Sequins and Snowflakes Page 18

  Dan smiles and blinks. ‘The post box…’ He takes care to make it a statement, not a question, but it’s obvious he’s not quite with her. ‘Remind me again…?’

  ‘The Mr and Mrs Bradwell post box.’ From her twitch of a smile she thinks he’s teasing her, although he’d have to be a crazy adrenalin junkie to dare to do that at this point. Although these gaming guys do sometimes lose the link between real life and fantasy in danger terms. ‘Full-size, cast-iron, custom-made. With our names on… You were picking it up…’

  She couldn’t spell it out for him in any more detail. I’m a wedding slacker, and even I know what she’s talking about. It’s in the section on sundries. The replica post box. For safe receipt of guests cards, cheques and cash gifts. Maybe someone else is behind with his manual reading too. I’m gritting my teeth, desperately trying thought transfer, but it doesn’t look like it’s working.

  He’s screwing up his face. ‘Hmmmmm…’ And playing for time.

  As Alice’s half-smile slips, her voice slides upwards. ‘Dan, please tell me you’re joking.’

  ‘No, seriously. I’m really sorry…’ He gives a momentary grimace, but his voice is steady as he levels with her. ‘Confession time… I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

  In five seconds Alice has gone from pale to puce. ‘You had one bloody thing to bring. One bloody thing to remember. And you bloody screw it up.’ As her yell bounces off the white walls of the ballroom there’s a sudden lull in the chatter.

  Then a shout from Chas cuts through the silence. ‘Guys, outside. Now.’

  You can tell they’re trained to drop everything in an emergency and run. Next thing, Blue Watch are sliding down their ladders and there’s the thunder of feet as they stampede through the house. A second later the front door slams and we’re on our own.

  Immie drops the curly mass of wires she’s untangling. ‘Great, we’ll give you guys some space then too.’

  As Rafe grasps Poppy’s hand and yanks her after Immie, I catch their ‘please never let this be us’ grimaces. As for me, I’d love to run, but my feet are stuck to the floor. Alice is so close to losing it, I have to hover in case I can help.

  Dan’s opening and closing his mouth, probably in shock, but nothing’s coming out.

  ‘And now look what you’ve done.’ Alice spits the words at him.

  ‘What?’ At least he’s found his voice, even if he sounds incredulous, ‘Hold on here. You’re the one who frightened the firemen away. By yelling like a banshee.’ He’s shaking his head.

  Alice narrows her eyes and comes two steps closer so she can hiss in his ear. ‘Do you know, Dan, I’m starting to think you don’t give a damn about this wedding at all.’ Somehow the words sound way more chilling now her voice is quiet.

  Dan puts his hands on his hips and his jaw is jutting. ‘If we’re talking home truths, how about you try this one, Alice. I’ve worked for this wedding day and night for the last three years.’ His expression is strangely detached and his grey blue eyes have lost every bit of their sparkle. ‘But if you’re going ape over a post box I’d say you’re the one who’s stopped caring.’ His low laugh is bitter. ‘Seeing as you’ve got everything so well in hand here, I might as well go. Mostly we forgive you for being bossy, because we love you, and it’s part of who you are. And your drive is a wonderful quality, and often we need those rockets up our backsides. But this is something else. Right now you’ve crossed a line. When you decide to stop acting like a power-crazed Bridezilla cliché, give me a call.’

  He’s walking away, but even I can see he’s doing it slowly. When you compare him to the firemen, who left the room at the speed of light, Dan doesn’t look as if he’s trying at all. Like those excruciating toe-to-heel walks you do when you had those back-to-front slow-walking competitions at school to see who can keep moving, but get across the room last. He’s aching for Alice to call him back. He hangs in the doorway for ages, waiting. But she doesn’t say a word. She lets him go. And then the front door slams again. And as we hear his Range Rover roaring into the distance, Alice and I still haven’t started breathing.

  30

  Thursday, 22nd December

  In Poppy’s kitchen at Brides by the Sea: The recovery position

  Ever heard the phrase ‘When life serves you lemons, eat chocolate brownies’? Me neither, but it doesn’t matter, because an hour later, in Poppy’s kitchen, we’re hell bent on doing it anyway. This was Poppy’s life-saving suggestion when I brought her up to speed on the double disasters of the dress that doesn’t fit, and the groom that came and went again in five minutes flat. Even if Alice was partly to blame for putting in the metaphorical lemon order in the first place, the brownies seem like a great way forward. For me, if not for her. Watching Poppy whip up the mixture was exactly the stress-buster that Alice and I needed after the shock of watching Dan leave the room.

  ‘Six eggs in one cake.’ There’s a rush of steam as Poppy opens the oven door. ‘Good thing I’m staying on a farm, then.’ As she carries the tin over to where we’re sitting at the table, and peels back the baking parchment from the edge, we’re engulfed by the scent of warm chocolate.

  And we all know hot is the only way to devour brownies. ‘Spoon anyone?’ As I pass out the dishes, Poppy eases a sticky slice onto each. Then she dips into the fridge for the cream carton. As I dribble on the cream, it sinks into the dark crevasses of the cake.

  Then Poppy heads into the fridge again, but this time she comes back peeling the lid off a plastic box. ‘Anyone up for testing my Christmas pudding ice cream? It’s laced with rum, so it should go nicely with the brownie.’ Before we can say ‘yum’ she’s dished out two scoops all round.

  I take a corner of brownie and a slice of ice cream and slide them into my mouth. The hot, dark cocoa hits the rum, freezes on my tongue and explodes in an amazing taste sensation.

  ‘This is lush, Poppy. Orgasmic even.’ My voice is thick with chocolate and alcohol as I grin at her. ‘I hope Rafe didn’t mind us stealing you. Again.’

  Poppy laughs. ‘Not at all. He was happy to spend the afternoon working on his old tractor with Immie’s son. Rafe and I get on so well and his kitchen is awesome, but I can’t ever imagine giving up this little kitchen in the sky.’

  I laugh. ‘That’s definitely good news for me.’

  Alice waggles her spoon at her cake and nods at Poppy. ‘Delectable.’ It’s the first word she’s said since we left Rose Hill Manor.

  While I sympathise with her frustration with Dan, I’m hoping her outburst was partly down to hunger. So I wait until she’s finishing her third piece of brownie before I launch into today’s ‘wedding speech’.

  ‘So, I know you and Dan just had a bit of a…’ Disagreement? Tiff? Nuclear blast? In the end I decide the dot dot dot version is the one to go with. But before I can get onto the next bit Alice finds her voice and cuts in.

  ‘He’s a bloody arsehole. What kind of a bloody wanker walks out like that?’

  Oh my. She’s obviously found enough signal to Google ‘swear words’ then. What I’d like to reply is: ‘Maybe the kind of wanker whose girlfriend has pushed him to the edge and doesn’t call him back’.

  But instead, because I’m a scaredy-cat sister and a bridesmaid who doesn’t contradict the bride, even if she’s momentarily resigned from that position, I bite my tongue and send her a smile. And carry on as if I haven’t heard. ‘So how about we make a fall-back plan for the dress? Just in case…’ I hope that last part is a cover-all euphemism.

  She sticks her chin in the air and stares at me like I’m the one losing the plot. ‘In case you’ve failed to notice, given my wedding has dematerialised, why would I even need a dress?’

  I let out a long sigh. What does Alice think we’ve come here for if not that? We aren’t sitting upstairs above a wedding-dress shop so we can get sugar highs from the brownies and Christmas ice cream and enjoy views of the sea. Which is fittingly dismal and grey, in case you wo
ndered. Although admittedly the pudding was sensational. In fact I’m gritting my teeth at the idea of showing her my dresses. I do anything to get out of showing them to normal customers. Family members are a thousand times worse, especially when it’s certain she won’t want any of them.

  I’m kicking myself for trying to get this show back on the road too early when there’s a clattering on the stairs and Jess appears in the doorway.

  ‘How’s it going?’ We brought her up to speed on the bad news as we passed through the shop earlier. Her beam is lighting the entire room, but it’s mainly directed at Alice. ‘Seeing as you have a free afternoon, I was hoping I could borrow you and your fabulous cheekbones, Alice? There are a few things Jules and I want to play around with… in the studio.’ Free afternoon? Nicely put.

  If my brow furrows into a deep frown, it’s because I have no idea what she’s talking about. ‘There are?’ Along with my squeal of surprise, I send her what I hope is a searching stare.

  Jess goes on without meeting my eye. ‘Jules is our photographer – you’ll love him. We’re wanting to grab a few shots of a fledgling collection we’re pulling together.’

  Any collection at all is news to me, given the only one I can think of is my non-existent one. As for how she’s summoned Jules so fast – when Jess gets going she’s like a one-woman tornado.

  ‘Sure…’ Alice says, even though she can’t have any more idea than I do of what she’s letting herself in for. But it’s not as if she has any other pressing plans.

  ‘Lovely.’ Jess is starting that purr she does when everything is going her way. That is, when people let her steam roller them into submission. ‘So if you’re ready, let’s all go down to the studio…’ She’s holding out her arm.

  And before we know it, we’re all following her down the stairs.

  31

  Thursday, 22nd December

  In the studio at Brides by the Sea: Sea views and Jimmy Choos

  ‘If I’d known you were all coming to visit, I’d have tidied up.’ I’m squawking like a teenager who’s about to have their bedroom invaded, but as we spill into the studio, no one’s listening.

  Poppy and Alice march past the chaos on the cutting table and head straight down the long room to the seaward windows. Then they start gasping about the view. When you know how startling the azure sparkle of that view can be, it’s hard to understand why they’re this ecstatic about today’s slate-grey sea, meeting a sky that’s the colour of a battleship and just as threatening. It’s not even as if the breakers are doing anything spectacular. They’re arriving on the shore like limp frills on a petticoat.

  At the other end of the studio from Alice, I’m frowning past my magazine piles and fabric rolls at Jess. It’s obvious she’s been up here already, because all lights are on, including the Christmas-tree ones. Hurrying, I whisk my scattered sketches into piles, pick up pencils, straighten the ironing board and gather up a hundred bits of fabric. I bang my phone into the doc and flick on my Christmas tunes, so whatever stunt Jess is going to pull, at least there’s something jolly playing in the background. And finally, scooping up a couple of half-finished tops from the armchair so Alice has somewhere comfy to flop, I shove my high stool in Poppy’s direction.

  Jess, meanwhile, is on some mission of her own. She heads straight for one of the rails, where the silk shifts and slips I made recently are hanging. Sticking out a loafer, she deliberates for a second, then plucks a hanger.

  ‘Right, Alice.’ From somewhere she’s found a pair of Jimmy Choo diamanté sandals and they’re dangling seductively from the fingers of her other hand as she shakes the slip. ‘Strip off and pop these on, please.’ It’s not the kind of order you’d stop to question. For one time only, in-charge Alice has met her match and is being bossed around.

  Alice grabs the shoes and slip, follows Jess’s nod and scurries behind the folding screen. I’m about to corner Jess for a ‘what the hell?’ moment, but she waltzes past me to the top of the stairs.

  ‘Jules, almost ready up here.’

  He must have been waiting on the landing, because a second later he springs into the room.

  ‘Hey, Sera, Poppy, great to see you.’ As his camera bag lands on the end of the cutting table there are enthusiastic air kisses for all of us, plus a double waft of that pricey aftershave he wears so much of.

  The way he’s running his fingers through his wavy brown hair, he and Alice could almost be related. And dammit that every hair of his hair falls back into perfect place. Just like hers, only better.

  ‘And this is Alice…’ As Jess says her name we all turn to look. From the synchronised way our jaws drop open, we could be in a choir. Alice scrapes her fingers through her hair and picks her way across the uneven painted floorboards in her heels. The slip she’s wearing is so minimal it’s almost translucent. Yet something about the way it flows over her angular body takes our breath away.

  Jules jumps towards his bag. ‘Wow, spectacular. Hello and hold that right there, Alice, I’ll grab my camera.’ A moment later, he’s snapping her from all angles. When he stops and flicks back through the results, his face breaks into a secret beam of satisfaction. Then his eyes flash at Jess. ‘You were completely right, sweets. These are awesome.’

  Jess comes, and as she looks over his elbow for herself, her face lights up in triumph. ‘Great work, Jules and Alice. Now let’s play.’ Snatching up a length of ribbon, she twists it round Alice’s waist and twitches the silk dress into place. ‘Okay, take a few shots standing, then try that sitting on the windowsill.’

  As Alice sits and shrugs, and looks effortlessly sultry, Jules bounces around her. There are times when her neck is so slender beneath her dark bob, it looks as if it could almost snap. Meanwhile Jess is flicking through the tulle and ribbon skirts I’ve been making, tapping her foot as she mulls. Eventually she chooses one and takes it across to Alice. Another twist later, Alice’s slinky silhouette has been transformed by the gauzy tulle gathers of her skirt, caught at the waist by the simple ribbon tie. As she leans a shoulder against the white-painted fireplace, there’s the smallest glint of Jimmy Choo sandal peeping out below her hem.

  ‘Simple, yet completely exquisite.’ Jess is beaming at me. ‘Let’s add one of those tiny tulle jackets.’ Next minute, she’s slipping a tulle top onto Alice and doing it up. And tah-dah, Alice has changed again, and now the cropped top is hanging off and accentuating the nip of her waist.

  Jules is shaking his head. ‘No embellishment at all and yet they look stunning.’

  Jess laughs. ‘Not a bead in sight. A minimalist bride’s dream. The perfect starting point to dress up, or down. You really have hit on the most brilliant capsule collection concept here, Sera. And all without a sketch in the book. You are such a unique talent.’

  I’m screwing up my face at Jess. ‘You see this as a collection?’ And how does she know my sketch book is empty?

  A narrow diamond-covered ribbon is trailing from her hand, and she’s moved on to one of the simple lace tops I made. ‘It’s completely innovative and inspired. By taking the different combinations of slips and skirts and tops and belts and sashes, it means every bride can have a dress completely unique to them. Which is what so many brides want now. And yet your simple cuts are so sophisticated that they look completely amazing.’

  ‘You think?’ I have to come clean here. ‘I didn’t actually plan this…’

  Jess smiles. ‘That’s what makes you all the more amazing, Sera. You did it by pure instinct. All I had to do was show you it’s perfect.’

  Poppy is perched on the high stool. ‘They’re beautiful, Sera. And with a few simple changes you end up with a dress for day and a completely different look for the evening, too.’

  Alice is standing, her arms stretched along the top of a huge vintage storage chest, her narrow diamond belt blinking as it catches the light, as Jules moves around her, still taking pictures.

  Jess calls down the studio. ‘Okay, that’s enough for toda
y, Alice. Thanks so much, now we know for sure we’ve got our collection, you can get dressed again.’

  As Alice turns and catches sight of the Christmas tree standing on the top of the chest she lets out a cry. ‘Sera, are these the decorations from Gran’s tree?’ As she fingers a shimmery blue hanging fish, then a battered felt Santa, her voice glows with warmth. ‘I remember these. We used to stand on the table to hang them on the tree, didn’t we?’

  I laugh, if only because it’s so far away from what Alice would choose for herself. ‘I bring the toys down from the loft in the cottage every year. Nothing matches, but somehow Christmas wouldn’t be the same without it.’ It’s in the studio, because that’s where I spend most of my time. I send her a mischievous grin. ‘Christmas trees don’t have to be all one colour to be magical.’ Although sadly in Alice’s world, they might.

  ‘It’s lovely.’ As she says it she almost sounds teary. ‘And your dresses are wonderful too.’ All these compliments, she really can’t be feeling herself. As she makes her way back to the folding screen to get changed, she lingers by the cutting table. ‘What’s this?’ She points to one of the half-finished tops I bundled off the chair.

  ‘Something else I was playing with.’ I give a shrug. Chiffon with the tiniest sparkle, so light it’s barely there. ‘It’s still only pinned together.’ And for possibly the first time ever, I don’t feel like running away when someone’s looking at my clothes. Maybe it’s easier when they aren’t finished.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Her voice fades to nothing as she swallows. ‘Like sequins and snowflakes.’

  If she was in the shop downstairs, and was anyone other than Alice, we might have thought she was having her fall-in-love moment. With the dress, obviously, not the groom. The bit with the groom will have to wait until later and, believe me, I’m putting my faith in fairy dust for that one. We’ll be needing it by the lorry load.