In my flat at Brides by the Sea: White letters and net curtains
LOVE YOU, LOVE CHOCOLATE MORE …
I can’t help smiling at the message the client has ordered to put on top of the cake as I stamp the letters out of the thinly rolled icing. White words on a mocha background, and all going on top of a dark chocolate sponge. It’s just out of the oven, steaming on the wire cooling rack next to the tiny table where I’m working, and filling the kitchen with a heady mix of vanilla and cocoa. I lean forward to crank open the little porthole window to let in some air, and catch a glimpse of the sea, turquoise and glistening in the February sun. When I lived with Brett, his penthouse had seaward facing balconies and floor to ceiling ocean vistas, but this last six months I’ve come to love my jewel sized view from this borrowed crow’s nest flat. A tiny corner of an attic over a wedding shop might not be everyone’s first choice, but it’s home for me.
‘Poppy, Poppy, come down quick.’ If Jess’s shriek hadn’t come echoing up the stairwell, I could have filled you in on the gory details of how I came to be here. As it is I need to go, and fast, because it’s also part of the deal that I help in the shop whenever I’m called. Which is why I’m clattering down the stairs two at a time, instead of giving you back story.
Bridal shops are emotional places, but Jess the shop owner is usually the one holding the mayhem together and mopping up the tears, not the one screaming like a banshee. This must be big news. I wind my way downwards through the shop, past the dark blue of Groomswear, through the shell pink Bridesmaids Beach Hut. I hurry through the Shoe Room with its shelves of exquisite heels, zoom through Cakes, then Flowers, before I finally find Jess in the ground floor White Room, flapping her hands and all breathless next to the rail of wedding dresses.
‘And?’ I skid to a halt on the white painted boards, hurriedly wiping the icing sugar off my hands with my apron. You’d think I’d get blasé seeing acres of gorgeous lace and satin every day, but a cascade of tulle still makes my heart beat faster. But why the hell is Jess this excited?
‘You’ve heard of Josie Redman … THE Josie Redman?’
‘You mean the reality TV star featured in every issue of Closer, Heat, OK! and Hello?’ I ask. I can’t quite remember what she did to be famous, but I know the one. ‘Dark hair, swallow tattoo up her leg?’ Don’t worry, it’s a lot classier than it sounds. ‘The one who was too famous for Celebrity Big Brother?’
Jess nods madly and it might be worth pointing out here that Jess doesn’t do crazy. Anyone who could build up her shop, Brides by the Sea, from nothing has to be super serious. She began with wedding flowers in one room on the ground floor, and now she has the whole building, and a wedding emporium that attracts brides from the whole of Devon and Cornwall, and beyond. Believe me, it came from hours of hard labour, coupled with some equally hard headed business savvy.
‘It came up on the Celeb-News app on my phone, and it’s all over twitter so it’s definitely true.’ Jess gasps. ‘Sera’s up in the studio, talking to Josie’s PA now, sorting out details.’ As the words tumble out of her mouth, she’s flapping her hands harder than ever.
‘Details of what, tell me what’s happened Jess?’
For a moment I think Jess is going to have a mother-of-the-bride-breaks-down moment. I’m scouring the velvet sofas and gilded side tables for tissues, when first Sera’s distressed boots, and then her long legs, come into view on the stairs from the studio.
‘Here she is, she can tell you herself.’ Jess gives another breathless squeak.
Sera’s coming down the stairs as if she’s an extra from a zombie movie. As she slides off the bottom step and does a slow motion collapse into the nearest carved armchair I swear her face is several shades paler than her bleached blonde hair.
‘Sera?’
Given that she’s clutching the hem of her shorts, and opening and closing her mouth with no sound coming out, I turn back to Jess.
‘Josie Redman has chosen Seraphina East …’ Jess’s squeak slides to her usual baritone mid-sentence. ‘To design her wedding dress.’
The words take a few seconds to sink in. In my head I’m silently mouthing O-M-G in slow motion, because this is huge. HUGE with the caps lock on. That would be Seraphina East, a.k.a. Sera, the local girl who touted her dress designs round to Jess’s newly opened wedding shop in her cut off shorts when she was fresh out of college. She’s still wearing the ragged shorts, but the rest has moved on