Page 43 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director

She turned to Lily and Mort, hiding her mouth as she muttered, ‘Psychosomatic. But we do what we must in the name of the art.’

Spoon clutched between her fingers, Veronica stood upon her mark, brow furrowed as she thought of how badly Nate had treated her.

‘Do you need me to prompt me with your lines?’

‘I’ve got it,’ said Veronica.

Helmut stepped forward, looking bashful. ‘Sorry for what I’m about to say.’

‘No hard feelings,’ said Veronica. ‘It wasn’t you.’

‘Wrong!’ proclaimed Desdemona. ‘It was him. Inhabit your character!’

Veronica closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The spoon bent between her fingers.

‘I’m ready,’ she said, her voice icy.

‘And, action!’ Desdemona’s clapperboard clacked.

Affecting a jerkish pose, Helmut got down on one knee, producing a novelty matchbox, which he popped open to reveal a bunch of rainbow-tipped matchheads.

‘Yours?’ whispered Mort to Lily.

‘Extras from Venus’s wedding,’ said Lily. ‘Ten bucks a box.’

‘The anti-capitalist spirit is strong, I see.’

‘Veronica,’ said Helmut in a passable American accent. ‘Babe. Let’s do this.’

There was a beat as Veronica bit her lip. Lily had the suspicion she was considering whether it might be worth taking Helmut up on his proposal and running off to the Sleeping Beauty castle on a whim.

‘Veronica, that’s your cue,’ whispered Desdemona.

‘Oh, sorry.’ Veronica cleared her throat. ‘Nate, you’re dead to me!’ she declared to the heavens.

‘Well, that’s not very nice,’ muttered Pickleball Candice, who was shuffling past in head-to-toe safety gear. ‘It’s not fun to mock someone’s mortality.’

‘Are you feeling lost, Candice?’ asked Derrick, poking his head out from the shelves of the Naked Bookshop. He reached out a robed hand. ‘Because I have the answers you seek.’

‘Jesus, Derrick,’ snapped Fran. ‘It was a misdiagnosis, not a miracle.’

(A schism already threatened the Cult of Derrick.)

‘That was quite good,’ said Helmut, giving Veronica a thumbs up. ‘I believed it.’

‘Any signs of a reversal?’ asked Desdemona.

The sky was a mesmerising blue above them. Lily held out a hand, considering. Perhaps the humidity had increased a percentage point or two? ‘No rain.’

Desdemona nodded, clapping her hands sternly. Veronica’s performance was not up to her directorial standards. ‘Again, with feeling! Look into his eyes and imagine you want him to keel over right here.’

Veronica stared up Helmut, then blushed. She cleared her throat.

‘You’re dead to me!’ she said, voice breaking.

Helmut pretended to swoon.

Veronica covered her mouth, hiding a smile.

Desdemona raised a carefully painted eyebrow. ‘Amateurs,’ she muttered. Then, loudly, ‘Imagine the worst moment of your life. The darkest betrayal.’

Veronica fanned her hands in front of her face, then hopped from foot to foot as though she were getting ready to run up a flight of stairs with ‘Eye of the Tiger’ blasting in the background.

‘Now imagine that Helmut was behind that betrayal.’

‘Sorry,’ whispered Helmut.

Veronica scowled. She took a deep breath, then shoved Helmut. ‘ You’re dead to me ,’ she snarled.

Helmut regained his balance, then clapped slowly. ‘Wow. So good. And yet I live.’

Veronica looked hopefully at Lily, who pointed to the unbroken sky.

‘Still blue,’ she said sadly.

‘Still poodles,’ added Mort, pointing to the poodles outside the funeral home. Some clown who was definitely not Lily had strung pom-pom garlands around their necks.

Desdemona folded her arms, drumming her nails against her cobweb sleeves.

‘Any other suggestions?’

‘We could … try it in reverse?’ suggested Lily. ‘What’s you’re dead to me backwards?’

‘Em ot daed er’uoy,’ said Helmut instantly.

‘Wow,’ marvelled Veronica. ‘You must kill it at parties.’

‘Oh, I don’t party. Or kill things.’

‘Sounds like a keeper,’ whispered Lily to Mort, who – wait – blushed?

Lily winked, setting off an extra layer of redness in his angular cheeks.

Lily sucked thoughtfully on her bottom lip, imagining a world where the wall between the Eternal Elegances, between their lives, disappeared, and the two of them spent the rest of their days tangled up in bed together.

Would Mort, with his fear of loss, ever allow it?

‘Take four,’ called Desdemona, with a clack of her clapperboard.

Lily blinked, yanked out of her imaginary world and back into the real one.

Veronica balled her fists and tried valiantly to repeat Helmet’s backwards-speak.

‘Em ot … daed er’uoy … ?’ she said, then burst into giggles.

‘Pretty good,’ he said.

‘What about … you’re alive to me ?’ suggested Mort.

Veronica nodded, then waited for Desdemona’s clapperboard.

Helmut dropped to one knee, waving the matchbox. ‘Babe,’ he intoned in, for some reason, a southern accent, ‘let’s go to Vegas and let Elvis do this marriage thing.’

Lily stifled a giggle. For someone so stoic, he had some decent comedic chops.

‘Vegas. A man after your own heart,’ whispered Mort.

Lily was impressed. ‘You remembered.’

‘I remember everything.’

‘Shh!’ hissed Desdemona, waving her clapperboard.

‘You, Helmut, I mean Nate – are alive to me.’ Veronica’s eyes sparkled as she said it, but apparently not enough to set off a magical rainstorm. After a pause, she shrugged. ‘Sorry, guys. I really tried.’

‘You did a fabulous job,’ said Lily, giving Veronica a hug. It was not, however, lost on her that Veronica was peering over her shoulder at Helmut, who was sifting through the pastries bag in search of one good enough to give to Veronica.

‘I think it might be picnic time,’ she added. ‘Let me run back to the shop.’

Moments later, she was back with a picnic basket stuffed with desserts and canned cocktails.

As she spread out a mushroom-print blanket, pinning it down at its corners with weighted toadstools, she was aware of Mort beside her, helping to set out the plates and cutlery – doing a fine job of it, even though Lily’s table setting was, well, maximalist to say the least. She had a feeling that Mort might be the kind of guy who would actually do the dishes instead of leaving them in the sink to soak, or feigning some sort of gendered inability to understand the function of a sponge.

‘Don’t forget the umbrellas for the drinks,’ she added. She wasn’t even done speaking before Mort, as though he’d anticipated her words, pulled out a series of tiny rainbow umbrellas (and one black umbrella for Desdemona, whose black lips pursed approvingly).

Lily poured them each a sparkling water, adding a twist of lemon and bitters.

‘To amusing failures,’ she said, raising her glass.

‘The best kind of failure,’ said Desdemona.

‘To Bavaria,’ added Veronica, toasting happily with Helmut.

Mort looked pensive as he clinked his glass to hers – what was going on in that thunderous head of his?