Summer at the Little Wedding Shop: The hottest new release of summer 2017 - perfect for the beach!. Jane Linfoot
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Chapter 8
Saturday, 25th Feb
On the way to Rose Hill Manor: Sitting ducks and farmers on safari
‘I’m so excited to see the Manor. But really, I could have driven there myself.’
It’s no secret I’ve been dying for Saturday to arrive to get a sneak peek inside. You have no idea how often I’ve been pouring over the pictures of Sera’s sister’s wedding on Jules-the-photographer’s website. And how scared shitless I am by the size of the place, and the thought of styling a wedding. If Nicole does decide to have her wedding here, it’ll be a huge responsibility for me. It’s all very well Jess saying she knows I have the eye and the talent. I’m just not that confident I’ll be able to deliver.
I’m definitely not stinting on the ‘happy daughter’ effort this morning. But as I clamber into the back of David’s sporty MPV at Heavenly Heights, I’m regretting it on so many levels. And it’s not just the close-up view of my mum putting her hand on David’s knee as she picks invisible fluff out of his designer stubble. When she leans in for the ear nuzzle she assumes I can’t see, I actually get sick in my mouth.
‘So have you made a start on growing my bouquet yet, Lily?’ It takes a talker like my mum to fire questions through a mouthful of earlobe. She’s peering past the head rest at me. ‘Why the blank stare? Catch up.’
From where I’m scrunched up on the black leather upholstery in the back seat the PDAs are barely two feet away. Worse, she can put me on the spot about her ridiculous wedding flower plans. Which incidentally, I’m having no part of.
‘I thought that was a gimmick to get on the radio,’ I say. ‘Like saying you do online dating, when you don’t even know what the internet is.’ My mum doesn’t have the first clue how to open a laptop, let alone use one.
There’s an amused smile playing around her lips. ‘I’ll have you know, Jenny and I are entirely computer literate.’ At least it’s taken her mind off horticulture.
My squawk is high with disbelief. ‘Since when?’
‘Since we joined our U3A Access course last year. It’s Thursdays after Aqua-fit. Once we’d Googled Lonely Hearts, we took to Safari like ducks to water.’ She gives a toss of her head. ‘David and I are Cornish Casual Computer Couples’ fifth engagement in a year.’
So that’s told me, but my voice is still a squeak. ‘Aqua-fit? But you hate to swim.’ Talk about the secret life of parents. It could be worse. At least she’s not on Tinder.
‘When you’re all alone, the days are very long.’ Her voice has a hard edge. For a moment, she sounds like she might be about to cry. Then it gives way to the giggle that’s becoming so familiar. ‘But that’s all over and forgotten now. As for the flowers, it’s all arranged. Fred’s got a greenhouse for you. By the time they’re ready to plant out, he’ll have found you a patch of garden to use too.’
‘Mum, I don’t want to grow flowers. I didn’t say I would.’ More to the point, I don’t actually know how. Doing it with Dad back in the day is way different than doing it myself. I’m protesting through gritted teeth, because there’s no way I want to make her argue in front of a stranger. What’s more, Fred’s been bombarding my phone with messages – unanswered, obviously – and this is the first I’ve heard of his involvement.
‘Lily … how often do I ask anything of you?’
Okay, here we go. Whenever I hear that whine in my mum’s voice, I brace myself. At times like this I completely understand why my brother chose to live on the other side of the world, and not visit. It’s why Bath worked for me. And why St Aidan may not be the best idea, however desperate I am.
She gives a disgusted sniff. ‘Quite simply … never.’
‘That’s not entirely true.’ I close out the passing village green as I clamp my eyes shut, although that’s not going to save me. This is always how it goes. The times when my mum slips into her martyr-drama-queen persona are not her best.
‘I ask you to contribute one thing towards my dream of future happiness, and you refuse. As for your father … he’d be mortified to know you didn’t care.’
Since dad died, she always calls him that. As if he’s nothing to do with her any more. And this is nothing to do with me caring about her.
‘Leave Dad out of this.’ I’m croaking, because my mouth is dry. It’s the ultimate below-the-belt manipulation, because he’d most likely be telling me to stand up to her, and do what was right for me. And we both know that. What’s more, if he were here, she wouldn’t be needing flowers to get married to another blinking man.
‘That’s another thing.’ She’s tapping her fingers on the dash. ‘Refusing to go on a date with Fred is foolish. At least if you’re in his greenhouse you might warm to him. If you carry on as you are, you’re going to be single, old and lonely.’
The ‘old and single’ chestnut. I heave a big sigh. ‘The point is, that will be my choice.’
David clears his throat, as he pulls the car around into the lane. ‘Why can’t we buy flowers, like everyone else does?’
If anyone apart from him said that, I’d say good point well made. Although he seems to have missed that I’m the one who’ll make up the bouquets. Unless they defect to the opposition again. Which they might do, given their form so far. But this is between Mum and me. He should stay the hell out of it.
‘I might give the seeds a try.’ As it comes out, I’m as surprised to hear it as anyone. It’s something to do with David. And that same feeling I had as a stroppy teenager. If there’s a competition between wanting to stand my ground with my mum, and wanting to defy David, there’s a clear winner. ‘We’ll see.’ I’m not quite sure what I’ve let myself in for here.
‘Talking of Fred …’ It’s my mum again, brightening, as we round the corner.
David joins in, as we swerve to a halt behind a row of waiting cars. ‘Watch out, logs in the road.’ There’s a blast of cold air as he winds down his window.
As Fred saunters up, pushing back his waves, I almost swallow my tongue. He grins at me as he leans his forearm on the car roof. ‘We lost our load right outside the Manor entrance. It’s taken a while, but it’s pretty much clear now. Only blocked the open day for a couple of hours, so we’re all good.’
A likely story. ‘Fred …?’
He gives a shrug. ‘Accidents happen. I don’t think he’s lost too many customers. The joys of country house weddings, eh?’ Just as he’s about to go he dips back. ‘Do let me know if you think of anywhere my new girlfriend would like to go, Lily. She’s proving hard to pin down.’
Then he’s gone. Off down the lane, and swinging up into the tractor. And a few minutes later we’re driving down a gravelled avenue, between huge oaks, towards tall roofs glinting in the sun. And a country house that’s jarringly familiar all these years on, yet completely living up to its build up this time around. As much as I want to hate it, for Poppy and Rafe’s sake, somehow I can’t.
Saturday, 25th February
Open Day at Rose Hill Manor: Ice breakers and sharp claws
‘So you see why we like it?’
My mum’s suddenly less sure of herself, hanging back as we get out of the car.
It’s one of those times when my memory plays tricks with scale. Somehow now we’ve pulled up on the gravel at the front, Rose Hill Manor’s bigger than I remember from the few times I came here as a teenager.