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Chapter 2
Tuesday, 14th February
The Goose and Duck: Pond life and matching cushions

‘I can’t believe the party’s going so fast, it’s eleven already,’ I say, as Jess, Poppy and I grab an empty table, and put down our tray of colourful drinks. ‘What’s more, apart from my killing feet, I’m having a fab time.’ Given my heels are at least four inches too ambitious, it’s bliss to sink into a chair and kick off my shoes.

Poppy laughs. ‘Hey Lily, you match the cushions.’

I glance down at the checked upholstery. ‘If I’d remembered the Goose and Duck’s wall-to-wall taupe make-over, I might have worn something else.’ Although, unlike my mum, who revels in day-glow chrysanthemum prints, I’m happiest blending into the background.

Jess is slurping her electric blue drink with gusto. ‘It’s been non-stop fun. Supper, speeches, cake cutting, first dance. And now romantic drinks. You have to love a cocktail called Scarlett O’Hara.’ Although she’s possibly losing track. She’s rattling through the drinks list so fast she’s currently throwing down Sex on the Driveway.

Behind us the room is buzzing, full of Sam and Sam’s friends and family, who we mostly know because they’re from the village.

‘Look at that.’ Jess nods indulgently through a gap in the crowd towards the snug, where Immie is being twirled around on her high heeled Doc Martens by new fiancé, Chas, watched proudly by Immie’s son, Morgan. ‘They’re doing so well not to upstage the bride and groom.’ She’s right. Immie’s I’m going to marry a fireman T-shirt is perfect. Understated, yet says it all. If Chas is choosing engagement gifts like that, she’s found herself a gem there. Although we probably knew that already.

Poppy twirls the umbrella from her drink. ‘And the engagement ring is a great touch. Very Immie.’

Chunky purple plastic. For now. For a down-to-earth girl. That’s Chas playing safe this time around. According to village legend, his ex-fiancée, who dumped him just before their wedding was so super-fussy she swapped the ring he bought her four times.

‘It’s a shame their proposal was mostly beeped out,’ I say. Apparently when Chas dropped down the fireman’s pole, ring box in hand, Immie was so stunned, all she came out with was a stream of expletives. ‘I wasn’t taking much in after the shock of my mum, but I’d still have liked to hear it.’

‘Have you spoken to your mum yet, Lily?’ Five cocktails in, yet Jess is straight on my case.

I search for my happy voice, but don’t find it. ‘Only for a few seconds. They were out celebrating at The Harbourside Hotel.’

Jess is straight back at me. ‘Gooseberry time. You’d better stay at mine tonight.’

It’s an order not an invitation, although knowing how Jess likes to party, it’ll most likely be morning by the time we get in.

‘When I finish this Kiss On The Lips, I’d better go and talk to Rafe.’ Poppy raises her fruit filled glass, and sends him a wave as she catches his eye. He’s the tallest guy in the group of hunky farmers chatting together at the bar, and he rocks the ‘drop-dead gorgeous’ cliché with every inch. Although it’s Poppy who made him that way. Before he met her, he was grumpy and plain. Which just goes to show what love can do to you.

‘These Chocolate Cherry Cha Chas are giving me a warm fuzzy feeling.’ I say, as I sink my teeth into my umpteenth wedding cupcake of the night. Poppy’s finest, with swirls of pink buttercream, and a smattering of sugar hearts. I’m trying not to think of my mum as I take out the decorative ‘I do’ cards on sticks. It’s not as if it even matters if I grow out of my suit trousers, given I won’t actually have a job for much longer.

I sigh as I brush the cake crumbs off my boob shelf, then remember to smile. ‘It’s a change to come to a wedding party in a pub, rather than somewhere bigger.’ The Sams just bought their first house, so she made her own dress, the ceremony was just for the family, and the evening guest list was for meaningful friends only. But given Brides by the Sea couldn’t work without her, Jess has pulled in favours from all sides too.

Poppy’s eyes widen in alarm at what I meant to be a throwaway comment. ‘Don’t say simple weddings are a new trend. Expanding the business at Daisy Hill Farm is literally scaring the G-string off me.’

Ooops. Talk about sticking my foot in it. Last summer the weddings at Daisy Hill Farm were mostly in marquees and tipis in the fields, but Rafe and Poppy are busy upgrading the buildings, so they can have weddings there all year round.

Jess jumps straight in to smooth things over. ‘Don’t worry, everyone loves a country wedding.’

I nod at Poppy. ‘Most couples want a big day to remember.’ Although what I remember about Thom and me getting married is mainly the arguing.

Poppy gives a shudder. ‘I just hope we can pull in enough bookings to make it pay.’

It’s obvious the next bit’s going to be weighty, because Jess puts down her drink. ‘You have to be brave to move forward, Poppy.’ Her voice is grave as she sits back in her seat, and rests her hands on the carved oak arms. ‘Courage is being scared to death, and saddling up anyway.’

‘Sorry?’ That’s a bit profound for this time of night. Poppy and I squint at each other. We might live in the country, but neither of us rides.

A low voice comes from behind me. ‘John Wayne said it. He was talking about metaphorical horses.’ It’s Rafe.

Poppy and I nod furiously. ‘We got the pony part.’ I can sense the teasing in Rafe’s eyes without even looking over my shoulder. Not that I’m comparing, but Thom never twinkled like that.

Rafe carries on. ‘Being scared is okay, especially if it means you’re pushing yourself. Wouldn’t you say, Poppy?’

Poppy’s face crumples as she deliberates.

‘My point exactly.’ Jess nods.

‘And we’ll all be here to help you make the business a success.’ I rush in, remembering too late that I actually won’t be.

Poppy’s grin is sheepish. ‘Okay, my wobble’s over. I’ll man up.’

‘Good to hear.’ Rafe reaches across to give her a fake punch on the arm. ‘And by the way Lily, Fred by the bar says “Hi”. He’s the Ryan Gosling look-alikey, waving like his arm’s about to drop off. And he thinks it might be love at first sight.’

As we all screw our heads around, we take in a guy with broad shoulders and a beam the width of St Aidan Bay, doing the kind of wave he’d do if he’d been shipwrecked without a distress flare.

‘Cool.’ Poppy sounds delighted. ‘Fred’s lovely, he’s helping with Rafe’s barn conversion. He split up with his long-term girlfriend last year, so I’d say he’s over the heartbreak, and ready to go. Funny, kind, exceptionally solvent, likes country pursuits and nice restaurants.’ She sends me a playful wink. ‘For anyone interested, that is. Not necessarily meaning you, Lily.’

I’m gawping at how much background detail she’s crammed in there. ‘Thanks, but I’m all good here, Poppy.’ I grin vaguely in the direction of the bar without actually making eye contact. ‘But please say “Hi” back.’

‘Will do,’ Rafe nods at me. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt, but Poppy did promise to teach me to dance tonight.’ He holds out a hand to her.

Poppy sighs, then begins to wiggle out from behind the table. ‘Rafe dancing? Now that is a scary thought.’ A second later his arm slides around her waist.

They’re about to wander off when the best man jumps up on a chair, rattling a spoon against a pint glass. As Poppy and Rafe stop, Jess and I sit up expectantly, to listen.

‘Okay, ladies. It’s bouquet throwing time.’

Jess and I slump back again, and she points at my glass. ‘That’s us off the hook. Time for another cocktail?’

The best man goes on. ‘Sam wants every lady out in the garden, regardless of status. Single, married, divorced, you’ve all got to come.’ There’s an undertow of surprised mumbling as the women head for the door.

‘That’s a new one on me.’ I tug on my jacket, and wince as I stuff my appalled toes back into my shoes. ‘Looking at all the stilettos, it’s probably just the landlord trying a fast fix to get his grass aerated.’

Jess looks at me as she slips on her coat. ‘Remember the first ever bridesmaid’s bouquet you made for me at the shop?’ Jess isn’t big on nostalgia, but she often goes back to this one.

As if I could forget. I was so nervous, I was shaking too hard to cut the stems. And I wanted it to be perfect. I grin at her, the same way I do every time she hauls out this story. ‘A white and yellow posy. With freesias and daisies, and trailing ribbons. Took me four hours to make.’ I was bursting with excitement when I finished it.

She’s shaking her head, laughing. ‘The look on your face, when I told you we needed five more the same.’

I pull a face. ‘Rookie mistake. Lucky for me you went easy on beginners.’

Her smile is indulgent. ‘Not at all, I could see your potential, even that first day.’ Which is nice of her to say, and reminds me what an appreciative boss she was. As she helps Sam’s Granny Kernighan towards the garden, she strikes up a loud running commentary. ‘Whoever catches this bouquet is supposed to have romantic good fortune very soon. It goes back to the days when touching a bride brought good luck, and fragments of wedding dress fabric were like charms. Throwing the bouquet was a way of stopping the crowd tearing the bride’s dress off as she left.’

I shiver as the wind rushes in from outside. ‘That’s barbaric. I’m not sure I’m happy with the voyeurs either.’ I can’t help noticing a lot of the guys are coming out to watch. If they’re hoping for a girl fight, there are two here who won’t be joining in.

As I hold the door open, I catch Mrs K’s eye. ‘What are you going to do with Mr Kernighan if you catch the bouquet and find another man?’

‘I’ll think of something,’ she laughs back, pulling her collar up against the cold. ‘There are lovely white roses and blue anemones in that bunch, so I won’t mind if I do catch it.’ She gives my arm a prod. ‘From the smile that handsome young chap by the bar gave you as we passed, I’d say you’re in there, even without the flowers.’

As we move out across the floodlit herringbone brick paving, I send Jess an eye roll over the top of Mrs K’s head, but she’s too busy agreeing with Mrs K to notice. Eye rolls to that too.

Now we’re outside, I can see there’s been a makeover here too. We used to hang out here as teenagers on summer evenings, with our lemonade shandies and cream sodas, but the rough ground has given way to a neat lawn and timber edged borders.

I’m not wasting any time. ‘Okay, let’s talk avoidance tactics. How about we head for the trees?’ Newly planted, in the shadows at the far end.

‘Good thinking.’ Jess gently passes Mrs K onto one of the women already bouncing on the front line. Talk about pushy. Some of them have even tossed aside their heels. Whatever happened to spiking the grass?

I shudder as I see their toes gripping the mud. ‘What a nightmare. It’s like school PE class all over again.’ My least favourite lesson. Along with maths. And science. As for competitions, I’m the world’s most disinterested competitor. Although if there was a competition for that, obviously, I’d be completely true to myself, and wouldn’t bother to enter.

‘Jules, it’s great to see you, and just in time for the scrum.’ It’s Jess, greeting her tamest, most blue eyed, floppy haired photographer. It might be my imagination, but his trademark pricey aftershave cloud seems even stronger in the dark. Jess narrowly misses getting swiped round the face as he flicks back his multi-coloured scarf. Even though she must have seen him already today, she stretches up to give him a peck. This isn’t just an air kiss either, it’s a maximum effort, lips-to-cheek job. Given how hard she’ll have leaned on him to come up with a best moments wedding album for a tiny fee for the Sams, it’s the least she can do.

‘Happy catching. Watch out for the water.’ Jules gives me my own wave, and bounds off to where Sam is positioning herself, flowers in hand, back towards us, by the pub doorway.

‘Water?’ Jess laughs, and does a funny little purr. ‘That boy is such a tease.’

I’m rubbing my arms because they’re freezing. I mean whose idea was it to come out here in February, when we could easily have gone through the whole charade on the dance floor?

‘Okay, here we go. It’s happening.’ At last. Given we’re well to the right, and so far away we’re almost in the darkness, I reckon we’re entirely out of range. From what I remember from netball at school, Sam’s even weedier than me when it comes to throwing.

‘One two three … THROW!’ That’s Jules. Whatever the wedding situation, he can’t resist taking charge.

Sam swings her arms and there’s a grunt as she lets go of the flowers. Then the bouquet flies upwards towards the starry sky. In a split second it’s already soared way over Mrs K’s head. It’s a strange spectacle when you’re completely detached and disinterested. There’s a flurry of disappointed moans as out-stretched arms drop, and heads along the entire front row turn to watch. The bouquet rises, tracing an extraordinary arc through the air. If Sam had been a champion hammer thrower, it couldn’t be travelling any faster. It’s hurtling safely to our left, then at the last moment it veers off like some kind of guided missile. The next thing I know, there’s a thump in my solar plexus, and I’m looking down at a bloody bouquet in my stomach.

‘Waaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.’ Horrified doesn’t begin to cover it. I fend off the flowers, flapping my hands, as if I’m shooing away a dog. Bouncing them as if I’m playing beach volleyball. There’s the feeling that if I don’t actually grasp the bouquet, it doesn’t count. I stagger backwards, make a feeble two handed re-launch, and spin it to land on Jess’s chest.

‘For chrissakes, Lily …’ Jess snaps.

But it’s too late. She’s put two hands on it. So now it’s nothing to do with me – it’s hers.

Phew. For a moment, there I thought I might have to go through the whole damned wedding hell again. Talk about near misses.

‘There’s no denying, you did catch it.’ Jess is talking at me through gritted teeth. ‘Or more importantly, it chose you. It was really quite extraordinary the way it did that.’

‘Yeah right.’ I don’t give a damn, because she’s the one holding it now.

Her nostrils flare. ‘It’s only a bit of fun, Lily. It’s not real, you do know that?’ She runs a critical finger over the edge of a rose petal, reminding me she was the one who put it together this morning, although frankly it’s too dim to see much at all. ‘I’ll give it to Mrs K, she’ll be delighted with it.’

‘Great, good idea, whatever …’ My one step backwards, into the shadows, is meant to distance me. Metaphorically rather than physically. Like stepping over a line in the sand. Especially as the crowd is moving towards us en masse, all clamouring to see who got the bouquet.

One step, but it feels like I’ve stepped off the edge of the world. The grass isn’t there, and my foot plunges over one of those dratted pieces of timber edging. Platform heels are nothing like as stable as the name makes them sound. When I topple, it’s backwards, in a series of staggers. I’m preparing myself to end up flat on my back in a border, with everyone gawping at me. Bad enough, but I’ll have to handle it. Then something whacks me on the back of the calves, and tips me over. The toppling I was doing before is nothing compared to this. As I plummet into oblivion, instead of the thumping impact of my backbone on soil, there’s a huge splash.

‘Waaaaaaaaa‌aaaaaaaaaaaahhh …’ Every bit of air leaves my lungs as I plunge into freezing liquid. Even my shriek dwindles to nothing. I’m not sure if my skin is burning hot or ice cold. What I am is wedged. Totally stuck. With my bum, head and body in sub-zero water and my knees hooked over some kind of wall.

Jess’s voice is a squawk. ‘Good heavens, Lily, Jules did mean real water. How could we miss an above-ground pond?’

‘Did someone call me?’ A second later, Jules’ telephoto lens is pointing down at me.

Spluttering through clenched teeth, I point at his camera. ‘Don’t you dare!’ Seeing a couple of open mouthed faces appearing, I let out a wail. ‘Don’t just stand there, get me out …’

Out of nowhere some broad shoulders are blocking the sky, and strong fingers close around my wrist. ‘Great attention-grabbing stunt you pulled there. But we’d better get you back on dry land.’

Just my luck to get an ironic one. Where was lovely Chas the fireman when I needed him? Although on second thoughts, as Immie’s spectacularly absent too, don’t answer that. There’s a sudden panic I’ll be too heavy for this guy to lift dry, let alone wet. But I needn’t have worried. One easy yank later, I’m upright, water sluicing down onto my shoes. Even if I’m giving mental groans at how an LK Bennett dry-clean-only suit will stand up to a soaking, the good news is that somehow my Kurt Geigers stayed out of the water.

Despite my convulsive gasps, and the dimness of the garden up-lighters, when I look up the eyes I meet are smoky grey. They’re also disarmingly familiar considering they belong to a stranger. From the way his lips are twitching there’s a laugh bursting to get out. And he’s right about the audience. Beyond the straggling curtain of my hair, I make out a circle of wedding guests, clapping.

As I scrape the pond weed out of my eyes, my other hand is still clasped in his.

‘We might as well get the introductions out of the way.’ He gives another tug on my hand, and lets his smile go. ‘I’m Kip Penryn. Happy to drag you out of the carp pond.’

Penryn. I’m half way to being dazzled by the charm of it all, when the filing system in my brain catches up, and my stomach sags. Then shrivels. Back in the day Penryn meant rough denim, hot skin, and more brothers you could comfortably count on one hand. A motherless hoard, who descended on their uncle’s second – or third – home every summer. They’d roar in to the big house, and disappear just as fast. Wildly unreliable, and between them they covered every kind of bad. Filed under ‘B’ for ‘best forgotten’. At least that explains my racing heartbeat. Sending female pulses soaring off the scale is programmed into the Penryn DNA.

I drag myself back to reality. ‘A carp pond? At the Goose and Duck? Aren’t carp huge? I could have been eaten.’ Bloody Alan Titchmarsh has a lot to answer for.

‘Probably only goldfish in there.’ He leans closer, examining the leaf he drags out of my hair. ‘And water lilies, by the looks of this.’ Now that super-smile of his has gone, he’s back to the kind of hollow cheeked chic we all know is best avoided.

‘So what are you doing here … Kip, is it?’ I’m ransacking my brain, trying to remember all the names. And work out if we’ve met before. That’s the other thing with Penryns. There’s no point backing off, you have to face them out.

‘Apart from rescuing drowning damsels?’ He gives another sardonic laugh. ‘I’m from the exclusive local wedding venue, Rose Hill Manor.’ Many more laughs like that could get annoying.

‘Right.’ Two out of ten for an answer that explains zilch. But the Manor’s where Sera-the-dress-designer’s sister got married at Christmas. They only have about two friends-and-family weddings a year there. Which is a bit of a strange thing to refer to, but whatever. There’s something about him that makes me push. ‘So how come you know Sam, whose wedding we’re at now?’

‘I don’t.’ His shrug is unrepentant. ‘I dropped in for supper at the pub, and had to settle for left over hog roast. That’s why it’s worth paying for an “exclusive use” wedding venue every time.’ He actually does the finger wiggle speech marks. And there’s that damned laugh again. ‘Exclusive use means you avoid random strangers like me looking for pasties and crashing your wedding party. As you’ve found out, it’s well worth paying for.’

What a disgusting attitude. As for him scoffing the hog roast, I’m so angry I’ve practically got steam coming out of my suit pockets. I’m opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish – or maybe a carp – because I’m in so much of a rage the words won’t come out. But then a knight in shining armour walks in to fill the gap with his smile.

I’m joking here, obviously. It’s Rafe’s friend who was waving at me earlier. Wearing a three-piece tweed and brogues, not chain mail. As he shoulders Kip out of the way, he’s whipped off his jacket. And he’s holding it out to me.

‘You’re shivering. Here, take this.’ His Cornish burr is soft after Kip’s clipped moneyed vowels. ‘We’d better get you inside.’

The jacket’s heavy as it wraps around me, but it immediately stops the wind. As for my knight, he’s all boy-next-door, and close up his smile is even easier than it was from across the room. Which is way less disconcerting than the Penryn high-wattage version.

‘Here, take these …’

If I’d actually got around to shutting my mouth, I needn’t have bothered. The next moment, he’s handing me his waistcoat, and what the hell …? He’s pulled his shirt off over his head, and he’s handing me that too. I try to make my eyes less wide. Close them even. Not that I’m an expert, but as torsos go, this one’s ripped.

‘If you wanted a stripper, you only had to say …’ It’s Kip, laughing in my ear, before backing off across the grass. ‘Catch you later, Water Lily.’

What? I stamp on the shiver that rattles through me. The name thing has to be a coincidence. He can’t know me.

‘He’s right, we should go inside.’ It’s Jess, her hand on my arm. ‘Fabulous apps though.’ She’s not wrong. Apart from the obvious.

‘Abs, not apps.’ However many times I say it, it doesn’t go in. ‘Apps are on your phone, Jess, abs are …’ I stop short of drawing any more attention to what’s right in front of our noses. Despite the over-powering smell of wet pond, the scent coming up from the jacket wrapped around me is a lot like Jules. Only considerably more subtle.

Jess is steering me back towards the pub. ‘We’ll dry you off, and get a taxi back to town.’

But Rafe’s bare chested friend is on our heels, protesting. ‘You can’t leave now. There’s clearly enough clothes here for both of us.’

When I run my fingers through my sopping hair, it’s a mass of straggly curls. Worst case scenario. ‘I don’t know.’ What’s more, as we come back into the brightness of the pub, the only visible patch of my silk top is completely transparent.

There’s another waft of Jules’ scent, as Rafe’s bare-chested friend leans in close enough to nudge my elbow. ‘We all saw you looking gorgeous before. That’s what I’ll remember when I see the damp version.’

Excuse me while I faint. I can’t remember when anyone last paid me this kind of compliment. Although to be honest, I usually manage to fight off attention before it gets to the point of people saying nice stuff to me. Even Jules knows to keep his distance – or else – and he’s very huggy. Has someone sprinkled fairy dust on me? Is this the bouquet effect? Should I be shouting jeez, I’m not marrying anyone? And then it dawns on me. All that’s happened is I let my guard down. Who wouldn’t when they were dripping wet and had just been hauled out of a garden pond? So there’s no need to panic here. I mean, I really wasn’t the one who caught the bouquet anyway. If anyone needs to watch out here it’s Jess.

‘So what do you think? Stay and party or back to town for cocoa and an early night?’ Jess’s eyebrows are raised expectantly.

We both know she’s bluffing about going to bed. It would be a quick shower for me, then Jaggers until dawn. Jaggers, for those who aren’t local, is a cocktail bar in St Aidan, with red perspex tables, a teenage clientele, and a penchant for Sex on the Beach happy hours. And if it’s a choice between that or this, even if it means letting my wavy hair out in public, there’s only one way to go.

Which is how I come to spend the rest of the Sams’ wedding in the landlady’s Pilates leggings. Wearing an oversized white shirt that smells of algae and photographer, with a tie for a belt. Talking to a farmer wearing only a waistcoat over a bare chest. Who reminds me his name is Fred.