‘That whole icing on your face thing? It’s running.’ As he flashes his phone screen at me and my own face looks back at me, my eyes practically pop.
‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaaagghhhhh… !’ I’m looking at everything he said and more. Bright pink cheeks, streaked with dripping white paste doesn’t begin to cover it. ‘Jeez, Rory, why the hell didn’t you say?’
He stifles a cough. ‘So maybe you will be taking those baby wipes after all?’ He slips them into my hand along with a plastic bottle and a disgustingly smug laugh.
‘Baby bottom moisturiser?’ Now I’ve seen it all.
He pulls a face. ‘It’s the best we have in the bag. From where I’m standing, you need all the help you can get.’
There’s no answer to that. But it’s a measure of the situation. And if I’m relying on Rory for help, truly, the trouble I’m in couldn’t be bigger.
Chapter 15
Friday 8th December
In the kitchen at Daisy Hill Farm: Seahorses and cockle shells
It turns out that Gracie’s gourmet tastes are more in line with her uncle’s than I’ve given her credit for. She might turn her nose up at Rory’s lamb pasanda, but while Teddie kicked away in his borrowed designer high chair in the bar at the Salty Fish pub in Port Giles, Gracie tucked into dough balls, cucumber-free crudités, dips and pizza served on a slate. Then, when I discovered my appetite had mostly been whittled away due to the wedding racing towards me at a hundred miles an hour, and my newly crimson complexion, Gracie went on to demolish most of my smoked salmon, dill and quinoa. If Rory hadn’t guarded them so closely, I suspect she’d have wolfed his triple-cooked hand cut chips too. By the time we roll into the courtyard back at the farm at dusk, it’s bliss to wave goodbye to Rory and the kids, and pull up a chair next to Immie at Poppy’s kitchen table.
‘Cupcake to go with your hot chocolate, Hols? I’m trying out beachy ones for Nate and Becky. Thanks for sending them my way.’ Poppy’s waving a piping bag and curling waves of blue- green buttercream onto a tray of mini sponge cakes.
‘What happened to putting your feet up rather than working?’ Not meaning to nag, but the rest of us have agreed we’ll keep her on track where we can.
Her voice rises in complaint. ‘This is my way of relaxing.’
Immie rolls her eyes. ‘I’ve persuaded her to sit on a stool and I’m doing my bit by eating as many as I can.’ She gives a gruff chortle. From the pile of bun cases in front of her, she’s not joking.
After today’s concealer trauma, it had struck me I might never face icing again. So as I watch Poppy working it’s a relief to find my mouth’s watering. ‘Maybe I could manage one.’ Funny. In the pub I felt as if I’d never be hungry again. Whereas now one cupcake won’t even touch the sides.
‘Add your own decorations.’ Poppy hands me a cake and pushes a plate of pearly yellow shells and starfish across to me. ‘It’s good to see you’ve got your colour back again. Are you feeling better now you’ve seen the venue?’
I take a large bite through a mountain of buttercream and into the cupcake, and let the sweetness dissolve onto my tongue. ‘The old lifeboat station is fabulous.’ I say through the crumbs, leapfrogging the cheek issue and going straight for the important stuff. ‘But how the hell am I going to learn to handle crowds between now and Sunday?’
Poppy’s brow wrinkles as she thinks. ‘I’m free, so I’ve decided I’ll drive you over and stay to give you a hand.’
Immie chimes in. ‘Or if I jiggle a bit, I could make time too.’
‘Thanks for that. It will be a huge help having either of you there.’ Even though it’s really kind, I’m not sure Poppy should be offering, so I go back to my main problem. ‘The thing is, Jules’s bright blue eyes keep people mesmerised, especially when he’s organising the formal groups.’
Immie guffaws. ‘Aren’t you forgetting his famous dictator tactics?’
Poppy sends Immie a warning frown. ‘What you need is something to grab people’s attention, Hols, and I may have the answer.’ She dips into the table drawer. ‘I know it’s a bit Christmassy, but how about this?’ As she holds up her hand and shakes it, there’s a serious jingling.
‘A heart made from bells?’ I help myself to another two cupcakes to celebrate. ‘That’s brilliant.’
She nods. ‘I found it in with the tree decorations. Every photographer has their own unique method and this can be yours.’ She holds up a silver whistle, then blows a blast. ‘And this can be your second line of defence.’
Immie’s grinning. ‘Whistles and bells? I like your thinking, Pops.’
I’m almost excited. ‘It might just work.’
Poppy’s smiling at me. ‘If you use the head groomsman to round up the guests, I reckon you’ll crack it.’
‘Holy crap, beer-mobile alert!’ Immie’s cry comes through a mouthful of cupcake, as she peers at the window. ‘What is it with Rory? He won’t stay away.’
As Poppy catches my eye I leap into denial. ‘Today was every bit as awful as we both anticipated. Worse, even. So he’s definitely not coming to see me. One more day, then he’ll be free of the kids, and with any luck he’ll beetle off back to his brewery.’ Fingersandtoes crossed on that one.
It’s getting to be a familiar sight. Rory, staggering in with Teddie clamped against his stomach, Gracie hanging off his finger. As they clatter into the kitchen, a burst of cold air comes in with them. Before I know it, Gracie’s elbowing her way up onto my knee, ramming a fluffy snowman into my hand and eyeing up my buns.
