Page 78 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
‘Helmut, you’re Nate. You have a complex relationship with fidelity. You don’t listen to actual music, only algorithmically generated playlists. And you hate puppies.’
‘I’m a monster,’ whispered Helmut, green eyes wide.
‘And you think surprise public proposals are a good way to corral someone into marriage. Veronica, you’re you from earlier.’
‘Okay,’ said Veronica, although she lookedfarhappier than she had the night of the switcheroo.
‘You’ve learned that your partner is a lothario in the worst possible way. And worse, he wants to tie you to his pathetic little world. A world withsurfers.’ Desdemona shuddered. ‘Your job is to channel the emotion you felt when you told Nate to go fuck himself. Take this spoon. It will help.’
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. ‘Itwashim. 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.’
