The Little Wedding Shop by the Sea. Jane Linfoot

we round a bend, we come across a grey Land Rover Defender parked on the verge ahead. Impressed by my car knowledge? All gathered when I had to make a Land Rover fortieth cake for a 4x4 obsessive, with full detail and chocolate mud splatters. I inherited the cake baking gene from my mum, picking it up because she did so much of it when I was little. My earliest memory is standing on a chair in our cosy kitchen, licking out cake mix bowls, and drawing shapes with my finger in the dusting of icing sugar on the kitchen table. Give me a sponge and some icing and I can work wonders Whether it’s fairy castles, dumper trucks for birthdays, or the multi-tiered wedding cakes I make so many of now, they come easily. Sadly, if icing isn’t involved, I have a great talent for stuffing up.

      I’m in my own world, thinking about mum as a guy in faded jeans saunters from behind the Land Rover. Two words pop into my mind.

      Perfect ten.

      Talking about the guy here, not the car, obviously. Although that’s definitely not a compliment. More of a warning to myself to avoid at all costs. When they have it on a plate like that, they rarely learn to be nice.

      My gaze slides past a cashmere sweater, and comes to rest on what has to be one of the most cross looking mouths in the south west. This guy might be a straight ten, but he looks way too bad tempered to be working those good looks. Yes, Immie, who’s studying psychology at university, would have a lot to say about me honing in on the lips, but in this case I’m only reading the situation. I don’t need a degree to recognise obstinate when I see it.

      A sharp tug from Bolly and Brioche jolts me back to reality, knocks my phone out of my hand, and as it skids across the dirt track I see why they’re pulling.

      Somehow I’ve failed to notice the guy has a dog with him. It’s huge and black, and it’s bounding towards us now. Before I can scramble to reach for my phone, I’m in mid-air as the dogs lunge. Whereas Bolly and Brioche are careful where they put their gigantic paws in the house, when they’re in midflight they don’t give a damn.

      ‘Look out!’ I shout, but my warning comes too late. They collide with Land Rover Hunk, who staggers, waves his arms, and topples backwards onto the verge.

      Man down! Literally. There’s no time to wince at the thought of cashmere hitting mud, because the dogs bound on.

      As the dogs all come face to face, there’s a blur of dog limbs, and excited yelps. They tumble and roll, thump into me at knee height, and I slither sideways. As the barking subsides, I come to a soggy and chilling halt in the gully below the hedge.

      ‘Bolly, Brioche …’ It’s hard to sound masterful when I’m on my back, bum deep in the ditch. More icy water, this time seeping up my spine. On the plus side I’m actually pretty proud that I’m still hanging on to the leads.

      A stream of angry swear words comes from the guy as he scrambles to his feet.

      ‘No need to panic, they’re only playing.’ Mr Land Rover is hauling Black Dog out of the heap by the collar. He shoulders the dog back into the car. ‘They’re wagging their tails, see? But seriously, you need to get those dogs of yours better trained. It’s completely irresponsible to let dogs run wild in the countryside.’

      Excuse me? I’m the one who kept hold of the leads here.

      ‘At least they haven’t killed each other.’ I mutter. ‘It might have helped if yours had been on a lead.’

      He ignores that and is looming over me now, holding out his hand expectantly.

      Shit. Introductions. I remember my manners and stick out my spare hand. ‘Pleased to meet you too …’ I realise I’m mumbling as well as lying. And why the hell am I rubbing the mud off my face with my sleeve and trying for a smile?

      He lets out a low laugh. ‘It’s not an introduction, I thought I could pull you out. Unless you’d rather stay there?’

      Anywhere else I might have shrivelled at my mistake, but when you’re soaking wet in a hedge bottom there’s not much point. A moment later, he’s yanked on my arm, and I’m back on my feet by the roadside, dripping for England. I’m not sure my festival wellies would have saved me here either.

      ‘Your phone …’ He hands it to me. ‘You’re very wet …’

      This guy goes in for stating the obvious. As he passes over the phone I’m distracted by how his rugged hand doesn’t fit with his expensive jumper.

      ‘Although if you go rampaging around with two mad hounds, hurling yourself into ditches, you can hardly expect to stay dry. I’d offer you a lift, but …’ He trails off awkwardly.

      The way he’s screwing up his face, we both understand. ‘But’ is the meaningful part of that sentence. No way is he inviting me and two sopping dogs into his precious Land Rover. He needn’t worry. Even if I did accept lifts from total strangers, I’m not about to ruin his up-market seat covers with puddles and labradoodle splatters.

      ‘I’m so sorry … don’t worry … it’s completely fine … we don’t have far to go …’ I’m doing it again. Babbling. And apologising. Both things that Immie’s trying to train me not to do. Anyone else but me would have managed to laugh it off by now with a witty quip about mud wrestling.

      ‘It’s no-one’s fault.’ He shrugs as he reaches for the car door. ‘Sorry all the same. I bet you didn’t plan on mud wrestling when you set out?’

      There you go. Why couldn’t I do that?

      As he moves back to the car his expression softens. ‘I guess I’ll see you around then.’

      If he’s glad to see the back of us, the feeling’s mutual. ‘See you.’ I say this airily, safe in the knowledge that I absolutely won’t. Ever.

      I know I should be over being embarrassed about stuff like falling into a ditch. And I’m working on it, okay? As long as the clean up doesn’t delay the shopping trip, the girls will most likely wet themselves laughing about it.

      ‘C’mon dogs.’ Two furry faces instantly turn to me. Mud up to their ears, but still looking like butter wouldn’t melt. ‘Hurry up, there are dresses to try on …’ As we set off, my wet jeans are stiff, and the water in my Uggs sloshes with every step, but for some reason my mouth still curls into a broad smile.

      Land Rover Guy might have avoided me and the dogs muddying up his Landy, but from the mud slick on the back of his jeans, I’d say he’s going to leave a pretty good bum impression on the driver’s seat.

       3

      At Brides by the Sea: Dimples and Saturday girls

      Saturday is the busiest day at Brides by the Sea. As Cate and I push through the door on the dot of nine, the shop is already buzzing. We manage to pass the chaise lounge and the shoe cabinet without getting waylaid by any rampaging bridezillas. Then just as we reach the stairs Jess comes hurtling towards us, a dress in a cover in one hand, and a tiara and veil in the other.

      ‘Cate, lovely to see you.’ As Jess flies past she tosses us air kisses. ‘I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve sorted this pick-up.’

      Cate, phone in hand, looks doubtful. ‘Sorry, it’s only me at the moment, apparently Immie’s running late.’

      When she’s not studying for her psychology degree, Immie works at the local farm, running the gorgeous barn conversion holiday cottages. We know she’s delegated most of her jobs for today so she can come to the fitting so this must mean she’s tied up with her family. Immie has a shed-load of brothers who she hauls of trouble. Saturday mornings at the police station are a regular thing.

      Dodging a large display of freesias, I call over my shoulder. ‘We’ll grab a coffee upstairs while we wait for Immie.’

      Jess calls back through a cloud of tulle. ‘No worries. Come down to the Bridesmaids’ Beach