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‘Is Earl Grey okay?’ asked Sophie.
‘Perfect.’
‘Great, grab a seat.’
Sophie’s heart gave a nip of sadness when she saw Nessa slump down at the scrubbed pine table that had always invited a good gossip. The unloading of worries into willing ears had been Claire’s cure for the side effects of hanging onto trauma until it gnawed at the gut and allowed bitterness to take its place. She placed her aunt’s old brown tea pot and two mugs in front of Nessa, then took a seat next to her, waiting a few moments for the tea to stew before pouring.
‘Mmm, just what the doctor ordered,’ said Nessa, before meeting Sophie’s gaze. ‘Okay, come on then, Soph, spill the details, and I mean every minuscule embellishment, every fold, drape, crease, and stitch of this spectacular bridal creation Lilac Verbois did not possess the good taste to select. Do you have a photo?’
Sophie smiled at last, her cheeks cracking under the unfamiliar strain and the fact that her skin hadn’t enjoyed a smudge of moisturiser in weeks.
‘Sure I do. And I suppose there’s no reason not to share the design with you now. The veil of secrecy is redundant as Lilac will be wearing someone else’s design on her wedding day. I know I don’t have to say this, but promise me you won’t mention it to anyone?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
Sophie laughed, fished out her phone and scrolled through the hundreds of images of Lilac Verbois’ would-be wedding dress she had stored, from conception to completion and all stages in between, picked out the best photo of the finished gown, and turned the screen round towards Nessa.
‘Oh, my God, it’s absolutely stunning. A little on the elaborate side for my taste, but then I’m not a BAFTA-winning actress. This wedding fever has really gripped the nation, hasn’t it?’
Nessa lifted her mane of copper hair and let it fall in waves down her back, clearly enjoying the lightness and freedom wearing it loose gave her.
‘It definitely has.’
‘You should eavesdrop on the conversations of some of the girls at school – it’s all they talk about. Well, what’s not to obsess over? A wedding almost on the doorstep – Somersby Manor is the perfect place for the reception – and a whole host of celebrities from the music and acting world descending on the area which means fashions to scrutinise and criticise. Oh, I’ve not had chance to tell you. One of our girls, Alicia Walker, has been selected to sing the solo in the Gloucester Cathedral wedding ceremony, no less! With the level of excitement and the raging hormones, needless to say not much academic work is getting done at the moment. Fortunately, Alicia is in Year Ten and doesn’t have exams to worry about this summer.’
‘It’s great for the school, Nessa, but I have to admit I am curious about what made Lilac and Finn choose Gloucester Cathedral for their ceremony. Wouldn’t you have thought they’d have chosen a venue in London? Much more central, more convenient for everyone?’
‘What do you mean? It’s obvious why Lilac chose the cathedral. She grew up in the Cotswolds – or so her publicity blurb says. She’s maybe on some nostalgic jaunt into her childhood, which I assume was “tormented by abusive parents or boyfriends, thus enabling me to bring my real-life experiences into my roles” – you know, the kind of garbage they spout out in these résumés. Anyway, all chaos broke loose when it wasannounced that Alicia had been selected. Mrs Coombes even had to sedate one of the girls.’
‘Oh, that’s awful.’
‘I have to admit,’ said Nessa, tucking tendrils of hair behind her ears, her soft cheeks glowing with pleasure. ‘That I’ve also succumbed to following the twists and turns avidly, especially as it turns out that I know four of the people involved personally! You, Noah, Archie, and Alicia. I wish I could sing, but as you know my multiple talents lie in the sports arena. If only there were a netball, or a hockey, or a golf competition, I’d be right up there with the rest of them. Unsurprisingly, there’s no call for those skills in the circus that is Lilac Verbois and Finn Marchant’s wedding, but…’
‘What?’
‘Soph, I’m so sorry your design didn’t win, but we’ve still got to go to Gloucester to watch the ceremony.’
‘I’m not sure about that, Ness.’
Sophie had often wondered over the years why Nessa had stuck to training recalcitrant teenage girls on the school sports field. Only last year she had been offered a position as a ladies’ golf instructor at one of the newly built courses in Dubai – mega-money compared to her teacher’s salary, along with a spectacular apartment overlooking the Burg Al Arab which came with a maid thrown in for free.
But Nessa had not hesitated in turning it down. She excelled in every sport Sophie had known her put her mind to, threw herself headfirst into dating every eligible guy who crossed her path, and generally lived life to the max with a cheerful smile, a flick of her hair, and a cute wrinkle of her freckled nose. Nessa had always professed to loathe her freckles and Sophie recalled with fondness one Saturday night, when they were aroundtwelve, that they’d spent scrubbing her nose and cheeks with her mother’s expensive body exfoliator. Nessa’s face had smarted with a red hue for a full week afterwards, but even that had not diluted her zest for life.
Together they had run marathons, swapped secrets, and dressed up in the forerunners of Sophie’s designs made from old cotton sheets and velour curtains donated by Nessa’s mum, Audrey. She still squirmed at the memories of the chaffing! Over the years they had each added more items to their respective wedding scrap boxes – oversized shoe boxes they had covered in sheets of wedding wrap and filled with snippets of fabric and lace, glossy photographs and articles cut from magazines, and sketches of what their individual dresses would look like. On the lid they’d taped a picture of their current crush – first Seb, then Robbie Williams, then a whole string of eligible pop stars and actors for Nessa’s, and Noah, always Noah for hers. She still had her box under her bed at home in London and continued to add to it even now. The latest addition was a photograph of a gorgeous pair of ivory stilettos from the Jimmy Choo bridal collection that had her name embroidered all over their smooth satin toes. She wondered if Nessa still did the same.
A hammering on the door of the shop interrupted their girly conversation.
‘Gosh, another visitor. I’ve never been so popular.’
Sophie skipped down the stairs and let Seb in. She pecked him on his bristly cheek and smiled at his pale, pinched face, the smudges of tiredness under his dark brown eyes more prominent when he removed his tortoiseshell glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He slumped his six-foot-two frame into the chair opposite Nessa and stretched out his legs.
‘Hi, Nessa. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’
‘Not at all.’
Sophie poured him a mug of tea and pushed one of Tom Wallington’s delectable cupcakes towards him. Hers remained on the china plate untouched; its aesthetic perfection felt like an insult to her emotional chaos. She couldn’t bear to sully its beauty with her unworthy lips.
‘Sophie, I’m so pleased you decided to stay for few weeks to sort out the shop. What’s your plan? I reckon a lick of paint wouldn’t go amiss.’
