Chapter 33
Windflowers, St Aidan, Cornwall
Seeing double
Thursday
When Tia and I drop our bags on the beach hut verandah on Thursday shortly before the registrars are due to arrive, the loops of white bunting are flapping in the breeze and the sky and the sea are both blue rather than grey.
I sweep straight into action and pull out my lighter. ‘I’ll do the lanterns, look for litter and sweep the verandah, if you sort the cake stacks and check that their bottles are in the ice box.’
Today’s theme is white, and it’s a double wedding with variations. Opal and Song are having a white chocolate blondie stack cake, while Orla and Sienna have opted for snowy meringues stuck together with vanilla butter cream.
Tia glances at her phone. ‘Kip should be along very soon. This could be him now.’
I follow her gaze along the beach and frown. ‘When you said he was like Lando, I didn’t think he’d be a doppelganger.’
Tia bites her lip. ‘There must be a mix-up. That’s not Kip…’
I feel my insides wilt and as the figure approaches, I brace myself. ‘Lando…?’
He shuffles but doesn’t smile. ‘Kip sends his apologies. You’ve got me today instead.’
I look from Lando to Tia. I’ve heard enough stories from Poppy to know every wedding throws up a problem no one ever thought of, which is why we’ve wanted help from someone experienced until we get the hang of it.
With no alternative, I force out a smile. ‘The registrars will nail the main bit, and after that, we’ll cope!’ I hand Lando a rake and make sure our fingers don’t touch. ‘In the meantime, let’s tie up those loose ends!’
When Pen and Brian arrive, I tick off my first worry because we’ve met them already.
The brides arrive soon after with a huddle of guests and a photographer and linger outside for pictures.
Lando astonishes me by asking which couple is going first and who is giving whom away, and I’m about to ask myself what I was even worrying about when I see a large group of people heading down the beach towards us.
Orla calls from the verandah, ‘I’m afraid word got out, and our teensy secret weddings aren’t as secret or small as we’d hoped.’
I murmur to Tia, ‘Who has thirty friends free at short notice on a Thursday?’
Lando gives a cough. ‘From counting samples, I’d say it’s closer to sixty.’
I look around, realise I need to take charge and clap my hands. ‘Okay, spur-of-the-moment decision: extra guests, please gather at the bottom of the steps, you can watch from the sand.’
I slip up the steps and slide in next to Orla who is flapping her hands in front of her face and muttering, ‘What the feck are we going to do now?’
Sienna hisses at her, ‘Don’t look at Song and me. You’re the ones with the huge family who refused to stay away.’
Poppy often says emotions run high at weddings, and I know it’s down to me to diffuse this.
‘How about I grab some jugs of cocktails from Jaggers and raid the Little Cornish Kitchen for cakes while you’re getting married?’
Opal squeezes my hand. ‘Thank you. Whatever it takes, we’ll pay you back!’
I hurry back down the steps to Lando and Tia. ‘I’m off for supplies. Things were getting pretty heated up there.’
Tia pats my arm. ‘I know them from the fittings; Song and Sienna are the fiery ones. If it gets out of hand, I know where the extinguishers are.’
Song calls down, ‘If they do gluten-free versions, they’d be good too.’
I grab my phone, call Clemmie from the Little Cornish Kitchen, and my luck comes in when she picks up on the second ring.
‘We’ve got sixty unexpected extra guests at a beach hut wedding. Can you do us some instant bake boxes to collect?’
I put my thumbs up to Tia as Clemmie replies with a resounding ‘yes’. ‘We’re in. She’s going to bring them out to the harbourside for us.’
Lando’s already set off along the beach at a jog. ‘I’ve got my card and I know Jaggers’ barman. My car’s close by, we’ll load up and drive back along the lane.’
By the time we reach Jaggers’ terrace, Lando hasn’t even broken out into a sweat but my lungs are burning. We go in and he turns to me. ‘How about five large mojito jugs and a hundred paper cups?’
I swipe the perspiration off my forehead. ‘Great, we’ll get the boxes of pastries while they’re mixing them.’
As we’re crossing the car park looking for Clemmie’s trademark red hair, Lando looks upwards. ‘Did you remember the specials?’
I nod, then despair. ‘A lot of people have dietary requirements. There’s no need to roll your eyes.’
Lando’s still staring up. ‘I’m not. I’m checking the clouds.’
I’m confident on this. ‘We’ve been glued to the forecast; it’s going to stay dry all afternoon.’
He purses his lips. ‘Not according to the sky. At a calculated guess, it’ll be hammering down within the hour.’
I sink against the nearest lamp post. ‘Please don’t say that.’ The thought of sixty soaking wet people on the beach, or – even worse – cramming onto the verandah and breaking it, leads me to let out a whimper.
Lando pulls down the corners of his mouth. ‘Whatever you think, I’m not doing this deliberately. It won’t be a storm, but it’ll be the kind of rain where you’re pleased you’ve brought your umbrella.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘And how many of our impromptu guests were carrying those?’ There’s only one thing for it. ‘We’ll get the boxes from Clemmie then I’ll see if my favourite Cat’s Protection shop can help us out.’
As Lando inches his Golf into a parking space along the lane by Windflowers a short time later, we’re not only loaded with food and drink, we’ve also got a large basketful of pre-loved umbrellas.
We leap out and run to the back of the car; Lando lifts the boot lid; we both dive in and grab the same stack of cake boxes.
For a second we both tug, then I say clearly, ‘I’ve got this, Lando.’
There’s a moment of stony silence then he says. ‘Leave these to me.’
I grit my teeth. ‘No, really. These are mine!’
He glowers down at me. ‘I thought we agreed to keep our differences out of the workplace?’
I’m about to tell him to let go before we drop the damned things when it hits me: if he’s scrapping over confectionary in the middle of a wedding, he really must hate me.
But I don’t have to sink to his level. I gently transfer the weight of the boxes to him.
‘You take these; I’ll get the umbrellas, then we can both come back for the mojitos. ’
As we turn to the beach hut, we see the two happy couples coming out onto the verandah, hand in hand, waving their rings and their glasses of fizz while the crowd on the beach cheer.
Tia joins us as we shuttle up and down to the car to pick up the cocktails. We slip them in through the back door of the hut and start to put the cups out on a tray.
She gives me a nudge as we stand together at the table. ‘Great improvising, Mrs.’
I haven’t got as far as smiling yet. ‘With all those extra hands, they should get a great confetti shot.’
Tia’s peering out of the window. ‘It’s not as bright as it was before the ceremony.’
I pull a face. ‘Lando’s convinced it’s going to throw it down, but at least we have brollies at the ready if it does.’ Hearing familiar notes floating on the air outside, my frown deepens. ‘Is that an ice cream van?’
Lando pops his head around the door. ‘I put Mr Whippy on speed dial on Saturday in case of emergencies. I gave him a call, I hope that’s okay?’
I’m hiding my surprise. ‘Anything that gives the crowd a focus is fine by me.’
Lando looks over my shoulder. ‘Seventy ice creams on a wet afternoon? He’ll likely be willing to tip for the call.’
I groan inwardly at the thought of rain. ‘Please tell me it isn’t…?’
Tia presses her nose against the glass. ‘There are a few spots.’
Lando joins in. ‘You can’t fight nature, Maevey.’
I can’t dodge this anymore, so I make my voice bright. ‘Time for the umbrella basket!’
I pass Lando in the doorway and he raises his eyebrows. I should be grateful for his foresight, but when I look again at his taut cheekbones and distant expression, all I feel is frustration and guilt that he looks more miserable than a wet weekend when it’s still only Thursday.
When I look back again and his downcast expression hasn’t changed, my anger dissipates and I swallow hard.
It’s such a change for Lando to be anything other than upbeat and teasing and easy-going and bursting with self-confidence.
When I think it’s all my fault he’s like this, my heart feels like it’s being ripped out of my chest.
Then he looks up, sees that I’m watching, and he’s back to looking at me as if he wants to annihilate me, and my mood sinks even further.
We’ve got to do this all over again on Saturday, and then hold this together for the rest of the summer, and I’ve no idea how the hell we’re going to pull it off.