Marilyn’s eyebrows shoot up so fast they almost collide with the chandelier. ‘Berries?’ Her voice has shot up an octave. ‘No one mentioned berries when I spoke to the florist yesterday. How do berries fit with glittered classic white-rose posies?’ She picks over the bride and groom ornaments. ‘This one will do. Nowpleasetell me the favours are here.’
Poppy’s looking bemused. ‘They are. A hundred and three personalised silver keepsake boxes. Lily and I checked them personally, the names and the hallmarks are all perfect. Is that everything for this morning?’
Marilyn dives into her bag. ‘One last item, because I won’t be backing down on the headgear issue. I need a veil to attach to this.’ The heavy, diamond encrusted tiara she pulls out would be more at home in a safe in the Tower of London than being dragged around St Aidan in a Longchamp Le Pliage bag. ‘We need to try this. The girl in the corner will do.’ A second later she’s sprung across the floor and rammed it onto my head. Then she grabs a veil from a display and impales that on me too.
By the time I wail ‘ouch’ she’s snatched them both off again and she’s pushing the veil across the desk to Poppy. Along with half my messy topknot too.
Poppy winces as she teases the hairs off the soft tulle. ‘Would you like that in a bag?’
‘So long as you’re quick.’ Marilyn scoops up the box of favours. ‘I’m on double yellows and I’m already hours late for the caterers. I’ll take these out and come back for the veil.’ Hours? So maybe she does make dawn appointments.
As she sprints away, Poppy’s blowing her fringe up.
‘So that’s what a fully stressed-out mother of the bride looks like?’ I ask as the shop door slams. It’s almost as if I’m spotting rarities for a wedding version of thoseI Spybooks we had in the holidays as kids. Mother of the bride, five points. Add two more points if she’s in a bridal shop, and ten more if she’s pulling her hair out. Make that fifty if she pulls out someone else’s. Freya filled in every line. On hers and mine. She hadThe Seaside, which was a bit of a gift, given we came to St Aidan so often. Mine wasPets, but even though we lived in pirate country, I never did find a parrot.
‘Not quite.’ Poppy’s expression is pained. ‘Katie and Seth are the sweetest couple, organising their own fabulous alpine-themed wedding in the converted barn at the farm.’ She shakes her head. ‘Marilyn is Seth’s mum, and her vision for Seth getting married couldn’t be more different from Seth and Katie’s.’
‘Mother of the groom on an uninvited takeover mission, then?’
Poppy screws up her face. ‘Pretty much. Hijacking the cake is minor compared to the rest. The favour order is entirely without consultation. A while back she tried to change the colours of the bridesmaids’ dresses from brights to pastels. She wanted to line the barn with silk to make it look less stoney. Katie’s more likely to get married in ski goggles than in a veilorthe family tiara. No doubt Marilyn’s on her way to the caterers to re-do the menus.’
‘Oh my days.’ I can completely see why Poppy came in to handle this client personally. I just hope it doesn’t push her blood pressure through the roof.
‘I’m sure she’s coming from the best of places. Lily has worked so hard with them and the ski-lodge styling is going to be amazing, regardless of Marilyn. But it’s impossible to second guess where she’s going to strike next.’ Poppy rolls her eyes and laughs.
I laugh too. ‘If you’re a wedding manager, she’s a total loose cannon.’ So long as you aren’t involved, there’s definitely a funny side.
As Marilyn comes back in, I make sure to wedge my cheeks in place so my smile is appropriately wide. Although this time round I’m ready to dodge any more tiara moves. And this is not being two-faced. It’s simply taking a leaf out of the customer service survival guide. As weddings go, Marilyn sounds like she’s at the nightmare end of the spectrum.
Marilyn takes her carrier bag from Poppy. ‘Just put everything on my account. Jess found me the mostwonderfulfuchsia fascinator before she left.’
‘Lovely.’ Poppy’s trying for a soothing croon. ‘So only the final dress appointment left now, then it’s downhill all the way to the big day.’
Marilyn holds up her hands dramatically. ‘And I’ll be full speed ahead to Christmas straight after. For my sins. As if getting married on a farm and pretending it’s a mountain wasn’t awful enough.’
Despite my smile I give a gulp. ‘Christmas? Which Christmas would that be, then?’
Marilyn glowers down at me as if I’ve got an IQ the size of an apple pip. ‘The one in nineteen days’ time. Why, is there another one?’ As she backs towards the door, for the first time since she walked in, there’s an uncertain look in her eyes.
Meanwhile Poppy’s doing her best to examine the plasterwork on the ceiling. She waits until the shop door slams before she speaks. ‘You managed to baffle her there with that Christmas question of yours. Well done on that, it takes a lot to knock Marilyn off her stride.’
Except I’m the one who’s confused here. ‘So if this wedding’s at the farm before Christmas, who’s doing the photos?’
Poppy blows out her lips. ‘A Christmas ski-themed wedding is going to be an absolute gift in terms of pictures. You should see what Lily’s got lined up. There’ll be a roaring log fire and a ski lift gondola for selfies, and fairy lights and fake snow and antlers and red gingham cushions. And signs and vintage ski posters.’
I’m talking over her. ‘Frig the snow and soft furnishings. Who’s the photographer?’
‘There’s a hot-chocolate bar and frosty cocktails, the bridesmaids are wearing tulle mini skirts and knee-high fake-fur boots.’ Now she’s in full flow, she’s unstoppable. As her list comes to an abrupt halt, she couldn’t look more guilty. ‘Actually, it’s Jules.’
This I can’t believe. ‘Jules?’ I’m struggling to get this straight in my head. ‘That’s Jules, meaning me?’
‘Yep.’ As she nods her expression is pained. ‘I was holding back, because I didn’t want to load too much onto you all at once.’
I can’t hold in my wail. ‘That means Marilyn’s going to be at one of Jules’s weddings … thatI’mdoing?’ If she’s hell bent on taking over the rest of the wedding, she’s hardly going to hold back with the photographer.
‘I’m sorry. You weren’t meant to meet her today.’ Poppy’s face crumples. ‘Really, we’ll handle her. I promise, she won’t be a problem to you on the day.’
‘And I’m a snowman,’ I say. What’s more, I can’t help wondering how many more hidden Marilyns and alpine ski weddings are going to jump out of the snowdrifts at me in the next few weeks.
