I stare at her. ‘Including today.’
‘Um, yes…’ She looks at me slightly anxiously. ‘That is OK, isn’t it?’
As I stand here, it seems to be another area of my life where, yet again, I’m presented with a fait accompli. In other words, a decision has been made; I have no choice. And I’m not sure I like how that makes me feel. ‘What time are they coming in?’
‘Eleven thirty,’ Lucy says.
I take in her skinny jeans, that she’s wearing more makeup than usual. She’s even given her hair more than its usual perfunctory blow dry. Then I glance down at my own clothes. ‘In that case, I should probably go home and change.’
‘No,’ Lucy says quickly. ‘You look great. And they’ll be doing our hair and makeup – just touching it up, I mean.’
I look at her in horror. ‘I really do not want to be filmed.’
‘Don’t worry, Edie,’ she says quickly. ‘The focus of attention will be on the bride – obviously.’
‘You haven’t told me who she is.’ As Lucy tells me, my eyes widen.
‘It’s very hush hush,’ Lucy says. ‘Edie, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was worried about how you’d react, to be honest.’ Her face is suddenly sober. ‘Look, I know the timing isn’t great. But it’s too good an opportunity for us to turn down.’
‘You don’t need to apologise,’ I say. ‘You’re right. It’s an amazing opportunity. If things were normal, I’d feel as excited as you do.’ That word again. Normal – whatever that means.
But from time to time, life takes these surreal twists. By the time eleven thirty comes, I have my head around it and mentally I’m prepared for the cameras – and our bride. Her name is Elisa and she’s last year’s winner of a high-profile reality TV show. When she walks in, I’m struck by how beautiful she is. As it happens, she’s also really nice.
I know what you would have had to say about the next few hours that pass. It’s like being launched into a parallel world as mine and Lucy’s hair is coiffed, the workshop rearranged, the lighting set up, while Elisa brushes imaginary dust off her designer clothes and touches up her makeup.
There’s nothing wrong with lovely clothes, Mum. But I don’t get why anyone is famous for winning a rubbish TV show.
Generally, I’d agree with you. But as the day goes on, I discover that Elisa’s principles are not unaligned with yours – or mine.
‘I want all the flowers to be seasonal and locally grown,’ she says. ‘We’re doing the same with the food. If that means no white roses because it’s the wrong time of year, I’m fine with that. What matters most is that this is environmentally friendly – and ethical. That’s how I found you.’
‘You did?’ Lucy looks confused.
‘You did the flowers for a friend of mine. She told me all about you.’ She turns her attention to the flowers I’ve set out on the bench where we’re sitting. ‘These are lovely.’
‘I grew them,’ I tell her. ‘We have the use of a walled garden half a mile from here.’
‘I love the sound of that,’ she says. ‘Are we ready to film?’ She turns towards the camera, then arranges her hair over her shoulders as she poses. ‘This morning, I’ve come to Petals. It’s owned by Lucy and Edie who are experts in the most natural and truly spectacular wedding flowers. I want this wedding to be an opportunity to show that it’s possible to combine glamour with having a conscience.’ Then she turns to us. ‘You grow a lot of your flowers yourselves – that’s right, isn’t it?’
‘It is. It makes sense in so many ways to work with the seasons. Many brides come in with fixed ideas about what they want – which is understandable. It’s their special day.’
‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Elisa asks. ‘That you can buy in most things at any time of year.’
‘You can. But working with seasonal flowers brings a whole other dimension.’ Lucy smiles confidently for the camera. ‘It’s also more environmentally friendly. Your flowers will look sensational. Trust us.’
Trust. As Lucy says the word, it’s like I’ve gone somewhere back in time.
Trust. An overused, misplaced word, the abuse of which is too easily apologised for, as if the breaking of trust means nothing.
I remember how cynical you sounded; how shocked I felt when you said that. How I wasn’t sure what to say to you. I fumbled, told you some people were trustworthy, just not everyone. Missing the point about what you were saying. That it was more about being let down too often, by too many people. And though you didn’t say it, I was one of them.
‘Edie?’ Lucy’s staring at me. ‘I was saying to Elisa that September is a wonderful month for a wedding with the colours starting to turn and the range of early autumn English flowers…’
‘It really is,’ I say, over-enthusiastically.
‘Are you OK?’ Lucy says to me after Elisa and her entourage have finally left us. ‘For a moment, I thought I’d lost you.’
‘I like Elisa.’ I’m still reeling under the pressure of being called an expert. ‘I like that she has principles. The venue though…’ It’s a rewilded estate, with a huge barn and wildflower fields into which footpaths have been cut.
