Chapter Four
I’ve only stayed at the bride-to-be’s one night, but already, the pressure’s on.
Lucy’s got heaps of work to do, her publishers are on her case for a draft of her new book, so she’s sent me out on my first maid of honour mission - table decor.
Lucy has a vision of a rustic, family-style feast at Thistlewick Manor and wants eclectic decorations to reflect that.
Unfortunately for me, she’s left sourcing these mystery pieces solely in my hands.
‘Are you sure about this?’ I question my mate as she types furiously away at her laptop, focus honed in on the shrinking digital blank page before her.
‘Yep, I trust you.’ She turns from the screen and laughs at the doubtless look of terror on my face. ‘Don’t worry, Leesh, you’ve got fab taste, I know you’ll do well. Besides, you’ve got the mood boards saved on your phone, it’ll be easy.’
‘Okay, I’ll try to do you proud.’ I stifle a gulp and head for the door. ‘See you later, Luce.’
‘Bye!’
It’s an unseasonably cool day for June, but I’m sweating like crazy at the responsibility on my shoulders.
I haven’t been to that many weddings, but I know table decor is important, it’s a reflection of the couple and the way they want their special day to be remembered.
I can’t believe Lucy trusts me enough to let me take the reins - it’s certainly flattering, but the enormity of the task is already getting to me.
My anxiety grows as I dart about the village, peering inside shop windows for inspiration.
There’s a beautiful little shop with elegant birdcages and gleaming hurricane glasses filled with diamantes on display, but something tells me this place might be out of our price range.
Lucy and Alex have spent the majority of their budget on catering, a live band, and of course, the grand country house Thistlewick Manor, which is just on the outskirts of the village.
I’ve never been before, but it’s supposed to be an absolutely stunning building with sprawling gardens filled with flowers and ornate ponds, perfect for an intimate wedding.
With a sigh, I turn away from the gorgeous decor pieces and head down the cobblestone road, fingers and toes crossed that I can find some suitable bits and bobs on a shoestring budget.
As luck would have it, I happen upon a jumble sale outside someone’s home and eagerly sift through the treasures and trinkets.
I walk away with several small glass jars that would be perfect for holding sprigs of wildflowers, a dozen rose-patterned china teacups (a couple are a little chipped, but I’m hoping that might add to the ‘rustic’ vibe Lucy wants) and several old books with gilded pages.
Books weren’t included in the inspiration mood boards, but come on, Lucy is a romance author, and what’s more romantic than a wedding?
I’m pretty pleased with my haul, and I carry on my merry way with a spring in my step, though the pride doesn’t last long.
Have I got enough pieces? Where could I find more?
Shall I take the train to Gladeswood and see what’s available in town?
I peer into the plastic bag uncertainly - I’m not sure if Lucy’s flowers will even go with this mad mash-up of colours.
Ugh, I need a drink.
Desperate to calm down, I wander around the narrow streets, searching for a glimmer of familiarity. Every time I’ve come to Lilly Vale, it’s only been for a weekend and Lucy was always at my side, so I’ve never had to retain the layout of the village in my mind.
Ah, there’s the local pub - The Pheasant’s Nest. Lucy took me here last time I visited around Christmas - it was a charming sight in the snow, but now, in the height of summer, the little building could have manifested straight from a Beatrix Potter illustration with its pale white brick and its round double doors shrouded in deep green and variegated ivy.
The interior is just as inviting, it’s not very big inside, but it’s homey, complete with a snooker table and an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner.
The landlord Barry knows me by name from all the times I’ve visited Lucy, and he’s a right old laugh.
A large, imposing bloke of sixty-odd with a shiny bald head and a gut that suggests he’s been sampling too many of the beers on offer, he looked sort of scary at first, but beneath the tough exterior, it turned out he was a real sweetie.
Last time I was here, I had a few too many vodka lemonades and ended up singing karaoke with him - our warbled version of Sweet Child o’ Mine was legendary!
I peep in through the window, as expected, it’s totally empty - I guess no one fancies a pint at eleven in the morning. With the bravado of six-cosmos-deep Alicia, I march through the doors, singing at the top of my lungs.
‘Whoa, oh-oh, sweet Baz o’ mine!’
‘Er, excuse me?’
I stop dead in my tracks, a frigid mixture of panic and humiliation coursing through my veins in an instant. I stare at the guy behind the bar - a tall, golden-eyed man with dark complexion and a soft smile - well, this certainly isn’t the Barry I remember.
‘Oh God, sorry, I thought -’ Voice all tight and squeaky, I sidle up to the bar, tucking a dark lock of hair behind my ear. ‘I thought Barry would be in.’
‘Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just me.’ The stranger’s smile widens. ‘What can I get for you?’ he asks in a voice smooth as velvet.
Trying to push the mortification beneath my feet, I purse my lips, wondering if my usual tipple of a margarita with extra salt is an option here.
This doesn’t seem the kind of place where one might order girly cocktails, judging by the wide array of beers and ales on tap.
I don’t know the first thing about alcohol - apart from the fact that three glasses of wine is enough to get me blotto - so I ask the man for his recommendation.
‘Our Meadow Gold is good stuff, if I do say so myself,’ he says, grabbing a pint glass. ‘We brew it in-house.’
I haven’t tried a beer since I was about twenty-one, and that was at a house party.
It was warm and peaty and made me throw up - thankfully, in the host’s toilet, unlike some unfortunate party goers that didn’t quite make it and had streaked the landing carpet with vomit.
I vowed after that night it was just mixers and cocktails for me from then on, but I’m too embarrassed to back out now.
‘Let’s go for that, then.’
In a swift, fluid motion, he flips the glass around beneath the tap and pulls a pint of golden liquid, filling it almost to the brim, then passes it to me. Sucking in a short breath, I take a small, tentative sip, praying I don’t humiliate myself further by spitting it out.
As the drink spreads across my tongue, I’m pleasantly surprised. It’s not as bitter as I’d imagined, but it does have a distinctly earthy taste that I’m not used to. Still, I quite like it.
‘Mmm, it’s good!’ I exclaim, licking the excess foam from my lips.
The man raises an eyebrow. ‘You sound surprised.’
‘No, no, I’m not - well, I am, sort of,’ I scramble to respond. ‘You see, I don’t really like beer normally.’
His amusement grows. ‘Well, why did you order one, then?’
‘Because - because I felt awkward ordering a cocktail,’ I splutter, all flustered. ‘I - I wasn’t sure I was allowed.’
‘Allowed?’
‘Well, you know, I didn’t know if village pubs like this even did cocktails.’
Shaking his head at the bar, he laughs. ‘We do, for the record. I’ve got all the makings for the popular ones - Tequila Sunrise, Cosmopolitan, Espresso Martini - whatever you like, I’ll whip it up for you.’
Red-faced, I clear my throat. ‘I’ll - I’ll bear that in mind.’ Hoping to drown my shame, I take another sip of my beer. ‘But this is decent, just so you know.’
‘I’m glad you like, it took me a while to get the flavours balanced just so.’ He rests a hand on the bar, leaning forward slightly. ‘So, I’m going to take a wild guess that you’re not from around here?’
Snorting in the glass, I roll my eyes. ‘What gave me away?’
‘Oh, just a hunch,’ he smirks and holds out his hand. ‘I’m Finn Morton.’
‘Alicia Spencer.’
‘Are you visiting, or?’
‘Just visiting, for an extended period. My friend Lucy is getting married and I’m the maid of honour, so I’m down here until the big day.’
‘Lucy Middleton?’
‘Yeah, you know her?’
‘A little, I know her fiancé better, though. Alex has done loads of odd jobs for us around here, there’s always something that needs fixing. The joys of owning an old pub, I guess.’
‘I thought Barry owned the pub?’
‘He does, I kind of just meant our family in general. I’m his nephew.’
‘Ah, right.’ I shuffle on the bar stool, causing the assortment of decor pieces to clink together with a sickening clatter. ‘Oh, no!’
I hastily examine the damage, but luckily, nothing is harmed. The kind lady at the jumble sale did a decent job of parcelling everything up in bubble wrap, so the only chips in the china are the ones that were already there.
‘Do you often carry around bags of crockery?’ Finn asks, bemused.
My usual wit (although let’s be honest, I didn’t have much to begin with) escapes me and I stagger through my reply.
‘Er … well, not always,’ I giggle weakly, once again fiddling with my hair. ‘I just picked up lots of bits that might work for table decor, you know, for the wedding.’
Leaning over the bar, he peers into the bag. ‘Cups, saucers and tatty old books are what pass for table decor these days?’
‘Oh God, you’re right,’ I wring my hands despairingly, panicking all over again. ‘Lucy’s going to hate all this.’
‘No, sorry, I’m just joking,’ Finn speaks softly, clearly in damage control mode. ‘I think it’s cool. Sort of … rustic?’
‘Yes, rustic , that’s exactly what I was going for.’ Nibbling at my lip, I push myself off the bar stool, plastic bag carefully clutched to my chest. ‘Well, I’d better get going and see what she makes of my offerings. Maybe see you around?’
With a jaunty tilt of his head, Finn grins. ‘I’m always here.’
*
When I get back to Appleseed Cottage, Alex’s van is parked in the driveway, and the smell and sounds from the kitchen suggest he’s in the middle of cooking dinner.
Mm, Shepard’s Pie, my favourite!
I follow the gentle tap-tap-tapping and find Lucy hunched over her laptop on the couch in the living room, seemingly in the same position I left her.
‘You know, they say you shouldn’t work where you relax, throws off your work-life balance or something,’ I comment as I sit down next to her, placing the bag at my feet. ‘Didn’t you have that small room kitted out to be your office?’
‘I did, but somehow, I still end up sitting on the sofa to work, and Alex spent ages doing it up, bless him.’ With a satisfying click, she closes her laptop and turns to me. ‘So, did you find anything good?’
My mouth twists from side to side as I pick up the bag and hand it over. ‘Well, I’ll let you be the judge of that.’
‘Oh, this is all lovely!’ Lucy gasps as she pulls out the random assortment of knick-knacks. ‘We can really work with this.’
My chest heaves as I exhale in relief. ‘You think so?’
‘Definitely, I’ll take the bits to Sarah and she can have a play with flowers and figure out what looks best.’ She throws her arms around me and gives me a cuddle. ‘Thanks for taking the load off me today, Leesh. I know it was a lot to ask.’
‘Not at all, I’m happy to help. Besides, what are maid of honours for, right?’
‘Well, you’re doing a great job so far,’ she beams. ‘Come on, I think dinner is almost ready.’
The three of us crowd around the tiny kitchen table and tuck into the delicious fare, only interrupting our munching for little comments here and there.
‘Babe, you should see the pieces Alicia sourced for our table centrepieces, they are perfect,’ Lucy says as she passes the bowl of peas to Alex. ‘They are really going to give off that whimsical, wonderland vibe we wanted.’
‘Nice.’ Alex brings his smile to me. ‘Looks like you’re really earning your keep already, Leesh.’
With a shrug, I smile back. ‘Well, I’m trying!’
Discussions about the wedding continue until the last morsel of pie is gone, and it’s great fun to brainstorm together.
Still, as I’m lending a hand to clear the plates, I can’t help but feel there’s something left unspoken, a brittle silence in the air that we’re all secretly aware of.
I steal a glance at Lucy - she’s laughing as she blows soap bubbles into Alex’s hair from the sink, but I know she feels it too.
Maybe they’ll get around to the house conversation when I’m tucked away in the spare room, after all, it is none of my business. But something tells me they won’t, and if they won’t, well, what’s going to happen after the wedding?
My heart pangs as I watch them caper about with the tea towel, the perfect picture of love and commitment. I just want my best friend to get her happily ever after, but is it out of reach when she and the love of her life are avoiding the glaring issue they need to face?