‘So in short: maximum impact with minimum effort,’ I repeated, counting on my fingers. ‘Concentrate on the areas which will appear in most of the photos and anything which will only be seen from a distance, fudge it. Got it. I hope.’
‘Do you remember what I said yesterday?’ Fiona said lastly.
Her comment brought me up short; I’d only graduated from flower school twenty-four hours ago and now I was in charge of someone’s wedding.
‘Let the flowers do the talking and have a little faith,’ I said, pushing down a shiver of fear. ‘I’ll do my best. And thank you.’
‘No, thank you. Seeing my students blossom is my greatest reward,’ Fiona declared, then adding timidly, ‘And if you wouldn’t mind tagging the flower school in the photos …?’
I said I would, I ended the call and took a deep breath.
What had started with Laura handing me a random article about undiscovered villages had morphed into possibly the biggest, most nerve-wracking challenge of my life. The funny thing was, I realised, that I might be out of my comfort zone, but I was enjoying every second of it.
You can do this, Fearne, said a small voice in my head, sounding very much like Freddie.
‘Go big or go home,’ I said firmly and tied on Nina’s apron.
It felt a bit like one of those cookery shows where the contestants are given a mystery bag of ingredients and have to invent dishes without being able to look up the recipes. But after a very quick exploration of what I had to work with, I managed to form a plan. Nina had been halfway through a long and complicated garland which I’d got no hope of finishing but I’d use it somewhere. There was also a box of white bowls and circles of flower foam cut to size which I presumed were for table decorations. But I wasn’t going to use them, I had a new idea which would be far quicker and simpler.
Fiona advised me to do the flowers in situ so Scamp and I ran back to fetch my car and I crammed aluminium buckets full of flowers into every available space.
Then grabbing ribbon, string, scissors, wire and any other tool which looked remotely useful, I coaxed a bewildered Scamp into the front seat and off we drove, with me steering around every bump and pothole in the road to minimise spillages.
The bells were ringing again by the time I skirted the village green and I was vaguely aware of a crowd emerging from the church. But there was no time to stop and watch them, the clock was ticking. Finding the Riverside Hotel by road was straightforward and thanks to a friendly member of staff who was stationed at the front doors ready to direct the wedding guests (eek!) I was able to drive right up to the marquee.
I left Scamp in the car for a moment while I went inside. I had no idea what the protocol was for bringing a dog to work with me, although I couldn’t leave him in the car in this sunshine for long, but for now, I needed to get my bearings without him tugging on his lead to investigate this new and exciting place.
And exciting it was.
As well as a long top table, there were ten round tables, each laid with eight place-settings: glassware sparkled and silver cutlery shone. There was a serving area at one end and a dance floor at the other and beside that was a pretty white structure resembling a huge bird cage and set inside that, on top of a table was a three-tier wedding cake.
It was already beautiful.
‘But you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,’ I murmured.
I turned to head back to the car, my pulse racing with a sudden burst of adrenaline when a group of staff arrived carrying ice buckets on stands.
‘Can I help you?’ asked one of them: a woman, in a smart black suit and crisp white shirt.
‘I’m Fearne, the florist,’ I said. ‘I’m about to decorate the marquee.’
The other members of staff smiled and carried on with their preparations.
‘Where’s Nina?’ she said, striding over on spiky heels which sank in the grass. Her red hair had been scraped back so tightly into a ponytail that she’d given herself a facelift. ‘Is she OK? I heard what happened with her flower delivery. If that was me I’d have topped myself. I mean, you don’t want to let someone down on their big day do you?’
‘Not really, no,’ I said drily.
I explained that I was helping Nina who, although having a stressful time, hadn’t yet felt the need to commit suicide and was probably throwing confetti over the bride and groom as we spoke.
‘I’m the events manager for the hotel,’ she said, shaking my hand. ‘You’ve got an hour, tops, to get the flowers in situ. After that, the catering team will be in and you’ll have to leave.’
‘Oh crap,’ I muttered under my breath. A beginner like me would need an entire day to do a good job.
The woman grinned. ‘Wedding flowers are always a crap job.’
Just then a lanky teenager with a shaggy haircut and a soft fluffy moustache sloped into the marquee pulling a trolley loaded with crates of drinks. I eyed the trolley longingly.
‘Could I borrow that do you think?’ I asked. ‘It would be perfect to ferry the flowers from my car.’
‘Sure.’ The events manager relayed my request to the young man who set about emptying it for me. ‘I’m Kelly, by the way. If you need any help, give me or one of my team a shout.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, wondering if ‘help’ extended to flower-arranging. Her name rang a bell … ‘Are you the Kelly who used to work for Nina?’
Her face flushed. ‘Yes.’ She glanced over her shoulder to check none of her team were in earshot and lowered her voice. ‘Why, what did she tell you about me?’
I considered the million and one flowers in the back of my car and ticking clock and decided to be creative with my answer. ‘Only that she misses you and that you’re really talented with flowers.’
Kelly frowned. ‘Nina said that?’
That frown was slightly alarming; maybe I’d overdone it with ‘talented’. However, beggars couldn’t be choosers …
‘She certainly misses you.’ I nodded earnestly. ‘So if you’re serious about helping, I’d be honoured. I am rather against the clock.’
She sucked in a sharp breath. ‘This is my first wedding in my new job. The last thing I need is for Nina to cock it up for me by not being ready. OK, I’ll muck in for a bit, this lot know what they’re doing anyway.’
She peeled off her jacket and chucked it over the back of a chair. ‘Right, where’s your workbench?’
My vast inexperience hit me in a tsunami of doubt. I hadn’t thought about where I’d actually create my flower displays and I certainly hadn’t realised I’d need a workbench. I had a flash of nostalgia for the long wooden table at the Wisteria Flower school where we were allowed to create as much chaos as we wanted. ‘Um …’
Kelly was waiting for an answer, a bemused smile making her cherry red lips twitch.
I drew myself up tall. This time last year, I’d delivered the keynote speech at a conference for Scandinavian timber merchants about the future of global paper consumption. If I could hold my own in front of them, I could certainly handle leave-in-the-lurch Kelly. I gave her a tightly efficient smile. ‘Nina said you’d have a trestle table set up for me?’
‘Did she?’ Her eyes darted left and right as if scrolling through her memory for that detail.