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  To Anna and Kim, for their never-ending faith, support and encouragement

  CHAPTER 1

  For what felt like the hundredth time that morning, and the millionth time that week, Rose went through her written and mental checklists.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?’ Her dad stepped out of the back door and into the garden, shielding his eyes from the bright glare. After what felt like months of rainfall, the sun Rose had been praying for had finally arrived. ‘We can take the minibus – no one’s using it today. The bike will fit perfectly between the seats.’

  ‘Honestly, Dad, it’s fine.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘It kind of defeats the object of being environmentally friendly if I arrive in a diesel-guzzling minibus.’

  ‘I see your point.’ He fiddled with the dog collar around his neck. ‘You’d think after thirty years I’d be used to this by now.’ Her father smiled. ‘Those first five minutes of wearing it, I always feel like it’s choking me.’

  Rose’s father, the Reverend John Pedal, was the minister at St Michael’s church, which served the small population of Tointon, the tiny village where Rose and her family lived. It was a beautifully quaint old church: grey stone and a spectacular pointed steeple with a clock on each of its four faces. The steeple still held a bell and rope, but this was only used on special occasions such as weddings or Christmas; a recording was used for ‘less important times’ as her father had told her when she’d asked at the age of five.

  ‘Don’t forget this.’ Rose’s mum Janet came rushing out of the door, waving a crocheted cream bag decorated with yellow roses. The bag had been handmade by Rose’s grandmother on her mother’s side, and Rose was currently using it to carry her new business cards. ‘I took the liberty of bringing these down as well.’ She handed Rose a small cardboard box.

  ‘Thanks, Mum, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on.’ Opening the box, Rose pulled out the pale pink business cards. She’d spent hours designing these a few weeks ago and smiled with pride at them. It was only right they looked this good considering the cost – but she pushed that thought to one side.

  They proudly displayed the name of her new business – Pedals and Prosecco – in a sweeping arch over an old-fashioned bike with a bottle of fizz in the wicker basket, its cork bursting open and heart-shaped bubbles spraying onto the card.

  ‘Your dad and I are so happy for you,’ her mum said, placing an affectionate arm around her husband and slapping his hand away from his dog collar. ‘We always told you that you’d find your way, and here you are with your very own business.’

  ‘Not quite a business yet.’ Rose knew her parents were a little disappointed in the decisions she’d made but they would never say it or even imply it. Dropping out of university at the age of twenty had never exactly been the plan – she blamed Meghan Markle and the impeccably dressed cast of Suits for her misguided interest in pursuing a law degree. Oh, she did love a man in a suit. There was just something about a tailored jacket and clean crisp lines that turned her insides to jelly.

  Rose had spent many, many hours agonizing over her decision to leave. Was it just the course or the whole university thing that she hadn’t got on with? In the end, she’d realized that a university life just wasn’t for her. She missed her family. Her whole life, she’d only been apart from them on the odd occasion, and she knew that her future plans would never take her far away from them again.

  She’d told her parents she wanted to leave over Christmas break of her second year. Her mum had tried to persuade her to stay – ‘But you were so excited to start. Isn’t there another degree you could do instead?’ – but after a while, although they were a little sad, her parents had agreed that if she wasn’t happy then of course she shouldn’t stay.

  Although finally making a decision had come as a relief, it left her with a huge student debt. Eventually she would need to repay the loan she’d taken out for her tuition fees, plus the money her mum and dad had given her over those eighteen months to help supplement the small maintenance grant she’d received from the government to help pay for her rent and food. She knew her parents didn’t want it back, but she also knew that they weren’t the wealthiest of people and that every penny counted.

  Within weeks of leaving university, Rose had found herself a part-time job with Mr Booth, who owned the small off-licence next to the chip shop in Tointon. The shop was never busy and Mr Booth often complained about the big supermarkets taking his business with their bulk-buy deals. But his knowledge of wine was impeccable, and Rose soon learned the difference between a cheap bottle of red and an expensive claret.

  ‘If you’re going to sell wine then you need to know what you’re talking about,’ Mr Booth had said to her on her very first day. ‘It’s all well and good picking up a bottle for a fiver, but for a tenner you get so much more depth and flavour. You need to be able to sell the customer the best wine they can afford with their budget.’

  This had given Rose the idea of a monthly wine tasting event and loyalty card. These had taken off instantly and by the end of that year she’d been working full time, allowing Mr Booth to semi-retire, content to leave the business in her hands. They’d even talked about the possibility of taking on another employee in the spring.

  Then, one rainy April morning, Rose had arrived for work to find a sign stuck to the outside of the shutters saying ‘Closed due to family bereavement’ and a brand-new shiny padlock in place of the rusty old one she used. Eventually, Mr Booth’s son had called her to explain they’d lost his mother, and that his father had taken it very badly and would not be returning to the shop. Rose had offered to manage the business on their behalf, but two weeks later a ‘for sale’ sign had gone up, and by the autumn the off-licence was a Subway store.

  Rose hadn’t known how to tell her parents at first. Mrs Booth had been a valued member of the congregation, so they were aware of her passing, but they hadn’t realized it had cost their daughter her job, and Rose quickly set about looking for another. Luckily, the supermarket a few miles away was hiring, but this meant getting a car and insurance, and half of her savings were gone in an instant. It was part-time hours only though, which meant she was able to help her mum and dad out around the church and vicarage.

  It was as she was helping her dad change the posters on the church notice board in January the following year that she’d had the idea for Pedals and Prosecco. A new poster had come in, announcing the launch of a new Wedding Fayre to be held on the first Saturday of every month from May to September in the nearby village of Weddington. Rose loved weddings. Since she was a small child, she’d attended every wedding she could at St Michael’s.

  She loved watching the grooms arrive first, seeing if they were nervous or playing it cool. Watching their mothers or sisters straightening ties or flattening stray curls with spit-wet hands. The array of bridesmaid’s dresses she had seen over the years was countless; her very favourite was a delightful lilac colour, off one shoulder, falling to the ground in a little puddle, with a dark purple ribbon around the waist.

  But the best bit for Rose was always the arrival of the bride. From horse-drawn carriages to Rolls-Royces, and even a moped once, the brides always arrived in style. She had never seen the same dress twice, and marvelled at how designers came up with such an array of different looks.

  So it suddenly seemed blindingly obvious to Rose, as she pinned the flyer to the green felt of the notice board, that she should do something with her life that involved weddings.

  That evening before tea, she sat in her bedroom at the front of the vicarage with a pen and notebook and jotted down a few ideas before FaceTiming her best friend Megan.

  ‘Cakes?’ Rose suggested first, to which Megan immediately burst into laughter.

  ‘Slight problem with that,’ she’d replied. ‘You burn everything.’

  ‘Flowers?’

  ‘You need to train for that.’

  ‘Wedding planner?’ Megan laughed even harder and shook her head. Rose couldn’t help but be a little hurt. ‘I’ll have you know I planned all the events at the off-licence.’

  ‘Planning a wedding is a little different to a piss-up in a wine shop.’ Megan paused, taking a sip of wine, then asked, ‘What are you good at?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing by the look of it.’ Rose watched as Megan took another sip. ‘Wine!’ she screamed. ‘That’s what I’m good at.’

  She’d ended the chat with Megan, excited that she’d finally managed to find the perfect idea, but how to make it stand out? There was nothing original about serving wine at a wedding; she needed something different, something fresh and new.

  It was only after dinner, when Janet brought out a tub of ice cream and placed it on the table next to a steaming hot apple pie, that Rose landed on an idea. Nibbling pensively at her dessert, she was reminded of a summer event at university, at which ice cream cones had been served from a vintage bike.

  ‘That’s it!’ she’d screamed, much to her parents’ amusement.

  And Pedals and Prosecco was born.

  She’d scoured the internet looking for an old
-fashioned bike and suitable trailer. Her dad had helped her paint it and fashion a trailer out of a rather large wicker basket with a smaller basket at the front. She’d bought a folding parasol and attached straps to the inside of the basket to allow her to safely store a few glass bottles for transit, but she would have to rely on the venues for glasses and extra storage if the event was a larger one. There just wasn’t the room to transport hundreds of glasses safely. And anyway, Megan had said, it’s the gimmick they’re buying, not the actual product. The top of the trailer then became the serving table.

  ‘Explain to me how it all works again?’ John asked, as Rose was just about to head out of the garden gate and travel the mile or so to her first wedding fayre.

  ‘The couple rent me, so to speak.’ This was the only way she could think of to describe it. ‘I park the bike inside, or outside, wherever they want, and then serve the welcoming drink of Prosecco to the guests as they arrive for the wedding breakfast.’

  ‘I think it’s such a lovely idea.’ Janet clapped her hands together. ‘You could have a whole fleet of bikes, even become international.’

  ‘Let’s not get carried away, Mum.’ Rose unlocked the bolt on the gate. ‘This is my first fayre – I haven’t even got a booking yet.’

  ‘Oh, you will,’ her mum said knowingly. ‘Pedals and Prosecco is going to be huge.’ Rose smiled at her mum’s enthusiasm, and hoped she would be proved right. Rose’s savings had now been almost entirely depleted, and she’d even had to dip into the money her grandparents had saved for her since she was born.

  They’d proudly handed her a bank book on her twenty-first birthday with the express wish that it be put towards buying a property in the future. Even though Rose had no desire to leave her parents' house any time soon – she loved living at home – the guilt she felt at dipping into this fund was immense, and she knew she’d be putting it back as soon as she could.

  But it wasn’t just for financial reasons that Rose needed Pedals and Prosecco to succeed. Thanks to nerves she’d barely passed her GCSEs, and had only got onto her university degree through clearing, since she hadn’t obtained the grades she’d needed for her first and second choices. It was a running joke that she’d failed her theory test three times and her practical driving test four times. She just didn’t cope well under pressure – another reason that university hadn’t been for her.

  She just couldn’t have another failure on her hands.

  * * *

  As Rose made her way into Weddington, she started to regret turning down the offer of a lift. She’d completely forgotten how many hills there were on this road, and they all seemed to be much steeper going up than coming down. She was becoming acutely aware that her painstakingly straightened hair, which she’d spent over an hour on this morning, was beginning to revert back to its usual frizz.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally saw the sign for Weddington Hall: the stately home where the wedding fayre was taking place was only three hundred yards away, and she decided to take five minutes on the side of the road to catch her breath and try to smooth her hair again. Pulling her phone out of the front basket, she gave herself a quick appraisal in the screen.

  Not too bad, she judged, and reapplied her pale pink lipstick, wiping a stray blob of mascara from under her eye. Making sure everything was still firmly attached to the bike, she stepped back into the road.

  The sound of a frantic horn startled her, and she swore profusely in a rather unladylike manner as a dark green van with gold porthole windows swerved past, splashing a huge puddle of water all over her in what could only be described as a Bridget Jones moment.

  ‘You have got to be kidding me!’ she screamed after the van, which had already disappeared, and she stuck two fingers up as well for good measure. She climbed back onto the seat of the bike with a squelch and prayed she’d be able to dry herself off with one of the hand dryers in the toilets, thanking her lucky stars that the apron she was using as part of her uniform was rather large and tucked safely away in the basket.

  She cycled along the road and turned left onto the long sweeping drive of Weddington Hall. She’d visited the house many times over the years, but it had only recently started to be used as a wedding venue after it featured in last summer’s big blockbuster romance movie, A Little in Love, starring Jenny Golding and Mitch Maddens. Rose had even been lucky enough to get their autographs and a selfie when they’d been filming one day.

  The hall stood in the distance, its red brick walls glowing in the sun. Elegance and wealth oozed from the leaded windows and Rose wished, not for the first time, that she had been born in a different era, when balls were the norm and gentlemen politely requested a dance or a turn around the garden. When people rode on horses and bid each other good day as they passed by.

  Cars and vans of every shape and size were busy unloading their wares, and people were carrying tables, mannequins and boxes in through the double oak doors. Rose loved the ornate hall through those doors, but she had asked whether, as long as the day was dry, she could set up by the entrance, as she would at an actual wedding.

  She parked the bike on the beautiful green lawn that lay to the right of the house and headed inside with her bag to change into her shoes and apron, and sort her hair and dress out as best she could.

  Luckily the ladies’ toilets still had the older style of dryer with a funnel that turned, rather than one of the newfangled things that you put your hands into, so she was able to dry her dress a little, which, once her apron was on, looked at least presentable. Her hair on the other hand was another matter, and all she could do was scrape it into a high ponytail.

  Nodding at her reflection, she headed back out into the sunshine and stood by her bike, waiting for everyone else to head inside before she started to set up. It was almost eleven o’clock and the fayre was due to start at half past. She knew she only needed about fifteen minutes to get everything ready and smiled in anticipation when she realized no one had come in or out for the past five minutes and all the vehicles had now been moved into the car park at the rear. This meant she could get set up without being in anybody else’s way.

  ‘Here we go then.’ She kicked the stand from the bike and wheeled it into position, stepping away a few times and looking at it from different perspectives to ensure it was looking its absolute best. The hand-painted ‘Pedals & Prosecco’ sign fitted between the frame of the bike as if it had been made for it, and the parasol matched the colours to perfection. Even her apron was the same pale pink, with the company name embroidered across her chest.

  She tutted to herself as she heard a van approaching, knowing that visitors had been instructed to park in the front car park and walk up the drive so as not to obscure the view of the hall.

  ‘Is this where the wedding fayre is?’ a male voice shouted. ‘I went to the castle by accident.’ Rose turned to assure the driver that he was indeed in the correct place, but her pleasant smile quickly soured as a dark green van with gold porthole windows started reversing towards her.

  CHAPTER 2

  Rose could feel the anger bubbling up inside her. Hadn’t he recognized her? Did he make a habit of soaking people with puddles and just driving on as if nothing had happened? She was more than ready to give him an earful – but then she realized that the van wasn’t stopping. It came closer and closer with no sign of slowing down.

  ‘Stop!’ she screamed at the top of her voice. It was only a few feet away now. ‘Please stop!’ she screamed again, and banged frantically on the doors, seeing visions of her bike lying crushed under the wheels of the van.

  But the van carried on and Rose stepped out of the way, turning her face and waiting for the crunching sound of her bike being smashed. But it didn’t come. In fact, there was suddenly no sound. The engine was off.

  She risked a peek and released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, thanking the heavens that her bike was still intact. It had a green van right in front of it – in fact, it was so close the front basket was actually touching the doors – but it was intact. She heard the van door open and her relief turned to anger once more.