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Chapter 1
Tuesday, 14th February
At Brides by the Sea: Roving reporters and the older mindset

‘In love with love,

on February 14th … ’

It’s past six as I pause on the step of Brides by the Sea. As the warm light shines out into the darkness, the Valentine’s Day motto on the glass of the door catches my eye. Well yes, I know, that’s what it’s meant to do. It’s only a few white painted letters and three heart-shaped dots, but there’s still a horrible twist in my chest as I see it.

I know it’s stupid. I’m fine with wedding shops because I come here so often. And wedding dresses still give me a thrill. It’s St blinking Valentine I hate. Every other day of the year I’ve learned to be happily single. But February 14th is so damned coupley. For people like me who once had it all and blew it, it’s hell.

What went wrong? If the wind wasn’t howling so hard I’d tell you more. As it is, a breeze off the bay like today’s can turn the silkiest hair into a haystack in two seconds flat. I didn’t put in an entire hour of straightening earlier to end up with frizz.

Usually I’d spend the day hiding out at home. But today I’ve come to – excuse the groans – a Valentine’s day wedding party. The worst of all worlds then. But before I have the chance to tell myself off for faltering so early, the shop door flies open so fast I almost topple off my new Kurt Geiger platforms.

‘Lily, perfect timing. What’s the news from Bath? How was your journey? Come on in, Poppy and I are in the White Room, everyone else has gone home to get ready …’

It’s Jess, talking at a hundred miles an hour, and scattering so many air kisses I have time to clamp my wind-blown hair back down, swoon at the snowy suede Jimmy Choo heels on the shoe display and get my inner wimp back into line. As I recover my balance, and we finally move off along the hallway, I notice she’s humming to herself.

‘What a lot of hearts,’ I say as I stretch out my hand to touch one of the strings in the window, and set them twirling. It’s an understatement. Even if they’re sending me to my secret unhappy place, I have to admit the clouds of printed paper shapes suspended in the displays are perfect against the exquisite white drifts of the lace dresses.

‘I’ll have you know those hearts are up-cycled from abandoned romance novels,’ Jess grins. ‘On trend, yet subliminally ironic.’ She fixes me with her fiercest gaze. ‘Flying the flag for all of us not in relationships.’

Meaning sad old me and her. The tragic ones. And moving on swiftly, because we’re really not that bad, now we’re safely inside I’ll bring you up to speed. Brides by the Sea is the biggest, most wonderful wedding emporium in Cornwall. Jess, the owner, built the business up using her post-divorce adrenalin burst, hence the heart-shaped irony. In ten years, the shop has grown from a one room shop where I first truly fell in love with flowers, to four storeys of bridal fabulousness, perched above St Aidan Bay. I used to work here as a florist, back when my engagement solitaire sparkled with promise, and my life stretched ahead of me with solid gold certainty. Our wedding, a move to be with Thom in Bath, two years saving up for a house, then we’d head to the country so I could grow the flowers I loved arranging. Just like I used to do with my dad as a child. Needless to say, we didn’t get far with those carefully laid plans.

As Jess waves a basket towards me, the scent of cocoa drifts up my nose. ‘Truffle?’

‘Maybe just one.’ We both know I’m joking here. The upside of Valentine’s Day at Brides by the Sea is the chocolate-fest. Ignoring my life-long diet, I close my eyes, and take a lucky dip. A second later my mouth explodes with a bitter-sweet mixture of white chocolate, coffee and alcohol. ‘Delish … is that Tia Maria?’ I do my best to keep my pleasure moans to a minimum. ‘Truly, I’ve been fantasising about Poppy’s truffles since I hit the M5.’

Drooling on the steering wheel is not a good look, but at least it stopped the lairy white-van men in their tracks. They usually have a field day passing my design-your-own Fiat 500, Gucci, which came off the production line so pink my poor boss spent the next two years apologising for it.

‘Have a Baileys one, they’ll blow your mind.’ Jess nods appreciatively as she looks me up and down. As she thrusts the basket at me, she’s humming again. ‘Fabulous suit by the way. Grey is such a versatile colour.’

Of all my friends, Jess is the only one who will know at a glance how many arms 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 Eden Centre’s where we had our first date …’ and I almost drop the chocolate basket because from those cut-glass vowels, this could be my mum’s twin. It isn’t as if this Barbara’s even getting the name of the place right. Which is another thing that ties in horribly, because Mum does that all the time.

‘Omigod, are you thinking what I am?’ My eyes lock onto Poppy and Jess’s. It suddenly occurs to me that I did once meet a David on the stairs at my mum’s house, changing a light bulb. ‘It can’t be my mother …?’ Can it?

Poppy’s face is scrunched in confusion. ‘I didn’t know your mum had a boyfriend?’

‘Me neither.’ I’m shaking my head and my stomach’s turned to stone. ‘But, shit, if she’s on Pirate Radio getting proposed to, she must have.’

Barbara – or rather my mum – sounds even more up-beat than usual.

‘I can’t possibly imagine why David’s brought me to the beautiful Mediterranean dome … on Valentine’s Day …’ Her voice is loud, yet breathy. Even on the radio, I can tell she’s ready to burst. Although you can excuse her for being excited. It’s completely obvious she knows what’s about to happen.

Poppy’s hand flies over her open mouth. ‘Oh shit, it really is her, Lily.’ As she listens her puzzled expression softens. ‘It’s like something off Married at First Sight. I can’t believe she’s about to get proposed to.’

‘Waaaaaaaaa‌aaaaaaaahhhhh.’ I jam my hands over my ears, because this is so many kinds of wrong. I don’t want to hear someone asking my mum to marry them. My mum doesn’t want to get married, she isn’t even over my dad dying yet. Somewhere along the line my thoughts start rushing out of my mouth. ‘And why the hell are they at the Eden Project? My mum’s the least green person on the planet. She hates gardening, she never recycles. As far as she’s concerned ecology’s a virus that gives you the runs. Please tell me this isn’t real …’

Poppy tugs at my sleeve. ‘It’s over now, you can unblock your ears.’

I shut my eyes tightly and tell myself to breathe. ‘How did he sound?’ My voice is a croak.

Poppy’s treading carefully here. ‘Nervous …’

I open my eyes a crack. ‘She said “yes” didn’t she?’ As if she’d have said anything else.

Poppy nods, although given the background clapping is deafening, I hardly need ask. There’s a few more whoops from the radio, then my mum’s coming through again, loud and clear.

‘A huge thank you to Pirate Radio and everyone here at Eden Valley. David and I are completely delighted, we’ll be having a summer wedding, and I promise we’ll be doing all our shopping at Brides by the Sea …’

I’m biting back my pangs at how word perfect she is.

‘A summer wedding?’ This is typical Jess, latching on to the practicalities. ‘They’ll need to get a move on to pull that one off.’

‘Unbelievable. Completely unbelievable.’ It comes out sounding a lot meaner than I intend, but if your mum springs something like this on you, it’s hard not to feel left out.

Poppy raises her eyebrows, and sighs. ‘Give yourself time, Lily, it might not seem so bad when you’re used to it.’

I know Poppy’s only being helpful. But getting used to it is something else.

‘I’m very happy for her.’ I force out the words, even though I’m not sure I am. Actually, I don’t know what to think.

Jess is tugging at her scarf. ‘This is definitely a wake-up call. We need to consider older brides. I can’t think how we’ve overlooked them before.’ Then she leaps up, grabs the prosecco bottle, fills my glass to overflowing, and hands it back to me. ‘Drink that, it’ll help with the shock. I’ll go and get the gin.’

As I inhale a huge slug of fizz, the DJ’s working the moment for all he’s worth. ‘So Barbara and David, what’s next for you?’

And my mum’s off again. Gushing doesn’t begin to cover it. ‘All the beautiful flowers in the dome here remind me that I was offered a free bouquet, but my daughter will be growing the flowers for mine, so any one else wanting lovely wedding flowers should get in touch too, she’ll have plenty for everyone …’

What? I can’t believe what I’m hearing. If she carries on like this they’ll have to fade her out. Which luckily for me, they do. I’ve never been more relieved to reach an ad break. As for which daughter is going to grow her wedding flowers, it isn’t like she’s got another. I’m her only one.

And almost as if the last three minutes never happened, we’re back with the maddeningly up-beat DJ, who obviously has no idea his bloody radio station just turned my whole world upside down.

‘And we’re moving on with T-rex and Hot Love. Because our next Pirate Radio proposal will be coming from … the fire station in St Aidan.’

‘Yay! Go Immie.’ Poppy whoops, and punches the air. But by the time she meets my eye, her worried look’s back. ‘At least Chas let us in on this. One unexpected proposal in a day is quite enough for anyone.’

She’s right about that. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to face a coconut truffle again. But what do they say about every cloud? The engagement excitement might eclipse the fact that my own life is in free fall. And after hearing my mother agree to marry a boyfriend I didn’t know existed, Sam’s Valentine’s wedding party is going to be a piece of cake.