Page 93 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
‘Damn, Santa’s ready to sleigh.’
Mort scowled beneath the enormous white beard he’d affixed to his extremely unSanta-ish jawline, but generously struck a fetching pose in his velvety suit. His shiny Oxfords didn’t quite fit the whole Santa vibe, but so long as he kept a sack of gifts at his feet, he’d be fine.
‘All we need is …’ Lily grabbed one of the throw pillows off the chair she’d been sitting on and shoved it up under his shirt, adjusting the pillow so Mort sported a chunky, squishy Santa belly.
‘Oh, I could rest my head on that,’ said Lily, giving the pillow a squeeze.
‘Absolutely not,’ said Mort, glowering.
Lily was not about to be dissuaded. ‘Please can we take a photo in the photo booth? For posterity’s sake?’
‘Absolutely not,’ repeated Mort.
‘Absolutely yes,’ corrected Lily, guiding him towards the back viewing room, where the photo booth sat waiting to capture Santa Mort for the viewing pleasure of generations to come. At least, that was the goal, thought Lily, as she pushed Mort inside and pulled the curtain into place.
Well, maybe not the photos with said Santa in various states of undress.
A Frosty Reception
Mort
‘You’ve got some lipstick on your beard,’ whispered Lily, as she settled Mort into position on the sleigh.
Fortunately the beard was robust enough that it hid the blush creeping over Mort’s cheeks. Although that might have been an allergic reaction to the extreme amounts of glue they’d used to re-secure said beard after things had got a little carried away in the photo booth. Not that Mort minded. He was perfectly happy to reprise the events of the previous night without someone barging in screaming about a corpse. That, and he was delighted to know that Lily hadn’t regretted the whole debacle – that she hadn’t run off the way she’d told him that she’d always done in the past. That she still felt comfortable enough to show up on his doorstep. Even if it had been with a Santa costume in hand.
Even if their days together would, a few months from now, come to an end. It was only a matter of time before Angela pushed the applications for next year’s discounted small business opportunity live.
‘Presents under the tree!’ called Lily, as the guests filed in wearing their Christmas best. Ugly sweaters assaulted the eye; Rudolph earrings flashed on and off in stretched earlobes, and a few grinches made finger guns at each other.
‘Now, if you have any requests for the special couple, hop up on Santa’s lap and let him know. He’ll write them down in his special notebook for you.’
Mort waved gallantly from his sleigh – ugh, these Santa gloves were making his hands itchy – then pointed to the huge red leather-bound Naughty & Nice guestbook that Tink had prepared for the wedding.
‘Ho, ho, ho!’ called Mort, waving at the gathering line of guests. A buxom older woman with impressively teased hair teetered up on majestically tall heels. Mort was astonished that, given her extremely high centre of gravity, she didn’t topple head-first into the stack of presents.
‘Ho, ho, ho!’ he cried, as she squeezed herself onto the padded bench seat of the sleigh.
‘That I am. I’m Cousin Nolene, by the way,’ simpered Cousin Nolene, with a lascivious wink, and then a wiggle that planted her firmly in Mort’s lap, which was very much against the rules for comportment that Lily and Tink had outlined on the chalkboard in front of the sleigh. Alas, Lily was adding candy cane toppers to the cocktail pyramid, and Tink was busy placing lyric booklets on the pews. There was no one to rescue poor Mort.
Cousin Nolene flicked her hair, whacking Mort in the face with a lacquered bevy of fake curls. She smelt alarmingly of cucumbers and elderberries, as though she’d steeped herself in a fortifying gin bath for an hour or so before the wedding.
‘So, Santa, baby.’ She sang it like the carol. Well, like the carol, but slurred. ‘What do I need to do to become your Mrs Claus?’
Mort swallowed. What on earth had Lily got him into?
‘I, um, already have a Mrs Claus,’ he said, pointing to Lily in the velvety costume that twinned his. Well, not quite twinned – it was a lot shorter and a lot more form-fitting, and didn’t involvean itchy beard. But he felt a flash of pride at the fact that they were each one half of an iconic couple, that Lily wanted to be visually connected to him.
And physically.
Ahem, Mort.
As if reading his thoughts, Lily winked across the room at him, making Mort blush the colour of his velvet suit.
‘How about amistressClaus?’ purred Cousin Nolene.
‘So. What note would you like me to pop down for the happy couple?’ Mort waved his snowdome pen, trying to get this awkward situation back on track.
‘How about my phone number?’ simpered Cousin Nolene, wiggling in Mort’s lap. She trailed a fingertip over Mort’s shoulder.
