Page 53 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
Lorraine moved her rook. ‘Well, if the bride needs to make it look like an accident, tell her to call me. I know what’s up.’
Lily grabbed Mort’s hand. ‘Could we … um …’
‘That’s right. Our meeting,’ said Mort pointedly.
Before the two of them overheard something that couldn’t be unheard, Mort ushered Lily out of the main room and over to the reception area, where a cheerful dark-haired nurse with half a dozen novelty pins on her shirt waved at them. Lily, apparently having found a kindred soul, showed off the patch on her pink knitted bag.
‘I love your Eat-the-Rich Hungry Caterpillar!’ she said.
‘AndIlove your Fuck-Off-I’m-Sparkling unicorn!’ said Crystal. (She was wearing a sparkly nametag.)
‘I do weddings. I’d give you my card, but I’m having some new ones made. There was a bit of a printing error with the last ones.’
(Said printing error being that the switcheroo had turned them from the kissing couple display into a bouquet of roses that wilted when you folded the card. Mort personally thought that the switcherooed version was quite fetching, but Lily did not agree and was using the box as a doorjamb instead.)
‘If my boyfriendeverproposes, I’m calling you,’ said Crystal. ‘Although it’s been eight years, so I’m not getting my hopes up. We’ve had the talk three times, and you know, I might be ready to move on to more committed pastures.’
‘I’m here either way,’ said Lily. ‘Even if you just want to eat your feelings – I get so many cakes in for tasting. It’s great.’
‘Deal.’ Crystal turned to Mort. ‘How’ve you been doing, Mort? I’ve missed the last few shows at the cinema because of life stuff – although Ididhear about Derrick and Fran. I heard it was monkshood poisoning from a bespoke perfume. Almost enough to be deadly, but not quite. Divineintervention for the win. Are you going to Derrick’s sermon this weekend?’
‘Maybe,’ said Mort generously. This cult thing was progressing as quickly as the switcheroo.
‘Don’t wear shoes if you do. How’s Gramps?’
‘About eight thousand pieces into a new jigsaw puzzle,’ said Mort.
‘We’re helping,’ explained Lily. ‘He picked a doozy of a puzzle – I’m officially putting myself in charge of the next one.’ She pulled out the puzzle-in-a-jar she’d bought from Then Again. ‘I don’t even know what this is meant to be, but there’s no way it’s worse than the one he’s currently working on. Look – patches of contrasting colour! Outlines!’
‘Well, there’s plenty of space in Beverley Alberi’s old unit for a jigsaw puzzle collection. Number 51. Still interested?’
Mort felt the floor wobble beneath him. With Beverley’s funeral looming large in his memory, it was impossible not to make the connection between this place and what came after.
‘We’ll pop our heads in,’ said Lily gently, filling the space that Mort, in the moment, simply couldn’t. ‘But we’re actually looking for … what was their name again, Mort?’
‘Jefferson,’ stammered Mort. ‘Is he around?’
‘Airplane or Starship?’ joked Crystal. She gestured behind her, waggling her sparkly nails. ‘He’s in the kitchen, whipping up some chocolate pudding. Go right on through. See you Saturday!’
Mort and Lily’s footsteps echoed as they walked together down a wood-panelled hallway filled with fake trees and residents’ artwork. Their fingers brushed not entirely accidentally as they navigated around clay sculptures of small dogs or paper chains decorated with loved ones’ names.
Mort tried not to notice the numbers on the rooms theypassed, but according to the decorative numbers hot-glued to plump ovals of fabric on each door, they were presently in the 40s, which meant that Gramps’s possible future apartment was just steps away.
47. Now 48, 49 … 50.
As they reached 51, Mort stopped short. Lily paused beside him, putting a gentle hand on his wrist.
‘Do you want to go in?’ she asked. ‘At least see what it’s like and whether it’s a good fit for Gramps?’
Mort ran a finger over the polished wood of the doorframe. How many hands had done the same thing over the years, rallying themselves for a visit with someone ailing, or someone who might look at them with confused eyes? Lily was right. Either the space would feelright, and Mort would feel comforted knowing that Gramps was in good hands, or he’d know he had to figure out something else. A motorised chair lift for the rickety stairs, perhaps (after Mort had the stairs repaired, of course), or maybe a Roomba he could program to help with all the puzzle pieces under the couches. Oh, and perhaps some extra buttressing for the gargoyles that kept falling off in the middle of the night.
‘You could always move back in with him,’ suggested Lily. ‘Or I could. Imagine all the jigsaw puzzles we could do together. Just so long as he let me open the curtains. And maybe paint the walls.’
‘Ah, you want to perform a switcheroo on poor Gramps, huh?’ teased Mort, trying to find levity in the moment. ‘It wasn’t enough that you took over the funeral parlour?’
Lily grinned. ‘To paraphrase a classic, I see a black door and I want to paint it pink. Like this one.’
‘It’s cherry,’ Mort pointed out.
