‘So how did it go with the midwife?’
I’ve been in the White Room all day, helping Sera with bridal appointments and working on my pictures in between. By the time Poppy comes in and flops in the mother-of-the-bride’s chair, it’s late afternoon, and through the shop windows the mews outside is yellow in the street lights’ glow.
Poppy wrinkles her nose. ‘My blood pressure’s a teensy bit up, but still completely normal. Baby Rafe is absolutely fine. But I’d rather not worry Big Rafe with this just at the moment.’
It’s completely confidential, for all kinds of reasons. But Rafe and his previous girlfriend lost a baby a long time ago. Since she’s been pregnant, Poppy has shared this with her closest friends, if only to explain why Rafe’s reluctant to leave her side for a second. And this is why every medical appointment is extra tense for Poppy.
She gives a low moan. ‘Rafe’s tryingsohard to be relaxed and positive.’
I shrug. ‘You being pregnant is bound to bring it all back. It’s completely understandable that he’s anxious.’ I’m sympathising despite being completely clueless.
She puffs out her lips. ‘No, anxious was before. Since we went past the dates when it all went wrong last time, he’s totally bricking it.’ Her sigh is heartfelt. ‘And the other need-to-know yet completely off-the-record news today is, Immieisn’tpregnant. She told me when I met her in town on my way back from the surgery.’
I let out a groan. ‘Oh bummer. That’s a shame.’ Immie’s never one to keep things to herself. When she got married last summer she didn’t throw her bouquet, because she wanted to keep it for the grandchildren. That, and leaving pregnancy test boxes scattered all around the farm office, mean it’s common knowledge she and Chas are trying. ‘With so many brides moving on to have families, Jess needs to scrap the studio idea and open Babies by the Sea instead.’
‘Sera’s sister Alice has a little girl now too.’ Poppy laughs. ‘Jess is great with brides. Children not so much.’
As the phone rings the call comes up as out of area. ‘Speaking of Jess, this is her eighth call today.’ I fill Poppy in as I pick up the handset. ‘Still no sign of a ring. But she’s on first name terms with all the bar staff in Kaffee Klatsch.’
Poppy puts out her hand. ‘Let me take it.’
‘Thanks.’ As I peep past the fairy lights in the window down the shadowy mews, my heart sinks. ‘Although, we may have visitors.’ Rory, swinging Teddie in a car seat from one hand and Gracie from the other, is heading straight for the door.
I grab one of Jules’s flyers and I’m fanning myself, wildly trying for a pre-chill before the heat hits, when Immie strides in, thumping her head with both fists.
‘Hols, we need a toilet for Gracie and a gobstopper for Rory. That man’s doing my head in.’
Poppy’s backing away into the kitchen, shaking her head. Although that may be more because she hasn’t got a word in with Jess yet, than because of who’s arriving.
‘I’m with you on that one.’ I grin at Immie. ‘What’s he done now?’
She tugs at her spikes of hair. ‘Two kids in tow, and he still goes on endlessly about wine recommendations and mashes and labels. If I hear one more word about Mad Elf or Santa’s Little Helper, when he should be focusing on baby milk, I might just bottle Rory Sanderson himself.’
I take it she’s talking about beers there. And seeing Immie is one of the world’s greatest sinkers of pints, with a spectacular interest in any hop-related liquid, this is a big turnaround indeed.
There’s an outsized jangle going on in the hallway, then Rory bursts in. Teddie’s car seat slides along the floor as he puts it down, and then he releases Gracie.
‘Baby carrier in collision with the Christmas tree back there. You guys really need to work on your parent and baby access.’
‘Hi Gracie,’ I say, making a point of ignoring Rory. ‘Remind me to brush your hair before you go.’ If she was rocking the haystack look the other day, today she’s moved onto fourth day festival chic.
Immie’s holding her hand out to Gracie, who’s clutching both furry snowmen to her chest. ‘Toilet’s this way.’
I’m inwardly cursing for not jumping in on the bathroom run, because now I’m stuck facing Rory. ‘Dropping by with the kids isn’t the best idea. All this white lace isn’t exactly a child friendly environment.’ If I’m fierce enough, with any luck next time Gracie’s bursting he’ll drop into the Hungry Shark instead and save me the bother of tensing my muscles so hard to keep my stomach in place, they feel like they’re cramping.
He shakes his head. ‘You do know you’re still just as hilarious when you’re up yourself, Holly North? Don’t get your trousseau in a twist. Good thing for you we’re only here to use the facilities, not rate your welcome on Trip Advisor.’
Seeing as we’re in the shop, I’m feeling the pressure to be professional. Ignoring his taunt, I jam my mouth into a smile. ‘So how has your day been?’ It comes out sweet to the point of sickly. Chocolate brownie, with double toffee sauce would be less cloying.
He folds his arms. ‘Great, so long as screaming and sulking are your bag.’
‘That bad?’ If my smile gives way to a frown of concern, it’s for Gracie, not him. ‘Can’t you make an effort? Take them out somewhere? Kids usually like to chat. And most of them will eat vegetables too if you chop them into sticks.’ Not that I’m an expert, but I seem to have more idea than he does.
‘Thank you to St Aidan’s latest childcare guru.’ His shrug is dismissive. ‘There’s no common ground. Gracie’s not interested in pubs and I’m well out of touch with my childish side.’
‘Really?’ If my voice is a disbelieving squeak, it’s because that claim would be more credible if it didn’t come from the same sixth-form joker who left the school skeleton sunbathing in a deck chair on the roof of the science block, in full view of hundreds of drivers passing in the rush hour. What’s more, he apparently threw in a successful job in law to make home brew and flog champers. Rejections of adulting don’t come much bigger than that. He’s pushing forty and swanning around with zero responsibilities and no visible ties. Apart from having to stir the odd vat occasionally, this guy has the life of Riley. From where I’m standing, Rory is the original teenager who refused to grow up. ‘So you’re not going to try at all?’
He saunters over to the desk and throws himself down into the Louis Quatorze chair. ‘This is a holding exercise now. As Gracie puts it, three more sleeps and they’ll be gone. Roll on Sunday, so we can all get our lives back.’ He puts his hands behind his head and starts to extend his legs. ‘Let’s face it, it’s as bad for them as it is for me. This has to be the longest week ever.’
