Tuesday 5th December
In the kitchen at Daisy Hill Farm: Mental pictures and wind-down tipples
‘Are you there, Poppy? I’m just coming to say bye and ring for a taxi. I met Rafe and he told me to come on in.’
As I knock and crack Poppy’s kitchen door open, Jet, the black farm dog is there to welcome me with a thump of his tail on my leg. After the heat and mess of Rory’s cottage, Poppy’s place feels like a haven of calm. Apart from a few notes of violin music drifting up from the main house and the occasional slam of a car door, it’s hard to believe there’s a wedding party going on a few yards away. As I walk into the gentle light, Poppy looks up from where she’s curled on the sofa.
‘Rafe keeps popping in. He’s a lot more twitchy about all this than I am.’ She gives her tummy a rueful glance. As she checks her phone, she stifles a yawn. ‘Hey, you stayed late, Hols.’
‘I bumped into Gracie running off as I left, so I took her back to Home Brew Cottage on my way here.’ My name for the Rory residence, not Poppy’s. And we both know it’s a lot further up the yard. I’m hoping we can skip over the aching embarrassment of the last twenty minutes and that I’m still smarting at the speed of my ejection. Which is ridiculous, when staying was the last thing on my mind.
‘How are they doing in there?’ From Poppy’s wince she already knows.
Hopefully my huge eye roll will cover it, because my cheeks are already lighting up again. ‘He’s a long way from Uncle of the Year, but at least the smalls are asleep now. And, for the record, he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. Just saying, so you know where he stands on this.’ Seeing she’s looking so tired, I won’t push it further now.
Poppy grins and thankfully moves on. ‘So, well done, you survived your first wedding. It’s always a milestone.’ She’s looking at me searchingly. ‘And I’m sorry if I didn’t pick up quite how wobbly you were earlier.’
‘It was a great day, I learned loads, my batteries lasted, nothing broke.’ Apparently dying power packs and failing equipment are a wedding photographer’s worst nightmares. And I know exactly what she’s getting at with the last part, so I might as well explain. ‘The puking wasn’t about nerves, though. I just got a horrible shock when Zoe told me Aidan proposed last Christmas, and it suddenly hit me that it could have been me getting married today.’
Her face wrinkles into a worried frown. ‘Poor Hols.’
‘I’m okay again now. But there’s something else I’ve been puzzling over too.’ Probably all brought on because I don’t come face to face with bridal couples that often. ‘I’ve just spent a whole year pinning my hopes on patching things up with Luc. Then today, as I watched Zoe and Aidan signing the marriage register, I realised – I’ve never had a mental picture of me in a wedding dress, standing next to him.’
Poppy pushes her finger on her lips as she ponders. ‘And is that good or bad?’ It’s a measure of the kind of friend Poppy is, that she isn’t jumping in with her opinion too early.
‘It’s a surprise. That’s all.’ Not that I know what to make of it.
She laughs. ‘A lot of women have their weddings worked out on Pinterest, down to the last detail, before they’ve even got a boyfriend. Maybe you’re at the other extreme. Because you’re a photographer, you prefer real images to imagined ones.’
Now I’m the one who’s smiling at the skill of that reply. ‘That’s one way of looking at it.’ We’re neatly skipping over that I had a boyfriend and was careless enough to lose him at the vital moment. Seeing as I haven’t got a clue what the explanation really is, I try to move on. ‘Today was the most exhausting day ever. How the hell do you do it on a regular basis?’ At her busiest times, Poppy will have several weddings a week. For someone who’s wilting after one, that’s a mind blowing thought.
Poppy laughs. ‘Believe me, I was a wreck for my first few too. But now I get this huge buzz from helping couples to have a wonderful day. When I’m there, that is.’ She gives a wistful sigh.
I’m picking up her frustration. ‘Not quite the same when you’re viewing it from the sofa?’
She pulls a face. ‘Being stuck in here makes me feel so useless.’
I try to find a bright side. ‘It gives you time to catch up on your pram ordering. And your baking.’ From the piles of full cake containers on the work surface, she could be cooking for Cornwall.
Her nostrils flare. ‘If I see one more Christmas Pudding cupcake, I might just scream.’
‘Fine.’ If she wasn’t off alcohol, I’d already be making her a Winter Warmer. If ever I saw a girl in need of a wind-down tipple, it’s Poppy.
As she sits up, her chin’s doing a strange kind of wobble. ‘The trouble is, even though Rafe pops in, I’m actually really lonely. Stuck in here all on my own makes me feel excluded. Daisy Hill Farm weddings were so much my thing, and suddenly they aren’t any more. Feeling shut out is horrible.’
When I look closely, it’s only the dim light that’s masking the shadows under her eyes. ‘But don’t you get tired by the weddings?’ I hesitate. ‘Extra tired, I mean, with your bump?’ I’m sure Rafe is only being protective, suggesting she stays here.
She gives a rueful shrug. ‘I am tired. And grumpy. But actually, most of all, I hate that it’s all going fine without me.’ As she bites her lip, her face crumples.
‘Babe.’ I cross to her sofa, put my arm round her shuddering shoulders, and push a tissue into her hand. ‘We’re all here to help you. No one’s trying take over. It’ll all be here waiting for you as soon as you’re ready to come back once the baby’s here.’ Poppy’s been so strong since she came to work at the farm. What’s more, she’s been storming around as if her bump wasn’t there. So it’s unnerving to see her upset, just when she seemed to be coping so well. But I know it’s more than my life’s worth to mention pregnancy hormones.
After a few more gasps, her shivers subside and she gives a gulp. ‘I know it’s silly. And irrational. But I can’t bear that I’m not going to be there any more when the bride says what a lovely day she’s had.’
My heart goes out to anyone whose nose is redder than mine. ‘Let’s have some hot chocolate.’ Poppy and Rafe’s fridge is the size of a small barn and they have a herd of dairy cows, so hopefully they’ll have enough milk. I grab a pan and open up the Aga top.
Poppy sniffs. ‘I’d like that. I’m sorry, I feel so mean for grumbling.’
I can completely understand why she feels awful. ‘It’s the change that’s the hardest part. And handing over what you’ve built up.’ As I wait for the milk to warm, I find a soft throw and tuck it around her. As I bustle around, I’m throwing out random thoughts. ‘But you need to think of the guys as looking after weddings while you’re away. And it’s only for a while.’ I’m whisking the chocolate powder into the frothy milk, adding squirty cream, grating on some dark chocolate. ‘You’re close enough to keep an eye on things. And you can always pop in for a guest appearance …’ I’m searching the baking shelf, locating the marshmallows, when a gentle snore floats over from the sofa.
‘Poppy, are you …?’
I tiptoe over to check. Eyes closed. Fair ponytail spread across the grey wool sofa. A hundred per cent asleep. And this time I wasn’t even singing.
If I didn’t love her so much, I’d drink her hot chocolate as well as mine. Seeing as I do, I leave her full mug next to her on the side table, just in case she wakes from her nap. And give Jet the kind of stern stare that Jules would be proud of when I retreat to the other sofa and tell him not to snaffle the cream.
But in the end, Poppy doesn’t move. By the time my taxi arrives half an hour later, she’s drifted into a deep sleep.