As I push back the duvet, kneel on the high bed under the low sloping ceiling, and lean towards the round porthole window, I shudder at the resounding emptiness of all that ocean. It’s no less desolate or uncomfortable than it was the first morning. There’s just such a jarring contrast compared to where I’ve come from, and the flat I’ve left behind forever.
The old place was clunky and Victorian. Not all the rooms were nicely decorated and some of the plaster was flaking, but at least they were ours. When we moved in, a part of me felt like it was so amazing it had to be too good to be true … which turned out to be pretty accurate, because in the end it was.
The things I liked most about that flat, other people couldn’t see. I adored the constant revving of the engines from the road outside, in the same way people here lap up the noise of the sea. Far from being a problem, the wail of sirens in the early hours was a reminder that I was surrounded by civilisation. I loved that there were twenty all-night takeaways within a few hundred steps of the door, that I never had to worry about going hungry or shopping ahead. Of only being around the corner from a major A&E department. Not that I ever used it myself. I suppose it’s a hangover from when my mum was ill, and we were at the hospital so often that I came to view it as the place that always sorted out our crises. As a healthy person, it’s always great to know if you break your leg or have a heart attack, you’re only ever two minutes away from being saved. You can’t underestimate how secure that made me feel.
As I peer past chimney pots and shiny slate roofs, the immense stretch of blue-black sea far below is scratched with dashes of white foam, and the layers of clouds above it are almost as dark. But if the outside seems so wild, the cosiness inside more than makes up for that. Like now, the delicious smell of coffee and vanilla drifting past my nose is so intense I could almost have my bed in the kitchen. I’m about to go and investigate when there’s a tap on the door.
Poppy’s head appears first, then a laden tray and her pink stripy apron. ‘I’ve got drinks and white chocolate muffins here if it’s not too early for breakfast?’
I can’t hold back my smile as I take in the size of the muffin stack. ‘You know I’m always ready for cake, but you don’t have to wait on me.’
Poppy’s nose wrinkles. ‘You’re technically still on holiday so being spoiled is fine. I’ve been here since six this morning doing final cupcake designs for a wedding reception next week, so I’m ready for a break.’ She grabs a mug, takes a sip of her drink, and her muffin is already peeled.
‘Go on, tell me every last drooly detail …’
She grins. ‘It’s a drive-in-movie 50s-themed wedding party in a school gym. Think red checked paper cupcake cases, pink, baby-blue, and mint-green icing piped to look like ice cream, all finished with tiny triangle wafers and luscious fresh black cherries with bendy stalks. The main food is hot dogs served from a van with real ice cream sundaes delivered by waitresses on roller skates.’
‘St Aidan brides know how to party!’ I take a slug of coffee and peel back my own muffin paper. ‘And when I finally get up, I promise I’ll be dedicating my entire day to uploading my pictures from Brides by the Sea to Pinterest and pimping the Insta account.’
As well as taking photos all around the shop, I’ve also spent a lot of the last week pulling together lists of wedding suppliers around St Aidan and contacting a long list of venues all around the south west as potential hosts for Jess’s special wedding fairs, so I reckon I’m due some playtime.
When Poppy looks over the top of her gold, spotty I’d-rather-be-drinking-prosecco mug she’s giving a sheepish shrug. ‘That’s my other good-morning news. Jess has another customer for the special request service, they’re popping in for a chat with you both later.’
‘Wow, that was quick.’ I’d counted on longer to work myself up to this.
Poppy glances at her phone and winks. ‘Once our Jess gets an idea, she doesn’t mess about. They’ll be here in forty minutes, that’s loads of time to get ready.’
As I close my teeth onto my first deliciously sweet mouthful of muffin, I’m kicking myself for not unpacking yet. But bringing in anything more than an overnight bag felt like too much of a commitment. ‘Damn. My smart clothes are still in the van by the harbour.’
I’m making them sound better than they are. They’re not beautifully laundered and pressed designer pieces, folded into matching suitcases of descending sizes, like Phoebe’s would be. They’re mostly strewn across the van floor and falling out of bin bags. And it’s pointless pretending this is all down to the move because I may as well come clean here – wardrobe chaos is a natural failing. And, incidentally, one of the long list of reasons Phoebe came up with for why Ben would prefer her to me. Sad to say, my slipping bow and broken Valentine’s arrows are pretty much how it is. And talking of quivers, as I’ve been around town all week without catching even the smallest glimpse of windcheater guy, I’m hoping he’s sailed off into the sunset and taken his perfect pecs and the very disturbing rest with him.
Poppy’s looking down at yesterday’s skirt and top, in a heap on the polished boards where they fell as I got into bed. ‘They’ll do fine, you know you always look fabulous.’
My lips spread into a grin. ‘Phoebe wouldn’t agree. She tells me off all the time for having creases in the wrong places.’
Poppy laughs. ‘Stop worrying about what Phoebe says! In sleepy St Aidan, a little bit of city style goes a long way.’ She pops the last bit of her muffin into her mouth and finishes her drink. ‘I’d better dash. If you need me, I’ll be up and down putting cake into the car. There’s loads of hot water for a shower.’
‘Brill.’
As Poppy backs out of the room, she slides my clothes onto a hanger and hooks it over the copper-pipe clothes rail. ‘The creases will have dropped out by the time you come out of the bathroom. I’ll tell Jess you’ll be down soon.’
As for St Aidan being sleepy, I’d say it’s wide awake this morning. By the time I’ve coiled up my hair and let the steaming shower spray pummel my back, I’m refreshed and ready to go too. A few minutes later I’m in my T-shirt and pants hurrying back to the kitchen for a last cup of coffee and the rest of the muffins before I get properly dressed. Let’s face it, this is my first face-to-face client meeting at the shop, I’m going to need all the calories I can get.
I’m halfway – well, two steps – back across the landing heading for a comfy seat when I hear a bump, which is strange as Poppy last clattered downstairs a while ago. As I nudge open the living room door, I’m looking at the usual – blue sofas, porthole windows, stripy rug – but what I see this side of the big vase of dusky blue anemones makes me freeze. When Poppy was running through the operating instructions for the flat she mentioned lots of things, but I swear a guy stripping off by the coffee table wasn’t one of them.
Excuse me …
His shirt has hit the floor, and he’s hopping around in his socks, getting out of his trousers too.
What the hell!
It hits me that I’m moving my mouth but there’s no actual sound coming out.
As he whips round to face me, my gaze locks on some rather fitted Calvin Klein undies and what Phoebe would have referred to – with very tight lips – as his lunchbox.
Denim blue has to be the sexiest colour of all in that it shows every line and contour. Which makes it even more embarrassing that my eyes are welded to that when there’s a whole six feet and more of guy I could be looking at.
When I finally manage to yank my eyes upwards, at first I’m held up by the line of hair running up a very flat stomach. Then I finally get past that, leapfrog his navel, and come to some super-tanned abs. I’m seeing if I can actually count six in this pack when my gaze slides sideways. As my eyes come to rest on a jagged red scar just below his ribs, my heart stops banging and contracts so hard it feels like it’s disappeared entirely.
