Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,3
‘Hunter Benedict, 2.8kg.’
Poppy’s brow furrows. ‘If it’s upsetting you, why not switch it off?’
I push my phone away and pull out another tissue. Ugly nose-blowing is one of Phoebe’s worst hates but right now I’m past caring. I can’t help my wail either. ‘Hunter was my name, I bagged it first. I know I found it on her wellies, but it still feels like she’s stolen it.’ Baby names are a whole minefield of rules I’ve only dipped my toe into since I turned thirty and it seems like our entire friendship group apart from me suddenly got pregnant. You can’t call a baby the same name as any other child you’ve ever heard of, but at least for people like me where children are lightyears away, it’s still possible to stake an advance claim. Or it should be if your friends aren’t completely disrespectful. This feels like Phoebe’s final wave of the finger.
Poppy’s hugging me again. ‘Pinching your name is outrageous.’
‘It bloody is.’ I’m staring at the black smudges on the hanky, knowing there’s worse on my face. ‘I might go back to the van for a moment.’
Poppy links arms with me. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve got a few minutes before we need to be back at the shop. I’m in charge of cocktails so the bar will open when we get there.’ We break away from the crowd and hurry to where the van is tucked away beyond a line of fishermen’s cottages at the end of the quay.
‘Okay, time for repairs.’ I open the door and heave myself into the driver’s seat, and peer into the rearview mirror.
As Poppy joins me from the passenger side, she’s staring around the inside of the van. ‘Even though it’s dark, how cool is this interior?’
As I scrub away my panda eyes and dab at the blotches on my cheeks, I’m already feeling calmer. ‘I still love the pink-and-white-checked seats.’
Poppy passes me a lippy from her pocket. ‘Here, try this – fuchsia gives you a lift every time.’ She’s biting her lip as she watches me put it on. ‘I know today’s been the crappest, with handing in your keys and the baby coming. But at least that’s the worst over.’
I look sideways at her in the half light. ‘You’re going to tell me it’s time for a new start?’
‘Well isn’t it? St Aidan is heaving, the singles club is out there running wild.’ Her face twists into a grin. ‘It would be a shame to waste the opportunity.’
As I let out a breath, I’m sorry to flatten the mood. ‘The last thing I want is another boyfriend.’
She laughs. ‘Who said anything about committing? It just feels like it’s time for you to stop being sad and get back to having a good time.’
I blow. ‘We both know Ben is a tosser and I’m better off without him. But am I ready to hit the world and party?’ I really don’t think so.
Her eyebrows edge upwards. ‘How about your challenge for this evening is to collect five kisses?’
I can’t believe how impossible that sounds. ‘When I was twenty-one and first went to Bristol I’d have done it in five seconds. Now I feel I’d struggle if I had five years.’
Poppy’s eyes are wide. ‘This is so much worse than I thought. Let’s set a more achievable target – how about one kiss, and all evening to claim it?’ She sends me a wink. ‘It’s dark, you’ll never see them again. And it’s a watershed – once you’ve crossed the making-out bridge you’ll be able to get on with the rest of your life.’
‘I—I—I …’ It’s all sounding very ‘old-style hen party’. Someone should tell her, hens have moved on, these days they don’t get smashed, they do self-care. If she’d suggested kick-starting my new life with a massage therapy afternoon at The Harbourside Hotel, I’d be so much more up for it.
She’s wiggling her eyebrows, which is never a good sign. ‘Hunk coming our way now, he looks like he’ll do nicely. Get your window down and shout him over.’ She’s sitting up straighter. ‘In fact, no need, he’s coming straight for us!’
As he saunters our way, what I’m getting is dark hair blowing in the gale. Shadowy cheekbones. A chunky sweater inside an open windcheater jacket.
I’m muttering. ‘Considering the weather, it seems like someone’s completely missed the point of wind wear.’
Poppy’s hissing back. ‘You can’t write him off because he hasn’t done up his coat, I need a better excuse than