Christmas at the Little Wedding Shop. Jane Linfoot

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       8

      Saturday, 17th December

      In the kitchen at Daisy Hill Farm: Mistletoe sprigs and hearts on strings

      As I reach the farmhouse, later that evening, I walk straight into Rafe giving Poppy what looks like the good-bye snog of her life on the doorstep.

      ‘Don’t mind him, he’s acting like he’s disappearing for a year,’ Poppy laughs, as she peels herself away. ‘He’s only going out to check the cows.’

      It’s taken these two a year to make this work, but it’s been worth the wait. Believe me, if there was a guy who looked at you the way he looks at her, you’d reconsider your single status. Every time.

      ‘Are you still here working?’ As Poppy steps back to let me past, the scent of warm spice whooshes up my nose. ‘Come on in and warm up, I’m trying out Rafe’s Aga.’ She’s got her hair in a twist and icing sugar on her nose.

      ‘Thanks, it’s so cold out here, my fingers are like ice pops,’ I say. It’s dark and after stringing lights on trees, by every cottage door around the farm, despite my woolly gloves my hands feel like they belong to someone else.

      Poppy peers down at the light-up Santa poking out of my pocket as she leads the way into the kitchen. ‘I see Santa’s doing his job, if you still have the office key.’

      Between us, keeping track of all the cottage keys has been a nightmare. Quinn might be enthusiastic and strong, and know some hilarious jokes, but he’s a total ditz when it comes to losing things. For the first time in my life I completely understand why I’ve sent people round the bend with my vagueness in the past.

      ‘Look at your hessian hearts on strings, there’s so many of them,’ I say, as I take in the garlands criss-crossing the room. I thought we’d got a lot of deccies for the cottages, but seeing the number of hearts and bows in here, I’m not so sure we’ve got enough.

      Poppy laughs. ‘This is Rafe’s welcome-back effort. Not a tractor part in sight either, though I’m not sure how long that’ll last.’

      ‘Are you baking?’ My mouth’s already watering, as I see the bowls and drifts of flour on the long kitchen table. It’s been three long months since I last wolfed down Poppy’s cakes, and I’ve missed them almost as much as I’ve missed her. Seeing as I was often in the studio at Brides by the Sea when she lived and baked her cakes in the top-floor flat, I was officially her chief taster.

      ‘You’ve timed it well. Fancy testing my gingerbread men?’ She nods at a pile of biscuits on a cooling tray. ‘They haven’t got any eyes yet. My icing pipes are still at the shop.’ She slides the kettle onto the Aga. ‘You’ve got roses in your cheeks from the cold. Like a drink to warm up?’

      I’m suddenly so hungry I’m practically swooning at the thought of gingerbread. ‘Tea would be fab, please.’

      ‘I’ll make one for Quinn too.’ She pulls some mugs from the shelf. ‘You two looked like you were having fun when I saw you earlier.’

      ‘He’s a long way from the stuffed shirt I was expecting,’ I laugh. ‘He’ll be along soon. Great with fairy lights, too.’ Since he put his clothes on and covered up that disgustingly deep tan of his, we’ve got on better.

      Poppy frowns. ‘Immie said she’d have been happy to put up the usual cottage decorations, but Alice wouldn’t hear of it.’

      I pull a face. ‘I’m sorry Alice is a bit fussy. She wants every cottage themed, to match the wedding and the occupants.’ This won’t be the last time I apologise for her. ‘Actually I came to check if it’s okay to take the pig pictures down?’ Another of Alice’s specific instructions.

      Poppy’s face breaks into a grin. ‘We’re all with Alice on that one. Those pigs are hideous. Leave them in the office, with any luck they won’t go back up again.’ She puts three mugs on the chunky wood table and piles a plate high with gingerbread men. ‘Is there much left for you to do in the cottages?’

      Sliding onto a chair, I slip off my jacket, then grab a tea and dunk my biscuit. ‘Loads.’ I sink my teeth into a delicious gingerbread leg to stem my panic. Because ‘loads’ is a huge understatement. Each cottage has an individual tree with hand-made decorations. Then there are bespoke toiletries, wicker wreaths, pillow chocolates, rose petals, scented candles, boxes of Turkish delight, hampers, fruit bowls and a mistletoe sprig. And tasteful pictures to replace the pigs. And Christmas garlands. ‘The job’s so massive, if I hadn’t had a gingerbread intake at exactly this minute, I might actually have given up.’ I’m not joking either.

      Poppy stares at me over the top of her mug. ‘Maybe Immie and I could help?’

      ‘No, I couldn’t possibly expect you to do that. You haven’t even met Alice yet.’

      ‘Really, it’s fine, Sera. We’re all here for each other. Look how you stepped in with my bestie last summer. The dress you lent Cate gave her the wedding of her dreams.’

      ‘But Cate let us use her photos for publicity…’ I’m hesitating, knowing the difference more hands would make.

      Poppy comes over and squeezes my shoulder. ‘Think of this as payback for you making Cate’s day wonderful. That wedding might not even have happened without your dress.’ She’s being very persuasive.

      ‘You really have time to help?’ If I didn’t have my mouth full of gingerbread man, I’d kiss her.

      She smiles. ‘I’m just back from London, with no cake orders, СКАЧАТЬ