Undertaking Love (5 page)

‘So, Emily from the chapel … I’m guessing from that flashy sparkler on your finger that you’re married.’

He nodded towards the diamond solitaire that Tom had maxed out his Visa card for as a birthday surprise six years ago.

Or a lifetime ago, as it felt right at that moment.

Emily stroked the diamond with the tip of her finger and nodded.

‘Five years this summer.’

‘Wow. You must have been a child bride.’ Dan didn’t attempt to hide the cheeky admiration from his eyes.

‘Flatterer.’ Emily flushed. It had been a long time since Tom had looked at her that way. She knew she really ought to leave, but accepted the fresh beer Dan held out instead.

‘And you?’ She glanced at his ring-free hands. ‘No wife to declare?’

‘Nope. Why? You fancy doing a Bonnie and Clyde and running away with me in that thing?’

He grinned and jerked his head towards the dusty hearse snoozing in the sunshine.

If only life were that simple
, Emily thought, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to jump in the hearse and run away from her problems. From Beckleberry.
From Tom.
A wave of desolation swept over her, bringing a sudden lump to her throat and tears to her eyes. When Dan slid closer and eased a strong, warm arm around her shoulders, it felt way too good to shrug off. It had been so long since Tom had comforted her and
really
meant it.

‘God, I’m sorry,’ Emily gulped, embarrassed by the tears welling up in her eyes. ‘Ignore me. I’m being a total idiot.’

Dan gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze and said nothing. Emily was grateful that he chose not to pry.

‘You hit a bit of a nerve, that’s all. I’m okay, really.’ She swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand and stood up. ‘I need to go. Thanks for … for this.’

She thrust her still full bottle into his hands and backed away towards the gate. Dan set the beers down on the step and leaned against the doorframe.

‘I’ll tell Gabe you came by.’

Emily’s guilty heart banged in her chest as she nodded and fled.

‘Standing room only, you said,’ Marla hissed out of the side of her mouth at Jonny as he straightened the wine glasses on the table by the entrance for the third time. She glanced around at the sparse gathering in the chapel. Barely thirty people, even though Jonny had used the promise of free wine as a shameless lure on the flyers for the public meeting and had stocked up on cheap chardonnay in the expectation of a full house.

‘Shush. There’s time yet. It’s still early.’

Jonny slapped Emily’s hand away as she sidled over and reached for a glass of wine.

‘Did you see the hot reporter from
The Herald
over there?’ she stage-whispered with an exaggerated tilt of her head towards a guy standing alone on the far side of the chapel. His starched shirt and tie set him apart from everyone else in the room, as did the camera slung nonchalantly around his neck.

Jonny grinned. ‘Did I ever, sweet cheeks! He can take my close up, anytime.’ He flexed his muscles and turned his chin so Emily could admire his best side.

‘Put your guns away, Rambo. I think he has his eye on our Marla,’ Emily said, laughing at Jonny’s disappointed pout.

Marla shook her head at the pair of them, but shot a glance over at the reporter anyway. He caught her eye and smiled, and she looked away quickly. She was way too nervous to flirt. They all turned as the heavy door inched open, and slumped again as Dora and Ivan shuffled in arm in arm.

‘Evening all.’ Ivan nodded jovially around before making a beeline for the drinks table.

‘I’m only here for the wine, dear,’ he confided loudly to Emily behind his hand. ‘Are there sandwiches?’

Dora, resplendent in her Sunday best coat and her sparkly brooch, frowned and batted him with her handbag. ‘You said you were too full to eat much of my cabbage and sausage hotpot.’

Ivan pulled an exaggerated look of horror at Emily then smiled beatifically at his wife and patted her hand. ‘You must have misheard me, my love. It was a triumph.’

Emily shook her head affectionately at them. She’d never known her own grandparents, but in her head Dora and Ivan were the perfect replacements. They were quite the double act, as in sync as any comedy duo, and yet every now and then she caught the odd look and private smile between them that melted her heart. Their marriage was definitely one to aspire to.

She sighed and glanced at her watch. Tom had promised to try and make it, but she would have been more surprised by his presence than his absence.

Half an hour later it was apparent that no one else was going to turn up. The only people to come through the door since Dora and Ivan had been Kevin, the village plumber and occasional Elvis impersonator at the chapel, and Ruth the florist, who needed to stay abreast of the village gossip in order to keep her customers happy and spending their pennies.

Jonny made his way up to the lectern with a resigned look on his suntanned face.

‘Right, then. Let’s make a start, shall we?’

‘Hang on! I think there’s someone coming!’ Ruth called out, and an expectant hush fell over the small crowd as they stared at the door with bated breath.

It swung open, and a dramatic gasp rippled around the room as Gabe and Dan strode in.

Marla shot to her feet in panic as Jonny’s eyes popped out on stalks. He had yet to meet either of the men in the flesh, and his tongue was practically hanging out.

Gabe nodded in greeting towards Marla. ‘Don’t mind us. We’ll just sit at the back.’

He relaxed into a seat in the final row and smiled genially around at everyone, as if he’d just entered his local pub rather than a meeting held with the sole intention of running him out of town.

‘Yeah. And heckle loudly,’ Dan muttered as he slid into the seat next to Gabe with a mutinous look on his face. He couldn’t stand the way Gabe was being treated by the villagers, and he fully intended on letting the small-minded nimbys have it both barrels at some point this evening.

Marla alerted Jonny to the fact that the two sex-gods on the back row were in fact the opposition party, crushing his hopes of dragging them into the vestry later on to drink the crate of left over chardonnay.

He stood up at the front and cleared his throat. Marla took her seat and nodded in encouragement, though she privately felt this was a wasted evening that could have been better spent treating Emily to dinner at the pub.

‘Right then ...’ Jonny held up his hands to shut down the low-level chatter around the room. ‘We’re here tonight to discuss the effect that the proposed funeral home next door will have on our local community.’

Marla’s toes curled and her eyes hit the floor. Gabe infuriated the hell out of her. Why on earth had he come here tonight? She wished with all of her heart that he’d stayed away, because his presence in the room changed everything. Even Jonny had been rendered polite by uncharacteristic nerves. Gabe raised his hand.

‘Just for the sake of clarity, I should say at this point that it’s
approved
, not proposed.’

Dan snickered next to him, but fell silent again as Emily turned around and caught his eye. Ruth the florist, who’d once again been press-ganged into the role of reluctant minute taker, struck out ‘proposed’ and wrote ‘approved’ above it in dark letters instead.

Jonny’s lip curled at Gabe’s direct attempt to undermine him. Marla saw his confidence click back into place as he threw his chin up and rolled his broad shoulders. She held her breath for the onslaught.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, you all know why we’re here.’ Jonny planted his hands on his hips as his cat-like eyes flashed. ‘If we don’t do something sharpish to stop the Addams Family from opening up their frickin’ freak show next door, then this village will be going to hell in a handcart.
Capisce
?’

Gabe laughed out loud and threw his hands up in the air, whilst Dan’s chair scraped loudly against the flagstones as he shot to his feet in temper. ‘What the fuck is going on here, people? A witch hunt?’

Gabe stood and laid a hand on Dan’s arm. ‘Let the people speak, Dan. I want to hear what they have to say.’

They both sat down again, and Jonny faltered. Such a blatant display of rampant testosterone was something he’d normally pay good money to see.

‘Marla, would, err, you like to say something?’ he croaked, and stepped down from the lectern without waiting for her reply.

She shot him daggers as she walked past him. This hadn’t been part of their carefully worked out plan, he was supposed to be the front man of the operation. She was thrown even further off her stride when the reporter stood up and flashed his camera in her face.

‘First of all, thank you everyone for coming tonight, we really do appreciate your support.’

She ignored Dan’s loud snort, but even from the other end of the chapel she didn’t miss the swift dig in the ribs that it earned him from Gabe.

‘As you all know, the ‘proposed’ funeral parlour,’ she paused to shoot Gabe a ‘don’t you dare interrupt me’ look, ‘creates a huge problem for us here at the chapel.’

Gabe lifted a warning brow but let her continue without interruption.

‘If they are allowed to open, there is every likelihood that we will be put out of business within twelve months.’

She looked around at the people in the room, and was gratified to see the troubled expression that crossed their faces.

‘We bring a considerable amount of business to this area. The florist is busier than ever, the B&Bs are full most weekends, and a new one has just opened its doors to meet the demand for rooms from our wedding guests.’

Marla glanced over at Helen and Robert Jones, the owners of the latest boutique B&B. She was encouraged by their nods of agreement.

‘The tea shops are packed, the art gallery sells out, and the pubs and restaurants enjoy full houses. In short, ladies and gentlemen – as long as this chapel thrives, then the community does too. Just yesterday we lost out on a booking directly because of the funeral parlour’s presence. The first of many, no doubt.’

A frisson of shock reverberated around the room and Gabe’s head snapped up. Marla flinched with guilt. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but in truth, the bride-to-be had probably already decided that the chapel was way too kitsch for her sensible accountant fiancé. The funeral parlour next door had been the last on a long list of issues, and Marla strongly suspected she’d used it as a convenient excuse to make a quick getaway. She brushed off any lingering guilt and threw back her shoulders to deliver her killer punch line:

‘I’m not here tonight to beg for favours. I’m here to spell out the hard facts. If we go under, then I’m sorry to say that the rest of the village will go down with us.’

She let her eyes travel slowly over the faces of her friends and acquaintances in the room, until finally, she settled on Gabe. She was glad to see that she’d managed to wipe that smile off his face.

She’d served and, even if she said so herself, she’d very nearly aced it.

Fifteen: love.

The atmosphere in the room had changed as she spoke. Brows had furrowed, and accusatory eyes had turned towards Gabe. He got to his feet with a sigh, and laid a restraining hand on Dan’s shoulder as he went to stand too.

‘May I speak now, please?’

He looked only at Marla. To refuse would be to play into his hands, so with the tiniest of shrugs she moved aside to offer him the floor.

Every eye in the place was on him as he made his way along the aisle. When he reached the front he stood silently for a couple of seconds, scrubbing a slow hand over his stubble while he searched for the right words.

‘Thank you.’ Again, his eyes lingered on Marla, who looked down and studied her burnt orange shoes as if she’d never seen them before to avoid holding his gaze.

‘Most of you know who I am, but for those who don’t, I’m Gabriel Ryan.’ He paused for a second and looked around. ‘Gabe to my friends, which I sincerely hope one day you will all be.’

His small smile didn’t penetrate the stony looks on their faces. ‘Contrary to popular belief,’ he looked pointedly at Jonny, ‘I
haven’t
come here to cause trouble. I happen to believe that this community really needs me, and that I
can
be here without threatening the chapel – or anyone else’s business, for that matter.’

He glanced towards Dan at the back of the room. ‘I’m sure many of you knew Dan’s grandmother, Lizzie Robertson.’ Gabe cast a sad smile of solidarity towards his friend.

‘I was there on the day she died, and I saw first hand how hard it was on her family to wait for the undertakers to get there from almost forty miles away. It made a terrible situation even harder than it needed to be. That won’t happen to other families now that I’m here.’

Lizzie had been a much loved and respected member of the community and her death had come as a terrible shock to many. The mention of her name instantly softened the hard edges of the atmosphere in the room. ‘I’m passionate about what I do.’

Marla swallowed hard at his choice of words and stamped down the image that popped into her head of Gabe in the throes of passion.

‘I’ve grown up in the funeral business, and I’m damn good at it. My father was an undertaker, as are my brothers back in Dublin. It’s in my blood.’

He had an unfair advantage with that musical voice. Marla could feel her own defensive walls shaking under the assault, so God only knew how everyone else in the room was holding up.

‘Being accepted by all of you is vitally important to me. Believe me, I
can
be here without being a threat to the chapel.’

He zeroed in on Marla.

‘I’m sorry if you’ve lost a booking, Marla, but I’ve already offered to sit down and iron out a compromise. I’m ready and waiting whenever you are.’

She frowned. He’d batted it right back at her, and somehow he’d managed to make her sound churlish and uncooperative.

Fifteen all.

She stood tall next to him and lifted her chin.

‘Nice words, Gabriel. But nice words can’t change the fact that no bride wants to risk being confronted on her wedding day by a hearse and sobbing families. They’ll choose another venue just as soon as they see your sombre shop front, because they won’t want that as the back drop to their picture perfect day.’