Chapter 8

      Tuesday 5th December

      At Daisy Hill Farm House: Handbags and potato sacks

      ‘So, you can head off now, Holly. We’re pretty much done here.’

      It’s Jules, and if he’s finally called a halt to hostilities, it’s probably because it’s nine in the evening and he’s completely knackered. We’ve seen his famous bounding all day, but for the first time at this wedding he’s come to a complete standstill, by the front door.

      To be honest, I can’t remember a day this action packed, ever. Even the year we all went to Glastonbury after A levels, there was time to flop. And today has been one of those weird days that has whizzed by, but it still feels like at least a century since I first wriggled out from under the duvet this morning.

      ‘If you’re sure?’ I say, hoping that he won’t change his mind. Aidan and Zoe have swayed to their Wonderful World first dance and we’ve spent another half hour taking pictures of other couples, also swaying. As we’re assured there definitely won’t be any Macarena action this evening, apparently this is traditionally the time we photographers disappear. While Jules is going to hang on to do a couple of his signature illuminated outdoor shots with Aidan and Zoe, I’m getting a taxi back to town. ‘If I wasn’t so tired, I’d shout woohoo.’ And phew to me finally getting out of his hair.

      Jules can’t hold back his ‘I told you so’ grin as he flips back his fringe. ‘Bad as that, is it?’ All day on his feet and the guy still looks flawless.

      I pull a face. ‘One of the most full-on days of my life to date.’ I’m being honest, not ungrateful. And if I’m sounding cheery, it’s probably because it’s finally over. ‘Thanks for letting me tag along. I’ve picked up enough to know that my beach wedding will definitely be my last.’ When it comes to photographic subjects, give me pizza every time. High octane wedding stress has gone straight to the top of my avoid-at-all-costs list. My one lucky break today is that Jules didn’t find out about my pre-wedding puke.

      He’s beaming at me now. ‘Great to hear you’ve come to terms with your limitations. I knew weddings weren’t your bag.’ No one gloats quite as much as a man who’s just been proved right, even though I was with him all along. ‘Although you might have a shot or two for me to put in the album?’

      ‘There’s a couple of a snoring grandma.’ That was all thanks to Kip’s tip. I caught her nodding off, then jolting when the person next to her woke her up. Cruel, but if you look at it from the humorous side, it’s a nice sequence. To be honest, I think that’ll be the sum total of my contribution. Jules really did have this entire day covered. More than that, he seemed to be under the impression he was personally in charge of the whole damned shebang.

      ‘I’ll call by the shop very soon and we’ll whizz through what you’ve got.’ Despite the hint of a smile, Jules deals in orders not requests. ‘Well if you want to say “bye” to Zoe and Aidan, they’re here now.’ What was I saying about him being in charge?

      And that’s it. I grab a quick hug with Zoe, who, despite the all-day make-up, looks as done in as I feel. Then I’m out into the night, rushing off up the cobbles to Poppy’s kitchen, to say goodnight and ring for my ride.

      As I hurry out into the frosty night I’m so relieved to be free that I punch the air, obviously being careful not to drop my camera bag. As I stare up at the dusky-blue sky, the star specks are so amazingly bright and wonderful, I almost feel like singing.

      The weird thing is, as I go up the courtyard, the tune in my head – Poppy’s favourite, Don’t Stop Me Now – seems to be echoing off the walls of the barns. When I stop and hold my breath to listen, the sound’s still there. But it’s more of a yell now, overlaid with a scuffling of feet. A moment later, a small figure comes hurtling down from the cottages, arms waving wildly. There’s a moment to take it in. From the spangles on the sweatshirt that are sparking off the floodlights in the yard, it’s a girl. Before I know it, she’s banged straight into me and she’s burying her howls in my leopard fur. As I put out a hand to steady her, I hear heavier footsteps thumping down the yard.

      ‘Gracie, Gracie! Jeez, people are trying to sleep round here.’ The voice is urgent and low. It takes approximately a nanosecond to work out it’s Rory.

      I try to ignore the fact that Gracie’s clinging to my leg. ‘Everything okay?’ For nine at night, after a very long day, having just bumped into the person at the top of my ‘best avoided’ list, I’m astonished how breezy I sound.

      ‘Brilliant, thanks for asking, Holly Berry.’ Rory gives me a ‘what the eff’ look as he shakes back his hair. ‘One’s yelling, the other’s bailing. Life doesn’t get much better.’ He’s got Teddie under one arm, bundled in a Barbour, and he blows as he hitches him up.

      ‘Sorry, I just mean …’ I don’t want to sound judgemental. ‘Someone doesn’t seem very happy, that’s all.’ Given Gracie’s wellies are cannoning into my shins and her fists are pummelling my thighs, it’s an understatement. I look down for a bit to pat, and when my hand lands on her shoulder it’s bony under the soft jersey of her pyjama top.

      ‘The feeling’s mutual, okay?’ Rory’s reply comes through gritted teeth. ‘They get me up at four a.m., then run me ragged all day doing kiddie stuff that lasts two minutes max. If I refuse to end the day singing songs from Frozen, that’s too bad.’ As he says the ‘F’ word, Gracie stiffens and pricks up her ears.

      ‘What’s wrong with songs from Frozen?’ I’m sensing he’s a long way from cracking looking after the kids. But however much I’d like to cut him down to size, I hold back on pointing that out.

      He shakes his head. ‘It’s still no reason to leg it at a hundred miles an hour.’ Then he gives a sniff. ‘In a hundred pages of Erin’s descriptions about how to keep her children happy, there’s nothing about singing at bedtime. And no mention of Frozen songs either.’

      I stare down at Gracie. ‘How many songs do you want?’

      ‘One.’ Her voice is small and husky now the yells have subsided. ‘Let it go.’

      ‘Great song choice.’ I can’t hold in my smile. ‘That’s all?’

      Gracie nods. ‘To go to sleep with.’

      I’m squeaking with indignation. ‘How’s that unreasonable, Rory? Everybody loves Let it go.’ Okay, it’s maybe not worth leaving home over. But a girl has to have principles. I’m with Gracie on this one. And after what Poppy said earlier, it’s also vital that I fully express my disagreement with Rory on every point.

      Rory gives a dismissive shrug. ‘I don’t sing. End of.’

      Not strictly