‘Ahh, who says romance is dead?’ said Maggie, deadpan.
‘I think we can say, love is in the air in Micklewick Bay,’ said Lark.
‘Sounds like a cue for a song,’ said Stella, launching into a song with that very title, the others following suit.
THIRTY-FIVE
FRIDAY 1ST MAY – THE DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING
The first thing that struck Florrie as she opened her eyes that morning was the sound of the rain lashing against the bedroom window and the wind howling around the cottage. It had woken her several times through the night as things had crashed around outside, a car alarm further up the street screeching like a banshee in the early hours. Her heart plummeted. The weather forecasters had evidently got it right: Storm Maida was on its way, wreaking havoc as it charged over the Atlantic, its full impact estimated to hit the North Yorkshire Coast that evening. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the local news reports had been getting everyone whipped up into a frenzy the previous evening, with their dramatic warnings of potential flooding. Apparently, it was something to do with a spring tide that was associated with tonight’s full moon, or ‘flower moon’ as they were calling it. Florrie only hoped Storm Maida had blown itself out by tomorrow morning.
‘I think we’d better take the car to work this morning. I’m not so sure a walk along the top prom will be quite the refreshing experience we usually enjoy. We’ll end up like drowned rats by the time we get to the bookshop,’ Ed said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. ‘Which means we don’t have to leave the house so early, and I cantake advantage of having an extra snuggle with you.’ He rolled over and pulled her close, wrapping her up in his arms.
Thoughts of the weather leached from Florrie’s mind as she melted into the warmth of his kisses.
‘It’s really going for it out there.’ Florrie was peering out of the window in the bookshop door, watching a band of horizontal rain sweep up the square. Someone in a raincoat dashed past, head bowed against the wind, water running off them in rivulets, while a bus rumbled by splashing through the puddles on the road. It was the first time since Ed had unveiled the window displays that there’d been no one standing watching them transfixed – not that Florrie could blame them, they’d be soaked to the skin in a matter of minutes.
‘I’m sure the rain will’ve stopped by tomorrow morning.’ Leah gave Florrie a hopeful smile.
‘Let’s hope so.’ Unconvinced, Florrie returned the smile then checked her watch. It was three thirty and the bookshop and the tearoom upstairs had been quiet all day; no one was keen to venture out in such wild conditions. ‘You might as well head home, Leah. We’re not likely to get a rush on at this time, and the weather’s set in for the evening. I can manage what customers we get. Is your car close by?’
‘I was lucky, there weren’t many people about this morning so I got a spot just outside the bakery.’ The bakery was two doors down from the bookshop.
‘In that case, get yourself home before things get worse out there.’ Florrie made her way across the floor to the counter.
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Positive. We’ll still pay you up to five o’clock, it’s pointless you hanging around.’
Just as Leah went to object, the bookshop was plunged into semi-darkness as all the lights went out, making the two women start. Gerty looked up from herbed.
‘Power cut – all the streetlights are off, and the other shops, too,’ said Leah. Florrie followed her gaze to see a gloomy looking Victoria Square on the other side.
‘Looks like we’ll all be going home.’
The plan for the night before the wedding was for Florrie to stay at her parents’ house; her wedding dress and accessories were already there, her having dropped them off in her lunchbreak the previous day. Ed was to spend the night at Clifftop Cottage with Bear and Maggie, Bear being his best man. The couple had planned on having a couple of hours together at Samphire Cottage, grab a bite to eat before they went their separate ways.
The power cut, however, had meant they were unable to reheat the Mediterranean stew her mum had given her when she’d called round yesterday.
‘Looks like it’s sandwiches by candlelight,’ joked Ed as he flicked the switch for the fairy lights on the dresser and dotted tea lights in glass votives around the kitchen. Rain was drumming against the window.
‘How romantic.’ Florrie chuckled, rooting around the drawer for her head torch. She’d just got her hands on it when her phone started ringing where she’d left it on the table, the screen illuminating the room.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she said. ‘I’m guessing you’ve got no power either?’
‘Hello, lovey, no, we’re all in darkness here at the minute. In fact, the whole town’s out from what I can gather, I’ve heard it stretches over as far as Lingthorpe.’
‘That’s not so good. I’m keeping everything crossed power’s restored by the morning.’
‘I’m sure it will be. Listen, flower, as you know, we’ve got a generator but with your dad being out of sorts the way he is?—’
‘I’m not out of sorts, I’m perfectly capable of rigging up a bloomin’ generator,’ came Charlie’s voice in the background.
Paula tutted softly, lowering her voice. ‘Ignore your dad, heknows as well as I do he’s been told not to touch equipment like that until he’s fully recovered. It’s the night before your wedding and there’s no way I’m going to let him rig it up and risk him having a dizzy spell in the process. He could fry himself to a crisp!’
‘I heard that, Florence-flaming-Nightmaringale!’
‘I don’t care, you’d be no use to our Florrie if your stubbornness meant you got yourself half frazzled, would you?’
