Jane Linfoot - The Little Wedding Shop by the Sea

‘No.’ Cate’s face falls.

Immie’s looking grave. ‘It gets worse. Big boss Rafe is talking about pulling out of weddings altogether … as of now.’

Under her blusher Cate’s cheeks have gone three shades lighter. ‘He can’t … can he? We’ve already paid the deposit?! The wedding’s barely seven months away.’

Immie shrugs. ‘Who knows? The wedding planner went back to London for Christmas, and she’s decided not to come back.’

‘She took her time, it’s February now.’ Cate lets out a moan.

Immie carries on. ‘Rafe’s tried to replace her, but there aren’t many bookings, and the hours are erratic. Not to mention he’s not the easiest person to work with. Anyone decent runs a mile.’

Cate’s sigh is long. ‘Right. I’m not giving up on this. This is my wedding day.’ Her mouth hardens into a determined line. ‘I need to find someone to save the day and fast. I need a wedding coordinator.’ She turns on Immie and me. ‘Who do we know?’

This is why Cate has zoomed up the ladder at the council in her day job. She won’t take no for an answer, and when the going gets tough, she fights.

I screw up my face and think. Who could take over the wedding coordination at the farm? Jess would be amazing but she’s got her hands full with the shop. I come up with zilch. As I open my eyes again, Immie and Cate are both staring at me.

‘It’s obvious.’ Cate says.

‘It bloody is,’ agrees Immie.

I blink at them. ‘Am I missing something here?’

Immie rounds on me. ‘You’re the perfect person for the job.’

What? It’s a moment before I take in what she’s saying. ‘But why me?’

Cate jumps in now. ‘I need the help, please Poppy. I work a fifty hour week in a highly stressful job at the council, and I’ve got a house and four kids to look after. And Liam, and the dogs too.’ She looks desperate. ‘This is my wedding day at stake.’

I turn to Immie. ‘Well you’re at the farm now anyway, managing the cottages, why can’t you just add in weddings too?’

You know those no-can-do stares that builders have? That’s what Immie rolls out here. ‘No way.’ She folds her arms. ‘I love you Cate, and I want your wedding to be perfect, but Morgan’s running wild now he’s fourteen. If I’m not around he’ll be balls deep in trouble in no time. Then there’s my degree. Final year is full on. I’ve got all the holiday cottages to manage and clean. Plus my stand-in shifts at The Goose and Duck. Weddings would be the last straw.’

I try once more. ‘Your final year at uni isn’t until next year.’

She dismisses that. ‘I’ve still got assignments coming out of my ears.’

As I look from Cate to Immie, I can’t help feeling they’re ganging up on me.

‘Whatever.’ Immie shrugs. ‘You know you’d be awesome at this, Pops. You’ve always loved weddings.’

‘And you’ve had so much experience with the brides at the shop.’ At least Cate has the grace to look guilty about pushing me into this. ‘Not just with your cakes either. You know the wedding business inside out. It could be the perfect career move.’

Immie chimes in again. ‘Out of all of us, you’re the one who could nail this.’

When they put it like that, I need to go on the defensive.

‘I can’t organise weddings. I’ll end up ruining them!’ There’s a squeal of panic in my protest. ‘I left my London job years ago.’ Once upon a time I was a food designer, working in food development. Remember hedgehog flavour crisps? They were my baby. And my salmon en croute for a certain famous supermarket scooped all the awards. As did one extra special luxury Christmas pudding, with almonds and Cointreau. And my Huggie Bear Birthday Cake was a huge best seller. But that was another life. Since I moved back to Cornwall all I’ve done is run around after Brett and play at making cakes.

Immie jumps in. ‘You could easily fit the Daisy Hill job around your cakes, and the extra cash would come in handy.’ As a single mum at uni, Immie knows all about juggling jobs to make ends meet. And she’s not wrong about the money either. I’m ashamed to admit how much I’d come to rely on a well-paid boyfriend.

‘Seriously, Poppy, you could do this in your sleep. You deal with brides all the time.’ Cate’s tone is persuasive. ‘It’s only until the autumn. And I need you.’

My mind flashes back to the fields in Rose Cross, and the mud. A job on a farm would be my worst nightmare, even if it did involve weddings.

‘But I’ve got no actual experience.’ I might as well point it out.

Cate brushes that aside. ‘If we’re going to save my wedding you’re damn well going to have to blag it.’ Her cheeks are flushed now. ‘You’ve had the insiders view from so many brides, you’re practically an expert already.’ She gives a triumphant shake of her fist.

‘Exactly.’ Immie is cheering her all the way. ‘And I’ll be there for back up, if it all goes tits up.’

‘Tits up?’ I echo. If I had any sense, this is the moment I should have run. But Cate is my best friend, and she needs me.

The look Cate flashes Immie for the tits up mention is filthy. ‘We’re talking a few tiny weddings here. There won’t be any problems.’ Her voice is soothing. ‘Please Poppy, give it a go, just for me?’

Cate’s been like a big sister to me all my life. The last few months she’s really looked after me, and this is one way I can show how truly grateful I am. I need to man up, and save the day for Cate.

‘I can’t believe I’ve been working up here all this time and you haven’t visited before.’ Immie is hurrying across the cobbled courtyard of Daisy Hill Farm to meet me, as I clamber out of my car next morning. She’s arranged an interview for me with the owner of the farm, Rafe.

‘Maybe it’s because I avoid farms like the plague.’ I point out. ‘Fields and cows and windy days are why I live in town, remember?’

Immie and Cate weren’t going to hang about. They abandoned all thoughts of bridesmaids’ dresses yesterday, and got straight onto beautifying my CV. But whoever heard of an interview on a Sunday?

Immie flashes me a grin. ‘So don’t mind Rafe, he’s like a bear with a sore head, but it’s nothing personal.’

‘What?’ If she’d leaked this information any earlier I might have had an excuse to resist. She’s hurrying me past a faded Georgian farmhouse, with rows of dusty sash windows, towards a range of stone out-buildings.

‘He doesn’t do charming, but don’t let it bother you.’ Immie, telling it straight again. ‘No need for nerves, you’re going to walk this.’

I give a shrug. Even though I’m going to give this my best shot, I’m not worried. I know I don’t stand a cat in hell’s chance here. However much they tarted up my CV before they emailed it over to this grumpy Rafe person, it’s obvious that icing is the only thing I’m qualified to smooth over.

‘The office is in here …’ Immie pauses outside a grey painted plank door. ‘Play your cards right, and he’ll probably offer you a cottage to live in too.’ She raises an eyebrow, clicks the latch, and pushes me into a warm, white-washed room. ‘Rafe, this is Poppy, I’ll leave you two to it, have fun.’

She sweeps out, and as the door slams shut behind her I take in a desk that looks like a recycling skip got tipped out on it, a guy in a grey jumper standing by the filing cabinet, and a black dog lying in the corner, giving gentle wags of its tail. My heart beat is louder than the wagging thumps as I wait by the desk. As the guy whips around and holds out his hand I choke.

Oh.