Summer at the Little Wedding Shop: The hottest new release of summer 2017 - perfect for the beach!

Poppy brushes the plate away with a half shake of her head. Without being rude, Poppy eats for England. Refusing breakfast ties in with her face being as white as the walls.

She undoes her coat, and sinks into a chair. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happened.’

Jess and I stare at each other, our jaws locked. Put on the spot like this, it’s hard to know which way to jump.

Jess unfreezes first. ‘A tiny clue?’

When Poppy speaks, it’s not so much of a prompt as a tirade. ‘It’s the total worst news ever. Never in our wildest nightmares did we imagine this. Talk about saddling up bloody horses. We might as well throw away the damned pony and be done with it. Weddings at Daisy Hill Farm are finished.’

‘What?’ Jess isn’t following any more than I am.

As I go and crouch down beside Poppy, her body is shaking so hard it’s making the Louis Quatorze chair creak. ‘Okay, take it easy. Whatever it is we’ll help you. Now tell us again, but slowly this time, starting at the beginning.’

Poppy takes a shuddering breath. ‘Rafe was out early this morning …’

For those of you who don’t know, this particular farmer doesn’t seem to go to bed. What with milking, and all things farmerly, as far as Rafe’s concerned, getting up at the crack of dawn means a lie in.

I nod my encouragement. ‘Go on …’

‘So he saw it first. There’s a huge hoarding in the field on the way down to Rose Hill Manor. It must have gone up literally overnight.’ Poppy’s voice goes so high it’s almost a squeak. ‘The Manor’s setting up as … as a wedding venue.’

‘Surely not …?’ Jess gives a disbelieving shake of her head.

‘They absolutely bloody are.’ Poppy’s talking through clenched teeth now. ‘Bloody exclusive use, blissful bloody country weddings. That’s what it says on the sign.’

Exclusive use? ‘Oh no.’ A trickle of cold sweat meanders down my back. Because actually I already know this, and I can’t believe I didn’t take it seriously at the time. ‘Omigod.’ I hate myself for saying it, but sometimes nothing else will do. ‘The guy who pulled me out of the pond said the same thing, but I took it he was talking through his butt.’

Poppy wrinkles her nose. ‘How did Fred know?’

‘Not Fred. One of the Penryn brothers was there tucking into the buffet, getting off on acting the hero. I should have warned you.’

Poppy’s forehead furrows. ‘A Penryn? Not Quinn?’

There’s an uneasy twang in my stomach. I can’t bring myself to repeat that particular name out loud. ‘No, this was … er … Kip.’

Poppy is momentarily distracted. ‘Quinn was best man at Sera’s sister’s wedding. Quite a handful. He crashed a van and smashed all the crystal ware.’

Sounds about right.

‘Fabulous car though. And charm by the bucketload.’ At least Jess stops short of commenting on his apps.

‘Out of control? That fits.’ An image flashes up in my brain. Me, dripping wet on the shore at the Manor. What is it with Penryns and water? Okay. I’ll come clean. I got stranded on an island with that particular Penryn brother as a teenager, and I chose to swim away rather than stay and sleep with him. Perhaps not a great decision given how weak my breaststroke is but that was the only option for me. ‘There’s a lake at Rose Hill Manor.’ It’s out before I can stop it, although luckily I bite my tongue before the rest follows.

‘It’s not just the lake.’ Poppy’s voice rises to a wail. ‘There’s a humungous spectacular house, shedloads of bedrooms stuffed with four posters. And a ballroom. Daisy Hill Farm can’t compete with that on any level.’

Jess is tapping her loafer on her chair leg. ‘But you have holiday cottages that the Manor doesn’t. And you’ll soon have the main farmhouse up and running, and the big barn will be done for the autumn.’

Poppy hugs herself. ‘But all our financial projections relied on us being the only venue in the area. If we lose any bookings to the Manor, we can’t make it pay. And they’re going to have everything we offer, only better.’

Jess narrows her eyes. ‘Don’t underestimate yourself. You’ve made a lot of friends in the industry. We’re all behind you.’ Even though she’s sitting down she thrusts her hands onto her hips, and her voice drops to a growl. ‘If this Penryn wants wedding wars, we’ll fight him all the way.’

‘If Quinn was anything to go by …’ Poppy’s voice trembles.

Jess jumps in. ‘Quinn couldn’t organise a fire in a coal shed. If he’s anything like his brother, this Kip will crash and burn.’

‘Every time,’ I say, my fist flying through the air. Although that punch isn’t only from today. A good proportion of the power is down to past resentments. ‘To overthrow Penryns you hit them head on. It’s the only way.’ Then I shut up, because I don’t want to come across as an expert.

Jess’s expression softens. ‘Strategy is my strong point. And we also have our new secret weapon.’ She pauses for effect. ‘Brides by the Sea has a brand-new manager of a brand-new department – Wedding Styling.’

For a second Poppy and I both blink. Then my heart gives a lurch as I catch up. She means me.

Jess jumps in to save Poppy’s confusion. ‘Lily’s agreed to take us forward with the designing and accessorising side.’ And miraculously she’s missed out that I haven’t got the first clue how to do this.

‘That’s brilliant news.’ Poppy pulls me into a huge hug, despite her wobbles. ‘But what a surprise.’

‘For all of us.’ I’m not joking. ‘I’ll fill you in later, Poppy.’

Jess is rubbing her hands. ‘It’s very fortuitous. This way we’ll be able to parachute you behind enemy lines, Lily. You can be our under-cover agent.’

‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’ I feel like I blinked and woke up in a James Bond movie.

Jess rolls her eyes in frustration. ‘As our wedding stylist you have the perfect excuse to go to Rose Hill Manor. If we can land a styling booking for a wedding there, so much the better.’

If my jaw hadn’t instantly locked with fear, I’d be screaming.

Poppy looks unsure. ‘I know we’re desperate, but doesn’t spying sound a bit underhand? You mustn’t do anything you aren’t happy with, Lily.’

I bite my lip as I weigh up the evidence so far. ‘With this Kip Penryn, we’re talking about someone who crashed the party and ate the Sams’ hog roast. His signage appeared in the dark. He’s your neighbour, setting up in competition right under your noses, and he hasn’t had the decency to call round and discuss it with you. I reckon the combat’s already started. If it saves Daisy Hill Farm, I’m happy to come out fighting.’ Even if I’m wobbling about the styling part.

Jess rifles through her table drawer so furiously, she could be searching for boxing gloves.

‘Right on target, Lily,’ she cries, as the contents of her drawer fly across the desk. ‘It’s survival of the fittest. Do or die, sink or swim. There’s no time to lose.’ So much for an over enthusiastic imagination. We’re back to water again. Eventually she comes up with a pen. ‘I’ll start with a list of contacts to lean on.’

‘Thank you so much.’ Poppy gives me a last squeeze. ‘Oh my, you’re going to need your lovely suit more than ever for this, is it going to be okay?’

I wrinkle my nose. ‘Somehow I doubt it.’ But suddenly it doesn’t matter any more. Waving goodbye to my LK Bennett is somehow symbolic. As if my ruined suit marks the end of my old life. ‘I can always get another. Although I could have done with power dressing for my appointment later.’ Hopefully my wink hides how much I’m dreading coming face to face with my mum. I stare down at my jeans and sloppy sweat shirt. Whereas I’m happy to use my all-day pyjamas for exactly that, regardless of destination, my mum always dresses like she’s going to Ascot. That’s twenty-four seven, whether she’s leaving the house or not. My jeans aren’t going to cut it, but that’s too bad. Life should be about who we are, not what we wear. Maybe my mum needs to learn that.

Jess beams. She’s got her mini vac out now, whisking the croissant crumbs off the table, ready for her nine thirty bride. ‘Meeting the fiancé is always a big moment.’

True. But when he’s your mother’s, and you don’t know him from Adam, big doesn’t begin to cover it. And when your mum is my mum … Well, anything could happen.

Poppy clasps her hands to her mouth. ‘Of course. Blimey. What are you doing?’

‘Afternoon tea at Heavenly Heights.’

Which was always my friends’ pet name for the modern close at the top of the village where we lived. I’m thanking my lucky stars I’ve got away with sandwiches and cakes rather than a formal dinner. As for Poppy’s wedding wars, not that I’m a pessimist, but they might not be the only explosions in the Rose Hill area over the next few months.

‘Do you need a wingman?’