As Lando swallows his last spoonful, he turns to me. ‘You always beat me to the bottom of a sundae.’ He frowns at my barely touched ice cream. ‘Is anything wrong?’
I’m opening and shutting my mouth, thinking about how I’d explain the express train that has driven through my life in the last twelve days, but he starts again.
‘You’re not… sick?’ His frown lines deepen.
I’m bemused. ‘Do I look sick?’
He blows out his cheeks. ‘Of course not. But I guess… as I’m already in my own very deep hole, is this a good time to ask if Nemmie’s dad is still around?’
I’m so taken aback my mouth drops open. Then I pull myself together and it hits me this could be my perfect opening.
He’s standing right in front of me.She’s yours, Lando…is all I have to say.
Except there are a hundred implications I need to consider first.
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Things didn’t work out for us. Unfortunately.’
It’s not a lie, but I mustn’t rush this. He’s only been around two weeks, and until today we had no idea how permanent he was going to become. I’ll definitely tell him the minute things are straight in my head.
I drag in a breath and pick up where we began. ‘Those four-foot-high photographs of you, me and a strawberry tart on the shop walls have temporarily taken away my appetite for eating in front of a camera.’ I give a sigh. ‘I’m sure it won’t last.’ I heap up my spoon and nod towards it. ‘You might have to help me out here with a spoonful or two? For the sake of the camera.’
Lando’s eyebrows go up, and his voice is low. ‘Are you setting me up for a face full of ice cream?’
I laugh. ‘No one could blame me if I were, but there isn’t a catch.’ I laugh at his hesitation. ‘Hurry up, before it melts! It could be the photo of the afternoon.’
I’m so thrown by Lando’s reluctance, I’ve missed that Angel has got to his feet, and is eyeing the loaded spoon as closely as Lando.
There’s a split second when Tia calls ‘Watch out!’ but it’s too late. Angel launches himself, and as he swipes the cream off the spoon his shoulder simultaneously knocks my sundae glass into orbit. It flies across the table, flips upside down at the edge, and deposits a full glass of melting sundae all over my boobs.
I let out a cry. ‘Nooooo, please, not again!’
Lando gives a cough. ‘Every time we meet, you mess up a dress.’ He frowns. ‘I’m no expert, but this could be the worst yet.’
Tia leans over to look at the cascade of ice cream and chocolate sliding down my front. ‘Luckily the dress Sera sent you out in today is fully washable.’ She gives me one of her widest grins and comes in with her phone. ‘If I capture the full glory of the spill, we can do some pictures before and after the clean-up. Accident-prone brides will be delighted and astonished.’
For the first time all day, my smile comes from the heart.
Lando landing here isn’t what I’d planned, but I can’t take it lying down; I’ve got to find the best way through that I can.
All I keep thinking is: if I needed a plan before today, I’m desperate for one now.
14
On the way to Windflowers, St Aidan, Cornwall
Left over lunch and noisy bridesmaids
Sunday
Wednesday afternoon leaves me feeling stickier than a toffee pudding and flatter than a bridal dress that’s been through the wringer, but by Thursday I’m back to fighting form again.
Lando walking into a ready-made wedding venue is another example of the way things roll for guys like him. Money pulls in more money, and privilege acts like a magnet for entitlement, and that’s why normal people like us have no hope of getting a look in. But this time around I’m not standing by; I’m going to act.
Before Lando’s announcement, my feelings about weddings at the beach hut were a mixture of pure fear for Tia and Thom’s big day and doubting I would have the energy to carry on after. When I wake up the morning after the sundae slide, I’m so fired up to outdo Lando’s tipis with a deluge of beach hut weddings that the adrenalin is racing around my body like a river over rapids.
As soon as I’ve dropped the kids at school and taken Angel plus two Daxis for a morning chase along the beach, I head to the shop to check how Bart’s solicitors are progressing with the licence application. I wouldn’t have given it a thought before yesterday, but now I’m pushing for an answer.
Jess says we have a confidential and unofficial thumbs up, and that it’s never too early to be thinking about chairs. So Poppy, who is passing, points me to a job lot on Facebook marketplace that is free for collection, and Tia takes me up to borrow a side table from Oliver in menswear, in the hope it may work as a registrar’s table. Then we nip down to the basement and find a couple of lengths of bunting and some lanterns. And just like that we have what it takes to mock up a wedding at the beach hut, so we can see how it feels and where we can improve.
