and legs my short jacket and tailored pants cost me. They’re my first ever dry-clean only items, bought as a present to myself, to celebrate a pay rise a few months back. Given I’m hopeless with clothes, but still trying to work my massive splurge to the max, I’ve added a silk shirt and some scarily high heels to party it up for tonight.
‘Work still okay?’ Jess’s question comes with an extra searching stare.
‘Brilliant.’ I say. Possibly too quickly. My breaking news is that the hotel chain where I was in charge of flowers has been taken over, and my job has dematerialised. But I’ve promised myself I’ll get to grips with that horror once I go back to Bath. Luckily as Jess and I move on through to the White Room the quiet perfection of the white painted floorboards and grey striped chaise longue whisk me straight back to my happy place. My fingers hover over the rail of hanging dresses as I pass, lingering over the most delicate diamanté detail on a lace bodice. It’s like a ritual. Every time I come back here I have to go round soaking up all the prettiness, almost touching, and checking out what’s come in since my last visit.
‘Ready for a pick you up?’ Jess grins.
Her familiar war cry goes back to the time when my dad died, and I used to call in here Friday evenings on my way to see my mum in Rose Hill village a few miles away. For months, it was only Jess’s straight talking and chocolate that got me through those awful weekends. Although I must admit this is the first time I’ve heard the not-so-dulcet tones of local radio on in the background in the White Room.
‘Lily, you’re just in time for the pre-wedding party drinks. Fancy some prosecco?’ Poppy, the shop cake maker, smiles as she emerges from the kitchen and drops a glass into my hand and a kiss on my cheek. ‘Don’t worry about driving, it’s taxis all the way from here.’ She’s the one who made the delectable truffles. Talking of which, I snaffle my next one as Jess comes past me.
‘Thanks Poppy,’ I laugh, ‘I half expected that to be a cupcake, not fizz.’ Poppy has a tiny kitchen on the top floor here, and she rushes around the shop with plates of goodies, looking for volunteers to sample her baking. Although she’s spent a lot more time this last year working at the local wedding venue at Daisy Hill Farm in Rose Hill, especially since she’s been going out with the boss there.
‘How’s Rafe?’ I ask. He’s the farmer in question, and every bit as lovely as Poppy deserves.
She grins. ‘Hungry as ever, and very busy.’
Given the flurry of romances at Brides by the Sea lately, you’d think someone had been scattering the cupid dust around. First there was Sam who does the dress fittings and alterations, whose wedding party we’re heading for this evening. The guy she’s marrying is called Sam too, so they’re known as Sam squared. Then Poppy and Rafe finally got together just before Christmas. And Sera, the dress designer, who has her studio above the shop, and a room dedicated to her creations, bumped into the love of her life at her sister’s Christmas wedding, and got her happy ever after moment too.
As I sink onto my favourite Mother of the Bride Louis Quatorze arm chair, Jess drops the chocolate basket on my knee. Which might be something she regrets later when I’ve eaten them all. Then, as she bends down to fiddle with the radio, I suddenly get it.
‘Brides by the Sea … You’re singing along to your very own jingle Jess!’ How could I have forgotten? ‘It’s the Pirate Radio Valentine’s promotion!’
Reading between the lines, Jess was sweet-talked by a cocoa-voiced guy in ad sales. She may have gone all ironic with her shop displays, but when it comes to business opportunities and husky voices she’s right on the ball. When the ad sales guy pointed out that every Valentine’s romance in Cornwall could end with a bride shopping at Brides by the Sea, Jess agreed to run ads all week. She also had the inspired idea of giving away wedding bouquets and a money-off-the-dress voucher for every bride who is proposed to live on Pirate Radio today.
‘We’re waiting for a little surprise before we head off to the party.’ Jess wiggles her eyebrows at Poppy and me as she turns up the volume on the radio.
‘So have there been many on-air proposals yet?’ I ask. Personally, I can’t think of anything worse. When Thom went down on one knee we were on the empty beach in St Aidan in winter. A rogue wave crashed onto him, and he almost dropped the ring. We both laughed a lot at the time, but looking back that cold water soaking was pretty much a metaphor for where we were heading.
‘We’ve had live proposals from all across the county. They’ve got roving reporters, and we’re trending on Twitter.’ Jess’s smile is close to ecstatic. ‘Someone popped the question on a yacht in Falmouth, the next was on a tandem on the Camel Trail, and someone else took the plunge in a fishing boat off Land’s End.’ No wonder she’s sounding happy, with so many potential wedding dress sales here. ‘And I’m pretty sure the next place the Pirate Radio reporters will be going is the fire station …’ Jess reins in her smile, and gives me one of her significant nods.
‘Really?’ Another friend of ours from Rose Hill is going out with a fireman. ‘Is it Immie?’ If I’m sounding surprised, it’s only because until last summer you’d have said gruff, straight-talking Immie was the last person who’d ever get married.
Poppy’s voice is a squeak as she nods. ‘It’s top secret, but Chas is proposing. Immie’s going to pick him up for Sam’s wedding party, but he’s waiting with his ring. It should be any minute now.’
What was I saying about cupid dust? Immie works with Poppy, and looks after the holiday cottages at Daisy Hill Farm. I’ve known them forever because we all grew up in Rose Hill village. And Chas is Immie’s friendly fireman, who she got to know when his Daisy Hill Farm wedding went all kinds of wrong last summer. Except now things have worked out fine, because he’s about to try again. With Immie this time.
‘Okay, so are we ready for our next Pirate Radio Valentine’s proposal?’ As the DJ’s voice cuts in, we all lean towards the radio. ‘And we’re going across to Barbara and David in the biome at the Eden Project …’
Poppy lets out a wail. ‘What happened to Chas and Immie?’
Jess shushes her. ‘Don’t worry, they must be on next.’
‘Barbara and David are our super sixties, a couple of silver surfers who met on-line …’ The DJ sounds like he’s loving the novelty. ‘Hello Barbara …’
As Jess’s frown spreads across her forehead, she drops onto the edge of the chaise longue. ‘Not being ageist, but I’m not sure we’ll pick up a dress order from this one.’
Of all of us, Jess should be most in tune with the older mindset, given she’s closer to fifty than twenty. As for me, I’m sizing up the truffles on my knee, deciding which one to go for next. In the end, I go for one that’s been rolled in desiccated coconut. It’s half way into my mouth, when a peel of laughter comes out of the radio, and stops me dead.
First I go icy cold, then a split second later I break out in a sweat.
The only Barbara I ever met with a laugh like that is my mum. Although obviously it can’t be her, because my mum definitely doesn’t date. Talking of my mum, growing up, the only thing that saved me was my sensible, down to earth dad. And I miss him like mad. Although from her side it’s not all roses either. I was apparently ‘this’ close to becoming the ‘yummy mummy’ she wanted me to be when I married Thom. Me messing up on that one was a sackable offence.
Then Barbara chimes in on the radio. ‘The
