Page 74 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
‘All right, I can’t say no to that. May I?’ Tipping back her cowboy hat so he could see her face, Mort gently put one hand against Lily’s back, his fingertips lightly grazing her bare skin. With his other he reached for her hand, gently enclosing her fingers in his.
‘Look at you, Mr Slow Dance.’
‘You don’t run a funeral home without learning some tips from the old ladies,’ said Mort, pulling her in. She was so small in his arms, yet strong. There was a fiery strength to her that he loved: the strength of a huge personality squished into a tiny package. She seemed to overflow with it, with a brightness and energy that Mort suspected you’d be able to see even with the lights dimmed.
As the rest of the crowd pressed onto the floor, rocking and swaying together, Mort and Lily danced quietly on the sidelines. Lily followed his lead so beautifully – she’d definitely partner-danced before. Even slightly addled from the champagne, she was strong and balanced on her feet, adding little footwork embellishments that provided the perfect flourish to the music. Mort was impressed, and enthralled. He could have danced withher for hours, moving smoothly across the dance floor, in time with the music, in time with each other.
But any funeral director knows that all good things come to an end.
The lights dimmed. The guy on the banjo picked up a fiddle and bowed a handful of notes that sent fear trickling down Mort’s spine.
The microphone squealed as he howled: ‘Who’s ready for “Cotton Eye Joe”? Get in line, folks!’
You Can’t Hurry Love Spells
Lily
Lily stretched out in her desk chair, trying to loosen the kinks and knots from hours of administrative emails combined with hours of line dancing. By the time she’d sent Amos and Bernard off to their new lives together, the sun had been peeping over the horizon, and Lily had been practically pickled on Pol Roger. But at least she hadn’t thrown herself at Mort again, nottechnically, unless dancing cheek to cheek counted. (Well, cheek to shoulder given the height difference.)
Lily never slept well after a big boozy night, and she’d come downstairs at seven scrabbling around for some emergency ibuprofen and Berocca to help counteract the drumbeat in her head. Esmeralda had joined her, and by then Lily had decided that she might as well start work for the day because she sure as hell wasn’t going to manage her morning run down to the beach. If someone saw her shambling up the promenade in her current state they’d probably get on Nextdoor sounding the alarm about a pod people invasion.
Besides, she had emails to catch up on, texts about Annika’s new Italian pied-à-terre to respond to, and the imminent arrival of Veronica – who was going to do her best to reverse the switcheroo spell – to prepare for. Not to mention some eavesdroppingthrough the grille in case Mort was sharing with Gramps or his Grief Guys his innermost thoughts about their dance.
Alas, judging from the murmured conversation coming from the other side of the wall, Mort was taking some heat for the inscription on a newly placed bench over a late judge’s grave. Apparently it read ‘all rise’ instead of the requested ‘please approach the bench’, which was not entirely off brand, but might open the judge’s estate to liability should a zombie apocalypse occur.
Lily’s phone buzzed, startling her away from her eavesdropping. Mom!
‘I finally caught you, Lils! Take that, phone tennis.’ Mom craned her neck all around, trying to get a look over Lily’s shoulder. ‘Is that your shop? It looked different in the photos you sent me. Are you in a basement? A dungeon? I suppose grey is making a comeback this season.’
‘It’s just … the light,’ said Lily awkwardly.
‘You should work on that. Good lighting is everything on someone’s big day. Speaking of, I sent the photos from that cowboy wedding to Aunty Karen. Her jaw? On the floor. That’s how you know you’re doing a good job.’
‘Thanks, Mom. It’s going really well.’
‘Never a dull moment, I’m sure – I know it all too well – but I knew you’d be brilliant. You’ve got your mom’s genes. And that space! Is that a cat? Do you have a cat?’
‘Sort of. Her name is Esmeralda.’ Lily angled the phone to capture Esmeralda in the shot. The fluffy cat frowned, then slunk off to scratch up Lily’s desk chair.
‘And you’re making friends? You should join a sports team. Or bingo. I love bingo – mine has such a good buffet! Or how about a jogging club? Are there joggers there? There must be, being so close to the beach.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ said Lily, who was exhausted at the thought. She’d been so busy with work that clubs were out of the question – she’d missed every single one of Dierdre’s book club meet-ups so far, even though she’d had good intentions.
‘How’s …’ Lily had given up keeping track of Mom’s boyfriends.
‘It’s Rick. He’s … fine. Not the one, though. Although are any of them?’
Maybesomeof them, thought Lily. Well, one of them.
‘The only condiment he can abide is yellow mustard. Yellow mustard! That stuff’s radioactive, I know it. Life’s too short.’
It really was, wasn’t it? Lily’s stomach clenched as she caught sight of the calendar on her wall. How much longer would she get to call Mirage-by-the-Sea home?
‘By the way, did you check Facebook?’ Mom asked knowingly.
Lily had not; she wasn’t even sure she still had an account. There were just so many boomer memes from her older relatives to sort through, and why bother when said relatives would just take a screenshot of the memes and text them to you anyway?
‘Sure did,’ she said brightly.
