Tuesday, a week later.
The beach, St Aidan.
Broken dreams and free lunches.
As the weeks go by and the sun climbs higher in the sky, there’s only a month to go until the wedding. The fresh spring days are turning warmer and St Aidan’s narrow winding streets are filling with visitors. On sunny weekends the beach is thronged, and the car parks are so full it’s only thanks to my beloved boat-owner parking permit that I’m saved from hiking for miles from the van to the shop.
We’ve got a few more wedding fairs under our belt now too. Sure, every one throws up unexpected challenges – but I’m learning to run with the problems rather than letting them trip me up. Instead of falling flat on my face, I’m slowly picking up the art of winging it. I’m still coming down from yesterday’s Bank Holiday Monday fair in a converted Lifeboat Station further to the north. The more I do, the more I find that instead of being wrung-out by the worry, by the end I’m flying with the adrenalin of giving the exhibitors and the customers a wonderful time.
At Brides by the Sea, as well as keeping on top of the details for Pixie’s day we’ve been working on other requests too. There’s a couple from London who want to marry with just the two of them, ideally on a cliff top in August. It was only after I’d been emailing them for a few days that I realised I’d originally planned to have moved on by then. If there’s a tiny whisper in my head telling me I’d hate to leave town whileSnow Gooseis bobbing up and down in the harbour, luckily there’s always a more sensible shout ready to drown it out.
As Jess said back in February, bespoke work comes in all shapes and sizes. Last week we had to drop everything and make a whole new four-tier cake when some poor bride’s dad didn’t know the cake was in boxes in the car boot, opened it, and let a Labrador the size of a tank jump in on top of the lot.
Once you listen to the stories, you’d be surprised how many wedding cakes come to grief somewhere between the cake maker’s kitchen and the cake cutting table. In fact, the more I’m around the live side of weddings rather than the supply side, the more I’m appreciating that a wedding plan is the starting point, not the blueprint. That the world is full of random hitches that will force you to rethink. But the key thing to remember is, in the face of disaster, the world is also full of other amazing options which let you carry on.
Looking down from the Style File terrace at lunchtime today I could see the beach was almost empty, so I’ve come out for a quick wander. I’ve brought Merwyn along for company and a leg stretch. I admit that the Milla who arrived in the winter avoided exercise like a hole in the head, but over the last few weeks I’ve found that after a morning at my laptop, a stomp along the beach and a blast of sea air helps to clear my brain.
And I know that when I first looked down on the beach four months ago the vast stretch of wintery ocean made me shudder. But now I find I’m hurrying down the alley short-cuts, skipping down the cobbled steps, anticipating the sense of release I get when I reach the sand that stretches around the bay as far as I can see. I’m looking forward to the frills of tide rushing towards me. Hurrying to check how big the waves are, listening for the sound of them breaking on the shore before I see them. And then there’s the colour of the sea, which constantly changes with the light as the clouds scud across the sky. I can leave the shop courtyard looking out over turquoise shimmer, yet if the sun goes behind a cloud, it can be iron grey by the time I arrive. It’s funny to think that in all those years growing up I never noticed a time the sea was ever pale blue with navy patches.
Back then I loved the beach because it meant days out and picnics. Dayglow jelly shoes, and plastic buckets filled with treasures. It meant wonders like sea anemones in the rock pools and crabs washed up on the shoreline. But now it’s as if the roar of the water and the wind snagging at my hair, the soaring seagulls and the red and blue fishing boats, the white and grey cottages stacked up on the hillside, are all a part of my being. It’s as if by coming back as a proper adult I’ve finally woken up to how much I always loved them. How much they belong to me and I belong to them.
And today I’m loving it all the more because when you’re with Merwyn it’s impossible not to have a good time. His latest obsession is his Donald Trump rag doll which he turned up with after a frantic dig in the sand dunes last week and won’t let out of his sight. As he drops it at my feet for the fiftieth time I shake off the sand and seaweed and fling it back into the shallows for him. ‘Quick, Merwyn, we don’t want Donald to get washed out to sea.’ I jump as I hear a laugh behind me.
‘Not everyone would agree with that, Milla Vanilla.’
I’m sounding grumpy to cover up that my stomach just dropped so far down it’s probably in my new-to-me super-practical Converse trainers. ‘Do you enjoy creeping up on people?’
Nic rubs the stubble on his chin. ‘I haven’t had much chance lately. Apart from our meetings, I’ve been busy in the office down the coast.’
I stare at him and wonder how he always manages to make me flustered and hot, even when there’s a stiff breeze. It’s even worse since I had that ridiculous moving-on moment. ‘I thought you drove boats?’
‘Sometimes there are loose ends on land that need tying up too.’ He smiles. ‘I see you’ve finally got the hang of beach walking?’
I shrug. ‘It’s great for clearing my head.’ My life never felt quite so broken when I looked at it from the shoreline. And that aching, gaping hole in my chest that was here in February has gone now. ‘You know, since I decided to let go of the past, I’ve actually had a final revelation.’ At one time Nic would have been the last person I’d have shared it with, but lately he seems to understand so well. And this one’s a biggie.
‘If there are any ghosts left to lay, I’m always happy to listen.’
I blow out a breath because I feel so guilty. ‘I’ve realised I wasn’t actually ever in love with Ben.’ Out loud it sounds even worse than it was in my head. ‘I grabbed him because he was there and I needed a comfort blanket to help me through.’ It’s funny to think that at the time I assumed finding someone house-trained and okay-looking was all that being suited as a couple was about.
If I’d got out and about more as a teenager, I’d have had more kisses to compare. If I’d had a dizzy first love at fourteen – even an unrequited one – I’d have known to keep on looking. It’s strange how one kiss through a van window changed my whole outlook on love and life. Once your eyes are open to the possibilities of super-hot, lukewarm doesn’t get a look in. With Ben, neither of us had been around enough to know any better.
I’m staring out at the waves racing towards the shore in parallel lines. ‘What I was in love with wasn’t Ben, it was the home and the family Ben was going to let me have.’ It feels good to finally admit the truth. There’s a natural thought that follows. ‘That makes the break-up my fault just as much as his. If we’d been properly happy, he wouldn’t have looked at Phoebe.’
Nic wrinkles his nose. ‘It’s not about blame.’ There’s a flash of a grin. ‘From what I’ve seen, Ben and Frisbee are ideally suited – they’re both super-anal about things that don’t matter, they both have inflated opinions of themselves, they both get immense pleasure from putting people down, and they’re both great at ordering people around and taking advantage.’
I can’t help smile at how accurate he is, and that he hasn’t held back. ‘That’s a very comprehensive list considering you’ve just come up with it.’
A flicker of guilt passes across his face. ‘I’ve been thinking about it quite a lot too.’
‘When Phoebe used to list the reasons why Ben was with her and not me I could never see it. But I can now.’ I kick the sand. ‘People say time heals, but I stood still for a whole year in Bristol, seeing them both every day. It’s only since I moved away that I’ve worked my way around to the truth.’
There’s another throw of the rag doll, then Nic blows out his cheeks. ‘You know, time’s supposed to heal. But it hasn’t helped me.’
‘Sorry?’ This is the first time he’s ever volunteered anything. I jolt to a halt so I can concentrate better.
He’s stopped walking and he’s staring at the horizon. ‘Pixie’s accident at the go-cart track …’ His face is set. ‘Her spinal cord injury was entirely down to me because I booked the go-carts. I couldn’t have chosen a worse way to celebrate my thirty fifth.’
Oh shit. I’m feeling sick for him. And no wonder he closed up that day at Jagger’s when I mentioned her life without limits. ‘And you still feel that was your fault?’
