Summer at the Little Wedding Shop: The hottest new release of summer 2017 - perfect for the beach!. Jane Linfoot

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Chapter 7

      Tuesday, 21st Feb

      At Daisy Hill Farm: Ironing piles and storage solutions

      In the end, Poppy had to leave the shop before Nicole, so I didn’t get to find out why she was turning down her booking. But she did offer us some space in the converted buildings up at Daisy Hill Farm, which is why I zoom over there as soon as Jess gets back to the shop.

      ‘Jess wants us to buy in props to hire out for styling, so we’ll need somewhere to store them between weddings,’ I explain to Rafe, as we pass him humping some kind of sack up the yard. Jess has decided to invest in things we’ll use a lot, and hire in the more unusual items. ‘With any luck most of the weddings will be here at the farm anyway, so it would be great to keep them on the spot.’ Handy for Rose Hill Manor too, just down the lane, but I skip over that.

      ‘Great, help yourself.’ Rafe almost spins on his wellies, but at the last minute he turns back. ‘By the way, our friend Fred was asking if I’d seen you. He mentioned a shirt? And a date?’

      Crap. ‘Tell him no worries, it’s on its way to the ironing pile.’ Which sounds a whole lot better than, ‘It’s in the washing bag’. The down side of washing it is that I’ll have to get in touch to give it back. As for the date part, I blank that.

      As Rafe heads off, Poppy leads the way from the stone built farmhouse, up towards the holiday cottages. By the time we reach a courtyard that’s so picturesque it could have come off a vintage biscuit tin, I can see her smile bursting out. ‘What’s this? Still hanging on to Fred’s shirt?’ She lets her laugh go. ‘Seriously though, have you noticed how much like Jules he smells?’

      I shrug, to show how completely not interested I am. ‘Except not so over-powering.’

      It’s amazing how she’s completely at home here, in her waxed jacket and a sloppy jumper I suspect belongs to Rafe, with Jet the dog wagging along beside her. Her red spotty wellies are the only hint of her townie past.

      As we reach a long low building, and she pushes her way through a grey plank door, a rush of warm air wafts out. ‘We’ve got a couple of spare rooms next to the farm office. See what you think.’

      I follow her into a whitewashed space, and gaze up at the high sloping ceilings. ‘Nice beams. And it’s a lot cleaner than I was expecting.’ I’m surprised it smells of fabric conditioner, not cow’s bottoms.

      ‘Clean? Why wouldn’t it be? My crack team keep the whole farm chuffing spotless.’ A throaty voice is coming from behind a mountain of sheets that’s wobbling towards us across the cobbles. A glossy black high-heeled Hunter ankle boot comes out and kicks the door open wider. ‘You’re next to the laundry too, so it’s warm and dry.’ As the sheets land on the floor, Immie’s broad face appears, and she flings a punch at me. ‘Great to see you back again, Lily. Let’s hope it’s for keeps this time.’

      I’m rubbing my arm, but I caught a flash of purple along with the left hook. ‘You haven’t chosen a ring yet then?’ Of all our friends, Immie’s the one who never left, and who wants us all back in the village. Forever. She won’t be happy if she gets the idea that I’m just passing through, which is why I’m moving the subject on.

      When she puts her hands on her hips, and rolls her eyes, she looks just like she used to when we were all at infant school. That was in the days before my mum dragged the family up in the world, when we lived in a higgledy-piggledy cottage down in the village. And when the older lads made life hell for me and my brother, because our mum called us ‘dahling’ very loudly, and insisted on giving us goodbye kisses all the way along the playground over the wall, and toothbrushes to clean our teeth after school lunch, Immie was the one who kicked them into line. Literally.

      Immie rubs her knuckles on her jeans, polishing the chunky perspex. ‘I’m marrying a fireman, so it’s like evacuating a burning building. There’s a strict order of priority. Even when organising a wedding. But Poppy had a gap in the farmhouse wedding book in mid-August, so we grabbed that. And we nailed fabulous Jules for the photos. We definitely want it to be different from Chas’s last “do”.’

      The wedding-that-never-happened was a mega bash in a huge tipi. Legend has it that the bride-from-hell called it off at the eleventh and a half hour. But the party went on regardless, and everyone camped out in the field for a week. Which was when Immie moved in to help Chas mend his broken heart.

      ‘Don’t СКАЧАТЬ