Page 84 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
‘The celebrant is AWOL, and there are only so many Lord Huron knockoff songs you can play before people get restless,’ whispered Lily.
‘Can you get her on the walkie-talkie?’ asked Mort.
‘No luck.’ With Mort in tow, Lily wandered the fields, looking for signs of the colourfully named – and clad – celebrant. Rainbow Soleil (the moniker of someone who was almost certainly on the lam from decisions made in a past life) was nowhere to be seen. But hang on, there was a whole lot of giggling coming from Reba’s Kombi. And smoke as well.
Biting back a grin, Lily knocked on the door, then yanked it open.
The cloud that poured out was enough to set off every smoke alarm within a five-mile radius.
‘We were doing a cleansing ceremony,’ explained Reba, whose eyes were tellingly red.
Rainbow Soleil, who was dressed precisely as her name suggested, coughed. ‘We ran out of sage,’ she rasped.
‘I think you’ve got it handled,’ said Mort drily.
‘The guests are seated,’ explained Lily, handing Rainbow an earpiece. ‘Are you ready?’
‘To join two like-minded souls in matrimony? The goddess that runs through me says yes indeed.’
They hurried over to the ceremony area, Rainbow Soleil taking her place by the altar. Lily hurried in to fetch Venus, who was swigging from a bottle of organic, sugar-free sparkling wine. Spotting Lily, Venus dabbed self-consciously at the front of her dress, where a good deal of said bottle now made its home. At least she wasn’t drinking rosé.
‘Ready?’ said Lily, donning her biggest, brightest smile.
‘As I’ll ever be,’ said Venus, with the excitement of someone preparing to clean cat vomit out of the carpet.
Lily held her smile, hoping the vaguely excited Venus of the early wedding planning meetings would return. Because if not, well, perhaps Mort should take over the formalities.
The folk band (who had some membership crossover from the cowboy wedding) struck up a jaunty tune, and the guestsoohed lightly as Venus, shoulders back and a bouquet of California poppies in hand, walked quietly down an aisle thatched with pink pampas grass fronds and woven grass mats.
Buoyed by the background notes of the band, Venus took her place before the dramatic floral altar, smiling nervously at Desmond, whose phone was ringing in his pocket.
‘Just a sec,’ he muttered, glancing down at his phone.
This was going well. Distraction. Lily needed a distraction.
They’d start with the doves.
Lily signalled for the dovecote owner (known locally as the Bird Man) to release the doves from their tie-dye-drapedenclosure. Giving her a thumbs up, the Bird Man pulled back the latch and urged the cooing birds to their freedom. Only they weren’t cooing birds of the sweet and gentle turtledove variety. They were huge and black, and their caws struck up murmurs of confusion among the crowd.
‘Portentous,’ muttered Mort.
‘Rainbow and I have a bet going on this whole thing,’ whispered Reba.
Mort was intrigued. ‘Isn’t that a conflict of interest?’
‘You two,’ warned Lily.
As the crows flapped and cawed overhead, Gracie stepped forward with her camera, snapping a series of shots of Venus cowering beneath raised hands. Desmond, finger held up in the international symbol forhang on, with you in a sec, was on his phone typing an urgent email. Or at least he was until a crow tried to dive-bomb his lifted finger, thinking it was a workaholic worm.
A smattering of confused applause broke out.
‘It’s … good luck,’ called Lily. Ofcoursethe switcheroo had to strike now, when she was finally having some success taking Venus’s attention away from her frigidly cold feet. ‘Two crows is good luck. They symbolise transformation and … fate.’
‘But there are six,’ said Reba matter-of-factly. ‘Six symbolises death.’
Lily shot Reba a look. ‘It’s a regional interpretation,’ she called. ‘It doesn’t have to mean death.’
Reba flapped a hand smothered in chunky rings. ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night.’
