Jess carries on. ‘Don’t either of you be disheartened; a fall will often bring spectacular opportunities in its wake.’
Tia puts her head on one side. ‘Like you starting this shop after your divorce, Jess?’
Jess laughs. ‘When you’re at the bottom, the only way is up.’ She hesitates for a second. ‘The trick is to recognise when you’re sitting on gold, and you certainly brought us that going out around town, Maeve.’
As Poppy, the shop’s cake maker, who lived in Tia’s flat years ago, appears in the doorway in her Barbour jacket we all sit up expectantly, then slump again when we see the cake containers she’s carrying are empty.
Poppy looks at our faces and laughs. ‘Those expressions! Cake’s coming tomorrow.’ She wrinkles her nose. ‘I just popped in to see how you’re doing, Tia? If there’s anything Rafe and I can do to help, we will.’
Tia gives a grimace. ‘Thank goodness your venue offer prompted Thom to tell me how bad things were, before the rest of the village found out first. It’s funny how, a few days on, the celebrations we’d been working towards for years feel completely over the top. Like they belong to someone else’s life rather than ours.’
Poppy looks at Tia. ‘You’re only catching up with the wider trend. At one time weddings were our life blood at the farm, but these days we mostly do well-being retreats and fitness courses.’
Jess nods. ‘I can vouch for that. My partner, Bart, used to have six highly exclusive weddings a year on his country estate, and was booked up years in advance; this year we’re only moving out for one.’
Poppy nods. ‘Since the pandemic people want different things.’ She smiles. ‘Our shop photographers, Holly and Jules, will tell you, some of those tiny lockdown weddings, with fifteen socially distanced guests and no receptions, were some of the most heartfelt they’ve ever photographed. That showed people you don’t need a hundred and fifty guests for a wedding to be meaningful.’
Jess nods. ‘I remember the rules changing and having to close the shop, and brides dashing in to get their dresses with minutes to spare.’ She looks grave. ‘At Brides by the Sea we have always been about delivering perfection across the whole wedding, whatever the size, however long it lasts, but those minute weddings were simply about the love.’
Poppy puts her arm around Jess. ‘It’s not often we hear you sounding emotional.’
Jess gives a sniff. ‘We’ve always tried to offer a whole range of bridal associations with Poppy’s farm, Comet Castle, and the Manor. What truly upsets me is that all these years later when so many couples want small, we still haven’t found a tiny venue to partner with.’
Poppy nods. ‘Modern couples are very discerning; they’re always looking for more, especially when they’re looking for less. A small corner of a bigger venue doesn’t cut it.’
Jess shakes her head. ‘Sad to say, with Salvador wreaking his financial havoc across the southwest, more couples than ever will be binning their guest lists and begging for a “barely there” wedding.’
I stare at Tia. ‘That isn’t you?’
She agonises. ‘If it means I can be Mrs Shepherd this decade not next, then why not?’
I’m looking at Tia. ‘Mum’s friend’s daughter married in a disused bus shelter on a shingle beach in Bournemouth, but I’m not sure I’d want that for you. Wherever you get married has to be beautiful.’
Jess gives a snort. ‘As if we’d partner with anything less, Maeve!’ Her gaze fixes on me. ‘In fact the answer to our proverbial prayers has been hiding in plain sight all along, right under our noses.’ Jess beams at me. ‘Your photos around St Aidan revealed it.’
I’m replaying Tuesday morning in my head. ‘It’s the gallery, isn’t it? And the deck! Those glorious views of the water, it has to be!’
Jess turns to Tia. ‘Run the “Brides around St Aidan” slideshow you made yesterday, and we’ll watch together.’
Poppy and Jess step in behind us, and photos start to flash up onto the screen.
The haunting, honky-tonk piano notes in the background seem to come from another time and as we watch the first frames of Tia and me in our sweatshirts stepping from the shop and out onto the mews, window shopping for wedding dresses, I murmur, ‘What’s the music?’
Tia smiles. ‘“She’s a Rainbow” by the Stones.’
Poppy laughs. ‘All the way from 1967, and still a perfect fit.’ She lowers her voice. ‘They’re fabulous photos, the fun you’re having leaps off the screen.’
As we get to the photos inside the bakery, I shift on my velvet cushion. But just as I’m bracing myself to run, we’ve swept through to us in our new dresses, doing selfies over Jaggers’ cocktails.
I let out a silent ‘phew’, and Poppy gasps. ‘Ahhh, the Sardine Club! How many summer days did we spend there as kids?’ And then her voice softens. ‘How amazing are you in those ruffles, Maeve?’
Tia’s arranged the photos so they’re a mix of me wandering on the sands and close-ups of my hair blowing, with the reflection off the water in the background. In the next frame, my very own beach hut appears.
Poppy claps her hands. ‘Windflowers! It’s so iconic!’
Tia nods. ‘I never noticed how far away from the others it was until I took these photos.’
Then Tia appears on screen, serene in simple white linen, making her way up the steps. As the slides flick through, she’s framed by the beach hut window looking out along the sands, and then there are close-ups of her inside, and then the last one I took of her, standing in the doorway, framed against the sea. The last notes of music come to an end.
