MAY
1
The Harbourside, St Aidan, Cornwall
Oysters and alarm calls
Saturday
‘One more take, Tia. This time I’ll try for more lace and less lobster pots.’
I adjust the tripod that’s propped on the harbour’s edge and look down to where my best friend is standing in her wedding dress on the boardwalk, boats bobbing on the water behind her.
We came out at first light to dodge the tourists and fishermen, and soon the quayside will be swarming. St Aidan, with its rows of pastel-coloured cottages clinging to the hillside and breakers rolling in along the bay, is as chilled as Cornish seaside villages come, but two women in wedding dresses dancing on the quayside might still draw a crowd we’d rather not have.
Tia realigns her corset top, and grins at me as she resets the music. ‘I know we usually do this in the shop, not outside, but you’ve got this, Maevey.’
Tia’s been grinning that same grin at me since the day we met at infant school and bonded because we had matching Kicker boots, were a head taller than most of the class and had names that our teacher, Miss Higgins, struggled to get her head around. We also spent every summer after at the Sardine Club, which was the kids’ holiday activity centre in the old coastguards’ hut down by Jaggers bar.
We both left St Aidan after sixth form to do business courses in Plymouth, and then we bounced back home again and haven’t found a reason to leave since.
After uni I did a few casual shifts in the bingo hall in Truro and turned out to be a natural. But my career as a caller had an abrupt break when my homecoming weight gain turned out to be a pregnancy rather than too many of Mum’s rock buns, and my trip to A&E ended in the labour ward. As my mum was a foster parent who specialised in babies, when my own little girl, Nemmie, arrived we should have sailed through. But even though we had the best support at home, the sudden birth led to problems for both of us, and the years that followed were very tough.
It’s one of my life’s proudest achievements that we came through that. The bingo hall wasn’t glamorous, but it meant evening work and a caring community of customers. Then, as Nemmie grew up, I added in dogs to walk too, and now here we are: Nemmie is nine, and we’re still living at home with my mum, my stepdad, younger stepsiblings and foster babies. It might sound dull to some thirty-one-year-olds, but after the hard times, ordinary is an outcome I’ll happily settle for.
Hands in the air, when I’m not at work or with Nemmie, I spend so much time on my phone putting reels together that in another universe I might have been a TikTok legend. As I can’t decide whether to be a make-up guru, a book reviewer or simply film seagulls being hilarious, for now I’m still just myself: still feeling a little bit like a runner who got left behind in the starting blocks, but never quite getting around to changing that.
We’d always thought it was an advantage that the bingo hall was privately owned because we could make our own decisions, but when property prices finally overtook profits the owners closed so fast there wasn’t even time to protest. We got pay in lieu of notice and redundancy the size of a sugar lump.
Hot on the trail of that, my older brother, Salvador, a property developer, has hit difficulties too. One day he was driving round in a royal blue state-of-the-art Range Rover with more portfolios than WHSmith, the next he was tapping us all for as much as we could lend him to counter his cash flow problems. If that’s what dreaming big does for you, I’m pleased I keep my dreams small.
Tia has had more of a starry career than me, because her Aunty Immie knows Jess who owns Brides by the Sea, St Aidan’s multi-floor wedding shop with views of the bay. It started when Jess opened a flower shop in a cupboard and grew to become the go-to emporium for every bride in the south-west. When Jess finally persuaded Tia to have a trial there in dress sales seven years ago, her eye for detail and ability to call it like it is without ever sounding rude meant she was a perfect fit. And when Jess put her in charge of bridal appointments and offered her the teensy top-floor flat above the shop with rooms under the sloping eaves so she could move out of home, she jumped at it.
Hard-headed Jess made a good call adding in a younger assistant, especially one as gregarious as Tia, because most of our friends have come to her for their wedding dresses and then spread the word afterwards. What’s more, so many of our friends have tied the knot the last few years that the hen parties, bridesmaid WhatsApp groups and weddings have run end to end. One summer I had so many bridesmaids’ dresses I had them hanging in the beach hut I bought from my gran, the teensy piece of real estate my only concession to adulting. It’s also been my go-to quiet place over the years; my refuge from the noise and blissful chaos back at Mum’s.
I’m reaching to reset the camera on my phone when the wind catches Tia’s veil and as she clutches her tiara the light catches the diamonds in her engagement ring.
I smile at her as the thought hits me. ‘Sometime soon, this will be you for real.’
Of all our friends she and her fiancé, Thom, have the best chance of lasting the course. They’ve been in love since uni, have similar goals in life, forgive easily, and can’t wait to have a baby. And I also know they’re ‘this close’ to deciding on the venue for their wedding.
For a moment her smile fades, then she gives a shrug. ‘You know us, we prevaricate for England.’
I laugh because that’s not true. They’re both so eager to move on to the next stage they’re being super-flexible with their choices to make it happen faster. ‘If you don’t get off the fence soon, I could be hitched before you.’
We both know I’m joking. While the rest of our friends have been marrying at the rate of one a weekend, I’ve barely managed a date. I once accidentally saw the stats book belonging to Nell, who runs the St Aidan singles club, and over the years I have been their biggest attender with no follow-up dates at all. Thankfully, I care so little I can laugh about it without faking.
It’s not that I’m fussy, or awkward, or rude, and it’s not even about Nemmie. I partied hard at uni without meeting anyone special, and then I had one incredible night that led to Nemmie. But since then, no one has seemed worth the bother. Which makes it all the more ironic that I’m leaping round the harbour dressed as a bride.
It all began when I went to give Tia a hand with photos for the shop socials and did a video of the two of us messing around to make Tia laugh. When she posted it on the shop Insta page and it got a hundred likes in an hour it opened our eyes to the potential.
That was the green light for me to unleash my fun side. According to Tia, wedding businesses are all wobbling after the pandemic so anything pulling attention to the Insta page is good news for Brides by the Sea. We’ve carefully tuned the content so any bride who sees the page will be desperate to visit the shop, buy a dress and move on to all the other departments too.
The key to success on the socials is to always move forwards, which is why I’ve brought us outdoors today. I’m hoping the brightly coloured boats and the reflections off the water will add a summer vibe for the latest collection of dresses.
I tap the timer on my phone and hop down beside Tia who bends and flicks on the music. ‘Three two one, take it away Agnetha and Frida!’
We’ve chosen Abba’s ‘Waterloo’ because it’s an eternally popular wedding banger, and as it blares out of Tia’s speaker we’re aiming to show brides that a fitted dress needn’t stop you jumping around at the reception. We made up this routine when we were six and we’ve brought it out on every dance floor in Cornwall since, so our moves flow effortlessly. If anything, my dress is tighter than Tia’s, its tulle overlay caught with sequins and pearls, but at least my skirt has a side split. I toss back my veil and follow Tia along the pontoon waving my arms over my head as I jive behind her.
