Jess’s expression softens. ‘Strategy is my strong point. And we also have our new secret weapon.’ She pauses for effect. ‘Brides by the Sea has a brand-new manager of a brand-new department – Wedding Styling.’
For a second Poppy and I both blink. Then my heart gives a lurch as I catch up. She means me.
Jess jumps in to save Poppy’s confusion. ‘Lily’s agreed to take us forward with the designing and accessorising side.’ And miraculously she’s missed out that I haven’t got the first clue how to do this.
‘That’s brilliant news.’ Poppy pulls me into a huge hug, despite her wobbles. ‘But what a surprise.’
‘For all of us.’ I’m not joking. ‘I’ll fill you in later, Poppy.’
Jess is rubbing her hands. ‘It’s very fortuitous. This way we’ll be able to parachute you behind enemy lines, Lily. You can be our under-cover agent.’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’ I feel like I blinked and woke up in a James Bond movie.
Jess rolls her eyes in frustration. ‘As our wedding stylist you have the perfect excuse to go to Rose Hill Manor. If we can land a styling booking for a wedding there, so much the better.’
If my jaw hadn’t instantly locked with fear, I’d be screaming.
Poppy looks unsure. ‘I know we’re desperate, but doesn’t spying sound a bit underhand? You mustn’t do anything you aren’t happy with, Lily.’
I bite my lip as I weigh up the evidence so far. ‘With this Kip Penryn, we’re talking about someone who crashed the party and ate the Sams’ hog roast. His signage appeared in the dark. He’s your neighbour, setting up in competition right under your noses, and he hasn’t had the decency to call round and discuss it with you. I reckon the combat’s already started. If it saves Daisy Hill Farm, I’m happy to come out fighting.’ Even if I’m wobbling about the styling part.
Jess rifles through her table drawer so furiously, she could be searching for boxing gloves.
‘Right on target, Lily,’ she cries, as the contents of her drawer fly across the desk. ‘It’s survival of the fittest. Do or die, sink or swim. There’s no time to lose.’ So much for an over enthusiastic imagination. We’re back to water again. Eventually she comes up with a pen. ‘I’ll start with a list of contacts to lean on.’
‘Thank you so much.’ Poppy gives me a last squeeze. ‘Oh my, you’re going to need your lovely suit more than ever for this, is it going to be okay?’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Somehow I doubt it.’ But suddenly it doesn’t matter any more. Waving goodbye to my LK Bennett is somehow symbolic. As if my ruined suit marks the end of my old life. ‘I can always get another. Although I could have done with power dressing for my appointment later.’ Hopefully my wink hides how much I’m dreading coming face to face with my mum. I stare down at my jeans and sloppy sweat shirt. Whereas I’m happy to use my all-day pyjamas for exactly that, regardless of destination, my mum always dresses like she’s going to Ascot. That’s twenty-four seven, whether she’s leaving the house or not. My jeans aren’t going to cut it, but that’s too bad. Life should be about who we are, not what we wear. Maybe my mum needs to learn that.
Jess beams. She’s got her mini vac out now, whisking the croissant crumbs off the table, ready for her nine thirty bride. ‘Meeting the fiancé is always a big moment.’
True. But when he’s your mother’s, and you don’t know him from Adam, big doesn’t begin to cover it. And when your mum is my mum … Well, anything could happen.
Poppy clasps her hands to her mouth. ‘Of course. Blimey. What are you doing?’
‘Afternoon tea at Heavenly Heights.’
Which was always my friends’ pet name for the modern close at the top of the village where we lived. I’m thanking my lucky stars I’ve got away with sandwiches and cakes rather than a formal dinner. As for Poppy’s wedding wars, not that I’m a pessimist, but they might not be the only explosions in the Rose Hill area over the next few months.
‘Do you need a wingman?’
I shake my head at Poppy’s offer. It’s great that she understands, but I’ve got to do this on my own.
Poppy rubs my arm. ‘Try to act happy for her. At least for today.’
Which given the way my tummy is twisting, might be difficult.
Wednesday, 15th February
On the way to Rose Hill Village: Three point turns and missing rings
BLISSFUL BOUTIQUE COUNTRY MANOR HOUSE WEDDINGS …
‘Not exactly subtle is it, Gucci?’
Okay, I’m talking to my car again. It’s easy to slip into the habit when you do a lot of miles on your own together. It goes with singing along to heart break songs very loudly. But enough about that. I’m doing a mini-detour on the way to afternoon tea with my mum, to take in the Rose Hill Manor wedding sign. But the hoarding on the field edge is immense, and the lettering is so ‘look-at-me’, I forget to steer.
‘Signs like this should be banned. They’re a danger to the public,’ I moan, as I veer off the narrow lane and bump along the verge, simply because I can’t take my eyes off it. There are so many ‘exclusive use’ stickers, it’s probably visible from outer space.
Pulling to a halt, I grab my phone, and jump out to take a few pics to show Jess later. As I fight my way past the hedge my feet slither on the wet grass. Damn. Hygiene standards at Heavenly Heights are surgical. Arriving with mud smeared boots will put me at a huge disadvantage. But it’s too late now.
It’s bad news all round then, because the hoarding graphics I’m clicking away at are startlingly professional. Somehow I didn’t have the Penryns down as being this classy. On the close-up photos it looks like a venue to-die-for. I’m scouring the posters for something to criticise – like anything would do – when there’s the roar of an engine on the lane. Next thing I know, there’s a Land Rover beside me, with the driver’s window open. And when I turn round, I’m staring straight up. At Kip Penryn.
‘Speak of the devil.’ It’s out before I can stop it.
Kip rubs the stubble on his chin. ‘Do I know you?’ He wrinkles his forehead, then the penny drops. ‘Of course, you’re the one who caught the bouquet. Dried off, and out looking for a wedding venue? That was fast work.’
‘More like driving off the road, due to being distracted by your effing great hoarding, you mean. Big can be brash, you know.’ I refuse to acknowledge how perfect his promo material is.
‘We’re doing unmissable introductory offers. I have to make this work. Anyone getting married has to be interested.’
The words send a chill through me on Poppy’s behalf, if only because he sounds so desperate to succeed. ‘I’ll pass on the offers, thanks.’ Although I’m amused that he’s got things so wrong with me. ‘Unmissable’ offers are even more compelling and tasteful than ‘special’ ones. He’s certainly got his act together here.
‘We’re exquisite and exclusive, but we’re also exceptionally negotiable. I can cut you a deal.’
I give a sniff of disgust. ‘You do know if you overuse the word “exclusive” to the point of exhaustion, it loses all impact?’
He backs off