Page 4 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director

Lily

Lily sipped an emergency prosecco from the bar fridge in her shop, giving thanks to Janessa Hodges for including such an important appliance in her workplace decor.

Everything had very quickly turned topsy-turvy.

When the tent had whipped off from the building next door, revealing a building straight out of The Munsters , Lily had felt as though she’d stepped through a mirror.

(A bad one.) All black gingerbreading and stern gargoyles and black planters filled with midnight petunias, it was the evil twin of Lily’s new shop.

Although the black greyhound sculptures out the front did have some charm.

As did the wild-haired, dark-eyed, black-clad man who’d come hurrying up to the shop asking about a misdelivered parcel.

A wild-haired, dark-eyed, black-clad man she hoped hadn’t noticed how she’d almost swooned when their gazes had clashed that first time.

If she’d been one of her myriad recently married friends, she might have described it in romantic terms. Love at first sight.

Lust at first sight. Hiccup at first sight.

Some sort of very real visceral reaction to an incredibly hot man who’d come hurrying up …

and whom she’d immediately pressed about his interest in marriage.

Lily groaned. Looking to get married indeed.

What an impression she must have made. The man probably thought she was a stalker.

Especially after she’d cleverly, and entirely accidentally, given her business the very same name as his.

What were the odds? Lily stared ruefully at the vinyl decal she’d stuck on the front door, and the decorative flower-board she’d put up on an interior wall – the one where pink rosebuds spelled out Eternal Elegance against a gerbera backdrop.

Well, it explained all those strange phone calls. And the pretty vase that had turned out not to be a vessel for flowers at all, but a vessel for … well, Lily didn’t know exactly for whom, but she assumed it was someone of the human variety, not the floral variety.

At least her new business cards hadn’t arrived yet. Maybe she could tell the print shop to put a hold on those until she thought of a new business name. And new branding, and new decor …

No, absolutely not. She’d promised herself she was going to stick with something for once in her life, and she was going to see it through, no matter what. Think of the cheap rent, Lily .

She sighed, leaning back in her leather swivel chair (which was now topped with a freshly unpacked pink shag throw pillow) and sipping urgently at her prosecco.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps they could send each other business.

And at least they were next door to each other, so it was just a matter of Lily escorting a bereaved widow a few steps, and Mort scooting a happy couple away from a coffin or a burial plot.

Would Mort do that, though? Would he send them her way, or would he just warn them sternly that all love ended in death, and that they might as well save themselves the hassle – and the bill – and put that money towards funeral insurance instead?

Lily sighed. It seemed unfair that someone so deathly handsome could be so … deathly inclined.

Her phone buzzed. Annika.

Well??? How is it???

Lily snapped a photo of the shop and texted it back. It’s perfect .

Make sure you stay long enough that I can come visit!!!

(Annika was not one for restraint when it came to punctuation. Or emojis. Or anything in life, really.)

Promise , texted back Lily. But before she could hit send, her phone rang.

‘Eternal Elegance,’ said Lily, a smile brushing her lips as she said the new business name aloud.

‘Lily! It’s Rina Morgan and Emmett Smiley. We’re the Christmas in July wedding.’

‘In July,’ added Emmett helpfully.

‘Believe me, I’m as excited as you are,’ said Lily.

She eyed the stack of cardboard boxes filled with props and decor ideas.

This particular wedding was one of two she’d inherited from a friend of a friend, herself a wedding planner who’d needed to take a leave of absence in order to plan her own wedding.

After seeing Lily’s viral post, she’d slid into Lily’s DMs asking her to take over the planning honours.

And so a clientele and a profitable P I have a family boa constrictor. Is it okay if I send over my notes to you? I think maybe an impartial third party might be the way to go.’

‘If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s musical chairs,’ lied Lily. (She actually had a highly complicated relationship with musical chairs, having been taught from an early age to always give up her chair to someone else who needed it.) ‘Send them over whenever you’re ready.’

There was the distinct sound of sleigh bells ringing in the background as Rina clapped her hands, then rang off. Then, oddly, the jingling sound of sleigh bells switched to the sharp tones of an organ.

Lily checked her phone just in case the Addams family was calling – nope. She glanced around. Where was that coming from? Was someone pranking her? She paused, trying to triangulate the source of the music. Turning, she realised it was coming through the grille above her head.

‘Hello? Mort?’ she said uncertainly.

‘This is he. You’re not a ghost, I hope?’ came Mort’s muffled voice.

Lily knelt on her chair, leaning against its upholstered back. ‘I was going to ask the same thing. It’s just Lily from next door. We share a grille.’

‘I hope I’m not bothering you.’

Not at all. In fact, Lily was utterly intrigued. ‘No, it’s lovely. What are you playing?’

‘Schumann. It sounds better on a piano, but, you know. The clients have expectations.’

Lily hummed a few bars of the ‘Funeral March’ through the grille.

‘Precisely,’ came Mort’s disembodied voice. ‘Are you … coming to the theatre tonight?’

‘Sure. Angela invited me. Apparently it’s the place to be, and the town’s most eligible bachelor is in charge of the music.’

A discordant few notes rang out through the grille as Mort fumbled the keys.

Lily straightened up in her chair. Had he fallen off his piano stool? Mort didn’t seem like the falling-off-things type – that was more Lily’s jam. (Lily’s friends had banned her from roller skating ever again after The Great Mangled Toe Incident.) ‘Everything okay?’

‘Just a work call.’

‘Ah. Death at the door, I see.’

‘Something like that.’ There came the sound of furniture scraping as Mort apparently hurried off to deal with the Grim Reaper. Lily wasn’t sure what the rush was: Mort was a funeral director, not a paramedic. Presumably he dealt with clients who had decisively tumbled off the mortal coil.

But maybe the whole mortuary sciences thing was like Lily’s work – big emotions and life-changing moments were at play, and everything became an emergency. Everything, like napkin colours and RSVP rates and table arrangements and trying to ignore her own fear of commitment.

Swivelling her chair around to face her desk, Lily pulled up the seating chart notes that Rina had sent her and set to work.

A few hours later, brain addled from the endless scandals of Rina’s family and the subsequent inability of anyone to sit together for fear of reprising said scandals, Lily shut her laptop.

And not a moment too soon: Angela was texting to confirm she was coming to the evening’s showing of Vice Versa (the 1916 silent version, not the 1988 Fred Savage version, the realtor made sure to reiterate).

I’ll be there , she replied, adding a dancing emoji for good measure.

A moment, and then Angela responded with: Just arrive before sunset. Trust me.