Poppy’s nodding in agreement. ‘That’s true. We had one of those over Christmas at Daisy Hill Farm. They had afternoon tea, then it was berry cordial all the way until home time.’
Jess has her disgusted-of-St-Aidan face on and her voice rises to a rant. ‘This is what we’re up against – pinching the pennies, lace-free and no booze! How bloody boring is that?’ She blows out a breath. ‘The good part is, people will always get married. We’ve always offered our brides amazing value and the most startlingly beautiful, exquisite products. If there are fewer brides per square mile, we’ll simply have to expand our reach.’ She pauses to give me a piercing stare ‘Which is where you and your alchemy come in, Milla.’
‘Mywhat?’ Just when I’m giving myself silent cheers for keeping up, my patchy education comes back to haunt me. I’ve never quite got over being the only person in any room without a single exam under their belt. The thing is, back then, missing the exams happened without me noticing. But there are big gaps in my knowledge. It’s the strangest thing – when you do know something, it’s often no big deal; when you don’t, the chasm between you and everyone else is huge.
As a teenager, when Mum was ill, she never actually asked me to stay home. Her illness started as a tingle in her fingers and ended in total paralysis. At first, all we noticed was her stumbling. But as her condition got worse, she needed me there to look after her and I couldn’t do anything else. So long as my younger brothers went to school, that was all that mattered to me.
If it happened now, I’m sure there would be social workers chasing me down. But back then the teachers understood we were struggling and were kind enough not to cause us any more grief. I was a write-off. The important thing was that my mum saw my brothers come through with straight A’s before we lost her.
Looking after my mum certainly gave me a strong stomach for the grittier side of life. Her illness was always two jumps ahead of us; as she was able to do less and less, I always felt like I was failing. And when it was all over, everyone assumed it would be a relief. But the only way I can describe it is that it felt like someone had split my chest open with an axe, then wrenched my heart out.
Somehow I stumbled my way to Bristol, and when all I had to do was work forty-five hours a week, and I could sleep whenever I wasn’t clubbing, it felt like a part-time job. But gradually it dawned on me that there’s a lot more to life than being capable. Being able to balance a bed pan and a breakfast tray while sticking on morphine patches and sorting out hospital transport only takes you so far.
But that’s why it was so great for me when I accidentally hit on the wedding promotion business. My only claims to self-taught fame are knowing Photoshop inside out and being able to build a webpage in my sleep, and both of those were invaluable for the blog side of the work. With the wedding knowledge I’ve gathered along the way, I’ve somehow become an accidental expert in an area I adore. When it comes to weddings, I can hold my own with anyone, and I can’t tell you how great that feels. As for discussions like this one, I’d usually have Phoebe around for backup. We might have been in an equal partnership, but we both know she’s the one in charge. And that’s why, in spite of everything, a part of me is still wishing she were here now – simply because she’d smooth through a meeting like this standing on her head.
‘Hard times call for an inventive approach, Milla.’ Jess is tapping her nail on her glass. ‘This is why we’re desperate for your input with the Faceplant side.’
Poppy stifles a smile. ‘That’s Jess’s affectionate name for Facebook.’
I catch Poppy’s wink from behind a dressmaker’s dummy and take my chance to slide back into the conversation. ‘I can certainly do a lot with your social media.’ It’s barely there, so it won’t be hard.
Jess is nodding back. ‘And the anniversary wedding fairs you’re helping us organise will boost business too.’
‘Absolutely.’ That’s one of Phoebe’s favourite words; she says it all the time. It seems to be working for me here, even though I can’t quite make myself smooth through to the snortybahshe always does after it.
But doing the fairs for Jess is another of my comfort zones, thanks to my long lists of fabulous suppliers and exhibitors all over the south west, built up over the years since Phoebe got married. Messaging them and signing enough of them up for the shows shouldn’t be too difficult. Until I find a new career, I’m going all-out with the blog and adding in some fairs for Jess.
Jess is giving me a searching stare. ‘Poppy tells me Phoebe is usually the frontwoman for the fairs you do.’
I’m nodding. ‘And obviously you and the shop staff will be fronting these ones.’
Jess’s nostrils are flaring. ‘We’re very keen on professional development here. It’ll be good for you to try that role too.’ She obviously has no idea about my total inability to look impressive or tidy, or she wouldn’t be suggesting this.
I’m not actually sure I could stay straight-faced for an entire day either, but I’m too professional to mention that now. ‘Brill. Anything to do with weddings, I’m always up for a challenge.’ I’d never get a chance like that with Phoebe, that’s for sure. And if I think of it as a possible launchpad to a new career, I can put up with the pain.
As I glance at my phone, I see this has taken all of two minutes. Not that I’ve got any particular reason to go, because however many pictures of whipped cream and pancakes there are flashing through my head, I won’t be heading for the harbourside. But I might persuade Poppy to nip down to the Hungry Shark with me after all. ‘So if that’s everything …?’
Jess is laughing. ‘I’m sorry if you’re anxious to finish what you started with Nic Trendell, but I allocated us half an hour. That means there’s twenty-three minutes of talking left to do.’
I’m frowning. ‘I’m not sure I know anyone called Nic Trendell.’
As Jess flips a Polaroid photo out of her trouser pocket, I see Poppy and me laughing at the camera with windcheater guy jammed between us. I let out a shudder. Barely two hours ago I was pashing his face off; I could do without the everlasting reminder.
‘The man from the loveseat wearing the Jean Paul Gaultier spray, remember? Not many guys can carry off the extreme version. Did you hear he sailed the Atlantic too?’ Jess beams as she pushes the photo into my palm. ‘I snapped an extra in case you wanted your own copy.’
It seems rude to say I’d be more likely to want to eat my own head, so I wrinkle my nose at Poppy, try not to think about the way my heart was clattering earlier in the van, and drop it in my bag. Then, to show I’m grateful I down my Prosecco in one, so I’m ready to run when the moment’s right. Which wasn’t a great idea because before my flute hits the coaster on the cutting table, Jess has it fully topped up again.
‘So that’s one Nic I definitely won’t be getting to know.’ Along with every other one in the world.
Jess lets out a chortle. ‘I doubt you’d be too comfortable stowing away on his yacht. If it fits in the harbour here, it can’t be that luxurious.’ She turns to me again. ‘So if all Poppy’s cottages are full for half-term, where are you staying?’
Like a lot of other things, I’m glossing over this. As comfy accommodation goes, it’s a total disaster. ‘It’s called The Loft.’ The reviews from last July were dazzling, but I totally missed the ones saying that in February the gale howls through it so hard you’d get less windburn sleeping on the beach. I was there for all of five minutes earlier and that was nearly enough to give me frostbite.
Jess half closes one eye. ‘That’s the place with the draughts, isn’t it?’ Her nostrils flare again. ‘When I first came here, I’d just split from my ex and I slept on the floor of the flower store. It wasn’t great, but at least it means I recognise a person in need when I see one.’ Jess pats my hand. ‘When times are really tough, it usually means they’re about to get better.’
My mum used to say something very similar.Always believe something wonderful is about to happen, Milla. Then it will.
I’m just glad she isn’t here to see what a mess I’ve made of everything. But her voice is so real in my head it has me biting my lip and swallowing hard. I’m used to holding it together, but Jess being kind is making me crumble. I can’t possibly start to cry now when I’m trying so hard to look serious and capable.
