Undertaking Love (4 page)

‘Exactly.’

‘I never realised, Em. What are you going to do?’

Emily looked helpless. ‘I’ve booked us in to start tests – or for Tom to give a sample, at least. I haven’t dared bring it up again since I told him, because it always ends up in a row.’

‘I’m sorry, honey.’ Marla soothed. ‘Bloody men. Mars must be a boring place with all of that testosterone swilling around making civilised conversation impossible.’

Emily rolled her eyes. ‘I bet they play a lot of darts and live on beer and pizza.’

‘Give me Venus anytime,’ Marla said. ‘Wine and ice-cream is much more fun.’

Emily clinked her glass against Marla’s. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ she agreed, pushing the ice-cream tub across the table. ‘So. Marla.’

Something about the sudden speculative gleam in Emily’s eyes put Marla on her guard. ‘Umm?’

‘Have you never met
the one
?’ Emily pressed.

‘The one?’ Marla fidgeted in her chair, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking. ‘You’re such a hopeless romantic, Em.’

‘Is that a yes?’

Marla shrugged. ‘I’m just not looking for Mr Right.’

‘Everyone is, Marla.’

Marla sighed. ‘Not me. I’ve no desire to tie myself down to some man, only to see it all go wrong a few years later and end up as another divorce statistic. No thanks.’

She winced as a shadow passed over Emily’s face.

‘Oh God, Em, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you, obviously.’ She squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘It’s just a personal thing, that’s all. I’ve had more step-parents over the years than I have fingers to count them on. Us Jacobs just aren’t cut out for all of that
forever and ever, amen
stuff.’

Emily sighed. ‘Well, that’s a shame. Because if you
were
in the market for romance, I think I’ve caught our new neighbour making eyes over the coffins at you.’

Marla brandished her spoon across the table. ‘Enough, Em.’

‘But I have!’ Emily laughed. ‘Come on, admit it … he’s easy on the eye, isn’t he?’

Marla studied her fingernails. ‘I haven’t noticed.’

‘Rubbish! Let’s pretend for a second that he isn’t an undertaker, and he isn’t your arch enemy …’ Emily’s eyes danced. ‘You would, wouldn’t you?’

Marla looked her friend straight in the eye. ‘Honestly? No. No, I wouldn’t.’

And she meant it. The way her body reacted whenever Gabe was around frightened the living daylights out of her. Even without all of the barriers Emily had listed, Marla’s biggest problem with Gabe was that he stole away her powers of self-control without even trying.

Half an hour later, Marla sloshed a measure of brandy into a tumbler and threw one last log on the fire. She’d finally managed to prise Emily away from the ice cream and into a taxi, and had spent the last twenty minutes clearing and straightening the kitchen until the cottage was back to peaceful perfection again. Bluey loped in, well-fed and content to flop down onto the sofa he more than filled, and Marla curled herself into the armchair beside him. Companionable bookends, as always. She reached out and stroked his gentle face as she sipped the night-cap in an attempt to settle her stomach. It seemed to be constantly jumbled up with nerves these days. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since Gabriel Ryan had roared into the village. It had taken three years of hard work to carve out her place here in this community, and the sense of safety and peace it afforded her was precious beyond measure.

Gabriel. Even his name was a misnomer.

The man was no angel, that much was for sure. Hell’s angel, more like, with that filthy great motorbike and James Dean sex appeal. Strange really, for an undertaker. But then, as a marriage-phobic wedding coordinator, who was she to judge?

‘A petition? Against a funeral parlour? That’s bloody hilarious, mate.’

Dan laughed as he knocked back the last of his pint and raised his glass towards the landlord for a refill.

Gabe didn’t laugh with him. It wasn’t that he was worried that the petition might actually work. In fact, he was pretty certain that it would come to nothing, given that as far as he could see, it was based on nothing in the first place. But the fact that it existed at all was drawing unnecessary eyes his way, and that was the last thing he needed. He’d hoped to set up shop quietly, to slide into place in the community as if he’d always been there. His business wasn’t about trumpet fanfares, or razzamatazz launches with crazy Elvis impersonators; it was understated and unobtrusive, just there ready and waiting for those who needed him.

‘It’s a pain in the arse, Dan. People are shoving their noses against the window to get a look at this long-haired Irish bloke who’s blown trouble into town.’

Dan raised his glass and his eyebrows.

‘Don’t forget the dirty great fuck-off noise-polluting bike.’

He smirked as he tossed a peanut in the air and caught it in his open mouth with a snap. Gabe grinned despite his frustration. Every morning over the last week he’d watched Marla strut past the funeral parlour window with too many folders in her arms, her wild curls blowing around her face. And each time she passed, she’d thrown a customary look of disgust at his motorbike.

‘Have you met Marla, the girl from the wedding chapel?’

He balanced a beer mat on the rim of the table and flicked it upwards, then caught it mid air in a show of nonchalance.

Dan wolf whistled under his breath.

‘Redhead, great legs? Not to speak to, but I’ve seen her around all right. I take it you’ve already had the pleasure?’

Something about the appreciative gleam in Dan’s eyes rankled Gabe. His friend’s Lothario ways usually amused him, but normal rules somehow didn’t apply when it came to Marla Jacobs.

‘Yeah, we met last week.’

‘And?’

‘Oh you know. The usual. She told me to leave the village and never darken her door again. That sort of thing.’

Dan laughed.

‘Doctor Death strikes again. You need a different job, mate.’

Gabe sighed. His difficulty lay in that, actually, he
could
kind of see Marla’s point. The fact was he hadn’t given any thought to the impact he might have on his new neighbours. Well, nothing beyond being mildly amused by the ironic symmetry, anyway.

Not that he’d ever expected anyone to put out the bunting and wave the welcome flags. He was more than used to the adverse reaction his profession drew from people. He’d learned many years ago that it was just about the biggest passion killer of them all to tell a girl you spend your days around dead bodies.

But Marla was in a class of her own. She was being plain unreasonable.

Surely she hadn’t thought she could issue him with his marching orders and expect him to roll over and limp out of town with his tail between his legs?

The truth was, the chapel’s unique perspective aside, this community needed him. There wasn’t a funeral director for more than forty miles, and that was plain unacceptable. The only surety in life was that one day everyone was going to die, and that alone meant that every family in this village would be better off for him being here.

And
please
. A Las Vegas style wedding chapel in Shropshire? It was a novelty, certainly, but it was hardly a necessity, was it? Who
really
used it anyway? From what he’d seen so far, he was pretty sure it wasn’t the locals.

‘Maybe she’d listen to your altogether more charming best friend instead. You know how persuasive I can be when I put my mind to it.’

Dan’s cocky grin and conspiratorial wink pushed all the wrong buttons. Unwanted memories strayed into Gabe’s head; countless girls wandering half-naked out of Dan’s bedroom on Sunday mornings when they’d shared a flat in London.

‘Stay away from her. I’ll sort this out myself, okay?’

Dan smirked, an all too knowing look in his eyes. He shrugged and opened a second bag of peanuts. ‘Suit yourself, sunshine.’

The silence between them lengthened.

‘So … whatcha gonna do about it then?’

‘No clue.’ Gabe shrugged and picked up their glasses. ‘Same again?’

He leaned against the bar and waited as the landlord placed a shot in front of a guy who looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Gabe didn’t mind the delay. He was still trying to work out the answer to Dan’s question.

On a purely practical level, the last thing he wanted was a dispute with his neighbours. God knows he needed the goodwill of the community to help his fledgling business off the ground.

But there was a lot more to this than practicalities.

There was a far
more pressing reason for Gabe to pour oil onto the troubled waters between him and Marla Jacobs.

Because the simple, inescapable truth was that from the moment Marla Jacobs had opened the chapel doors and deliberately insulted him, Gabe had known with utter certainty that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

It was just a shame that she couldn’t stand the sight of him then.

A few feet away from Gabe, Tom was leaning against the bar, his BlackBerry in one hand, a glass tumbler in the other. He wasn’t usually given to drinking after work, but then today wasn’t the usual kind of day. He looked from the flashing message icon on his mobile to the whisky, and after a moment’s pause he tipped the twelve year old malt down his throat. Fortified, he clicked the message open with a grimace.

Hey u!

Don’t forget we’re due at docs at 6.15. Don’t be late, receptionist is a jobsworth and don’t want to miss appt!

Luv Em xx

Yeah, he knew what a jobsworth the receptionist was. He also knew what a drama-queen Emily could be, and that she didn’t trust him to remember their appointment without reminding him at least ten times. He was starting to feel more and more backed into a corner with every passing day, and he didn’t like it one bit.

He nodded at the landlord for another whisky.

The following afternoon, Emily stepped out into the sunshine and locked the chapel doors. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes and squinted towards the funeral parlour. Going by the amount of banging she could hear, there was still someone at work over there. Maybe she could try to speak with Gabe one to one, plead Marla’s case whilst she was safely away at that tricky meeting with the local bakery. They had a Star Trek wedding in a few weeks time and the bride had her heart set on a four-foot-wide Starship Enterprise cake.

The front door of the funeral parlour was locked, so Emily made her way around the back and clicked open the gate. She stopped short at the sight of a huge black hearse with its bonnet popped and a pair of navy overall clad legs poking out from beneath it.

‘Hello...’ she called out hesitantly, bending down a little to make sure Gabe heard her.

‘Just a sec, darlin’,’ a deep voice rumbled up, and a moment or two later the owner rolled smoothly out from beneath the jacked-up chassis. Emily looked away quickly. His overalls were un-popped right down the front, affording her a prime time view of his conker brown chest and a six-pack that would make Jonny whimper.

It wasn’t Gabe.
This guy had none of Gabe’s brooding Heathcliff qualities, but he had his own charms. He made Emily think of sunshine and freedom and surfers with lips that tasted of sea salt. He jumped up when he saw her and wiped his oily hands on the front of his overalls.

‘I was looking for Gabe?’

He shook his head and shrugged his arms out of the sleeves of his overalls, turning slightly to reach for a T-shirt that hung on the car aerial. Emily swallowed as she glimpsed hard muscles and a large tattoo inked across the smooth skin of his back before the peach-soft pale blue cotton slipped over his head. It clung to him like a second skin.

He shoved the overalls off, and Emily thanked her lucky stars that he did at least have jeans on, although she couldn’t help but notice how the faded, frayed material did precious little to disguise his attributes. He balled up his work gear and chucked it aside, then stuck out his hand with a wide grin.

‘Nah, sorry, sweetheart. The main man isn’t around. I’m Dan. Will I do?’

She took his big brown hand and shook it.

‘I’m Emily, from the chapel.’

‘Well hello, Emily from the chapel.’

Dan’s blue eyes danced when he smiled again.

He leaned inside the kitchen and hooked a couple of bottles out of the fridge.

‘Fancy a beer?’

If it had been a different day, and if Dan had been slightly less gorgeous and accommodating, Emily definitely would have said no.

But it wasn’t a different day. It was the day after Tom had failed to turn up for their doctor’s appointment. The day after they’d had the mother of all rows. The day after Tom had spent the night on the sofa, and she’d barely slept at all.

As it was, she didn’t argue when Dan knocked the bottle tops off with a brick and handed her one, and she found herself sitting down alongside him on the back step to bask in the optimistic warmth of the spring afternoon sunshine.

‘So, Emily from the chapel. What do you want with our Gabriel?’

She took a good slug of beer for Dutch courage. ‘To appeal to his better nature, I guess?’

Dan laughed. ‘He’ll be sorry he missed that. Want to try to appeal to mine instead?’

Emily eyed him. The beer made her bold. ‘Depends. Have you got any sway around here? You look like the lackey to me.’

‘Ouch.’ He clutched at his heart. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m Gabe’s wing man.’

He took a long drink, and Emily noticed a bead of sweat running down his neck as he swallowed.

‘Goose to his Maverick.’ Dan paused. ‘Actually, no. He’s Goose. I’m way cooler.’

‘Okay then, Top Gun. Seeing as you two are so close, can you persuade him to take his dead bodies some place else, please?’

‘Aaah.’ Dan shook his head regretfully. ‘No can do, pretty lady. See, he’s dead set on this place.’

He laughed at his own wit.

‘Dead set … Get it?’

‘It’s not funny.’ Emily reproached him with a frown. ‘I love my job at the chapel.’

Dan hitched himself up on the doorframe and grabbed a couple more beers, then dropped back down and stretched his long legs out in front of him again.