is a great start to any day. Even if he is still making rude remarks about my jim-jams and calling me Champs-Élysées Holly across the little kitchen table, at least it distracts me. Because every time I remember I’ll be seeing Luc in barely two hours’ time, I shudder so hard I almost drop my coffee cup.
The good news is that as soon as Kip and Rafe gave the go-ahead yesterday, Nate and Becky and their gang transferred their wedding operation seamlessly from the shore to the barn. The immediate clearing up after Monday’s wedding had been done, but most of the bigger props were still there to use. So the surfies moved in to festoon the walls with hanging wet suits and surfer t-shirts. The Christmas tree had a whole load of surfboard leashes added, to give a beachy twist to the festive cheer. With surfboards propped up against it, the plank bar was soon looking more surf shack than mountain hideaway. Everyone was so enthusiastic and supportive, that if there had been any more time, I’m sure Rafe would have gone out on his tractor and brought in a beach, like the ones you see in parks in the summer. And once the Gone Surfing signs and posters for Endless Summer and Beach Parties were in place, the transformation was complete.
Immie’s found room in the holiday cottages for most of the wedding party, who should have been staying by the beach. A few of the die-hard guests are still pitching low tents in the field behind the wedding barn, sheltered in the lee of the hill. As for the more upmarket guests like Luc, who’ve booked into the lovely and rather swanky Harbourside Hotel in St Aidan. Well, all they’ll have to tweak is their taxi bookings.
As we set off for the farm after breakfast and bump through the lanes to Rose Hill village, the beer-mobile is being buffeted by the gusts from the gale. Because Nate and Becky were never expecting the full ‘Jules photographic’ works, Rory skips his groomsmen visit and looks in on Gracie and Teddie instead. And I go and take all the girlie pics with Becky, who, unusually for a bride, is already looking relaxed rather than nervous.
As I come back in after photographing her posy of sea holly and dusky blue anemones, she flings her arms around my neck. ‘I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you for saving our wedding, Hols.’ For the first time this morning she’s teary rather than laughing. ‘I’ll definitely be sprinkling my own special cupid dust on you and Luc later. But if there’s anything else I can ever do for you, you only have to say.’
It really isn’t like me to take people up on their offers. But her make-up looks stunning and her bestie bridesmaid who did it is all ready and sitting with nothing left to do. I peer into a make-up box that’s bursting with cosmetics. ‘If you really mean that, I’d love a bit of lippy?’ Not that I’d usually bother. But seeing I downed tools and came to help here yesterday, the only personal make- over I had time for was couple of coats of black nail varnish.
Becky’s back to beaming. ‘We can do much better than a smudge of lippy. That’s the beauty of having a bridesmaid who works on the Benefit counter.’ She turns to the girl by the make-up, who’s already put on her bridesmaid’s H&M tropical-print maxi dress. ‘Bride’s request, please Carmel. Make Holly especially lovely. Whatever it takes, she’s not going to end the day single.’
I love Becky. Seriously, though, I wish she wouldn’t do those winks. But after Carmel’s done her stuff, I do feel totally up for whatever’s going to be thrown at me.
The rest of the morning is as frantic as any wedding, with the added complication of zooming to a very blustery St Aidan for the ceremony. Running across the Town Hall car park, the wind is so strong it’s practically tearing the dresses off the bridesmaids, which in the end leads to some pretty amazing pictures. Not many couples will have wedding albums that look as if they got married in a wind tunnel. And it’s so lucky that Becky chose a little boho cotton dress from Topshop. If she’d had pouffy petticoats, I think she might well have taken off.
As we go up the wide steps between the tall columns of the Town Hall portico, the hotel guests file in to join us. Despite choosing upmarket accommodation, they’re mostly embracing the casual dress code, wearing shorts and hoodies. A lot of these people are Luc’s friends too, but I’m really not prepared for so many enthusiastic hugs and waves. This is the point where I’m literally having kittens. Forget any wedding-stress shutter quake, this is purely down to the thought of bumping into Luc. I’m desperately scanning the horizon, so he doesn’t creep up on me unexpectedly. Then just when I feel like I might explode with the toxic mix of fear and anticipation, Nate comes across to where I’m fiddling with my lens cap.
He’s looking completely fab in his boarding shorts and Hawaiian shirt, as he leans in to my ear. ‘Just to tell you, Luc’s been delayed for a couple of hours. At least.’
‘Phew to that.’ I almost drop my camera with the relief.
The first bars of the Beach Boys’ Good Vibrations are playing, but he beckons me back. ‘Don’t worry, Hols, he’ll definitely be here at some stage. You two are meant to be together.’
‘Great.’ As I give him a thumbs-up, I’m meaning anything but. ‘Good luck, anyway.’
That’s my cue to relax and enjoy what I’m doing. There’s a short ceremony, where Nate and Becky look every bit as happy and fabulous as they deserve. Unsurprisingly their promises are full of watery jokes about falling off surfboards. Then we brave the wind and snatch a few shots of everyone with the bay in the background.
As I shout at Rory across the bonnet of the beer-mobile as we run back to the car, my leopard jacket is almost getting carried out to sea and taking me with it. ‘I’m truly embracing the moment here, Rory Waves.’ And bizarre as it seems, I’m almost sad that I’m doing all these moves for the last time.
‘Me too.’ He’s laughing as he yells back at me.
Somewhere down the line, he must have applied a double dose of Diesel when he was back at Home Brew Cottage, because for a second all I want to do is see how it feels to rub his face. But I slap myself back into line. I crush my fingers so hard under my legs that by the time we get back to Daisy Hill Farm, they’re numb. But at least I reckon I’m back in control again.
In tune with the surfie aura, the rest of the day is pretty much a free-for-all party, but Rory and I still work our socks off. After hours of dodging shadows, I’m pretty confident that Luc’s a no- show. It’s the kind of anticlimax that undoes the knots in my stomach one by one, then leaves me feeling like a popped balloon. By half past nine, I’m also confident I’ve caught every move a surfer can make to every Beach Boys track and Christmas song in the world.
When Rory comes over, I wave my camera at him. ‘I think that’s a wrap. Everything okay at the cottage?’ While I was capturing the disco jive, he’s been back home.
For a second he looks doubtful. ‘Erin could be better.’ He phones the hospital every evening, but he usually spares us the details, then changes the subject, exactly as he’s doing now. His eyes light up again. ‘They’ve just cranked up the snow machine outside. It might be worth a last look.’ This is how he’s been all day. Steering me round to the action.
I pick up my coat and we weave our way through the bales towards the door. ‘A few quick shots and then we’ll go.’ Despite the lure of snow against starlight, I’m factoring in my lift into town. ‘You need to get back to take over from Immie at the cottage.’ At this rate it’ll be after midnight.
Half an hour later, I’ve got more blizzard-in-the-dark shots than any bride could wish for. We’re working our way back into the barn when it suddenly hits me. ‘Rory, why are you wearing my hat?’
He’s grinning down as he holds the door open for me. ‘No, you’re wearing your hat. This is a matching one I bought yesterday.’ He has the decency to look slightly shamefaced.
I pat my head and, sure enough, my hat’s there. ‘Thanks for pointing that out.’ As I notice his guilty shadow flashing across his face, I know I need to push more. ‘And why would you do that?’
His smile is unrepentant. ‘Corporate identity?’ He knows I’m not buying that one. ‘Okay, I give in. There’s no better wind-up for Luc than us wearing matching hats.’
‘What?’ My voice is deep with horror. I can’t decide if I should be appalled, or very appalled.
He’s looking exceptionally proud of himself. ‘Distracting the opposition’s a well-known sporting tactic. Seriously, you need all the help you can get with prick-head. You’re dealing with someone who doesn’t necessarily have your best interests at heart.’
I’m within a whisker of saying, ‘And you do?’ But I’m really not going to go there.
His eyebrows knit into a frown. ‘Did you once say he looked like the guy out of What Happens in Vegas? It’s just that I met a dead ringer for Ashton Kutcher going into the toilets earlier. Complete with American twang too. There can’t be many of those in Rose Hill.’
The rope in my stomach snaps tight as a tourniquet. ‘You mean he’s here and you didn’t tell me?’ My voice is a squeak because I’m so indignant.
Rory’s unconcerned. ‘It’s fine, I’m telling you now, aren’t I?’
I’m about to ask what the hell he thinks he’s playing at, when I feel a tap on my shoulder on the opposite side from Rory. At first I ignore it, thinking it’s Rory messing about. The fourth time it happens, I turn around and the face I’m staring into is familiar and strange all at the same time. I’d know that solid jaw and those deep-set eyes anywhere. It’s the smooth-shaven chin that’s throwing me.
‘Luc? You came after all?’ My throat’s so dry, it comes out as a croak. If I’m trying to sound attractive and alluring, I stuffed that up straight away. As for my insides, they seem to have disappeared entirely.
He slicks back his hair and gives a sigh. ‘I’ve traipsed the length and breadth of Cornwall looking for a beach wedding.’ The smart New Yorker look he’s rocking couldn’t be further from the laid-back surfer dudes around him. ‘Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me it had turned into a barn dance?’
‘Oh no.’ I’m scouring his face to find the humorous twinkle. But he must be hiding it.
‘So, great to see you, how have you been?’ He’s still just as tall and impressive. If we’re purely talking ‘wow factors’, he’s still seriously out of my league.
‘Well, it’s good that you made it eventually.’ I’m making an effort to sparkle here, even if he’s veered off down the jetlagged and grumpy road and can’t get back. Although, unlike Rory – not that I’m comparing – he looks even better when he’s moody. ‘As for me, I’ve been here all day taking photos. Becky just said you were the one who suggested me to her. So it’s actually all thanks to you I’ve ended up doing a lot of weddings here.’
‘Yeah.’ He pulls a face. ‘I saw you ordering people around outside before like a pro. When did you learn to do that?’
I’m liking how intrigued he sounds, so I make a huge effort to look diffident. ‘Oh, you know, it’s been a busy year.’ Or more precisely, eleven months of same old, same old, followed by a crazy three-week learning curve.
As he frowns it only accentuates his strong eyebrows. ‘Why the hell are you wearing the Smurf hat?’
This one’s easy to answer. ‘To keep my earies warm.’ Me stealing Gracie’s expression was a bad slip. I remember too late that kiddie talk’s one of Luc’s pet hates. As I see his eyes cloud I decide to push on with introductions. ‘So, Rory, this is Luc.’ I skip the ex bit, because we all know. ‘And, Luc, this is Rory, my fabulous assistant.’ I do a little jazz hands wave and laugh to lighten it.
Whenever I’ve played out this moment in my head – approximately a thousand times a night at a guess – mostly Luc’s ignored me. A couple of teensy times I allowed myself to imagine him flinging his arms around me and spinning me around so fast my legs whooshed out. Slightly awkward tension, like now, never crossed my mind.
Luc blinks as he sizes Rory up. ‘Hello, Rory. What is this, Smurf Central?’ His drawl is every bit as Yankee as Rory said, and makes him seem extra-distant.
I give Rory a nod for the hat recognition. Although, as yet, I’m not feeling the full advantage of the matching heads.
Rory lets out a low laugh and points to a hand painted sign. ‘If you’re not barefoot you’re overdressed. You might like to take note of that, Luc.’ Given Rory and I are currently wrapped in full outdoor wear, referencing the sharp creases in Luc’s suit trousers falls slightly flat. In a pot, kettle and black way.
Luc ignores the joke and gives me a puzzled stare. ‘Why do you need a helper to take a few snaps of the happy couple?’
If he needs to ask, he doesn’t have a clue. But I’m not going to say that.
Rory gives Luc an enthusiastic punch on the arm. ‘Anyway, it’s great to meet you, Luc. I’ve heard shedloads about you already. But I’m afraid we’ll have to chat another time. I’m leaving and I’m very late already.’
‘We are?’ I’m turning to Rory, open-mouthed.
‘Don’t be silly, Berry. You two have a lot of catching up to do. I’m sure you’ll be able to share a taxi back to town, so I’ll leave you to it.’
As I stare up into Luc’s face, my chest clenches. Not that I’m usually tongue-tied with friends, but right now, I can’t think of anything at all to say to him. ‘Actually, it’s been a long day.’ I turn to Rory. ‘If you’re still going to St Aidan, can I grab a lift?’
Rory drags in a breath as he hesitates. ‘Only if you’re sure that’s what you want.’
It’s as if someone other than the me who’s been aching for this moment for a whole year, is operating my legs and mouth. ‘Thanks, I’ll come now.’ Even as I hear the words, I can’t believe I just said them. It’s only when I see my own astonishment reflected in Luc’s eyes that it clicks. Apart from the day I ran off, I’ve never actually done anything to surprise him before. If he’s been playing this out in his head too, I reckon he’s only got as far as the version where I fling myself into his arms and beg him to take me back.
‘Er … okay. We’ll do this some other time, then. I’ll be in touch very soon, Holly.’
There’s something hugely empowering about seeing Luc gobsmacked, even if it is a total accident. Next thing I know, I’m following the back of Rory’s battered windcheater towards the hewn-plank exit door. A second later we’re being blown down the courtyard and my last ever wedding is over. And so is my long-awaited reunion with Luc.