Page 97 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
The grin Lily shot him felt like a stun gun, and he staggered slightly.
‘There you go. The mark of a man unused to expressing emotion, huh? Bowls you over the first time.’
At the altar, the newly married couple turned to the rowspacked with their friends and families. It was time to head to the sleigh-hearse and be transported off to the reception venue.
The choir broke into an a cappella version of WHAM!’s ‘Last Christmas’, which was, as Lily put it, ‘quite the bop’.
Hand in hand, Rina and Emmett made their way back down the aisle, which was Lily’s cue to …
‘Release the confetti!’ she shouted.
Reaching into the red velvet stockings draped over the backs of their seats, the guests threw handfuls of confetti over the happy couple and the bridal party that followed. But instead of the paper snowflakes and pine needles that Lily had worked so hard to manually holepunch and package, the confetti was a weird, dreary grey that clung to the wedding party’s beautiful outfits like ash from a bushfire.
The bride’s blonde hair was coated grey beneath her snowy pillbox cap, and the makeup that had taken a team of three big-lashed makeup artists several hours to apply had taken on a wan vibe.
She looked less like a sexy snow queen and more like one of those street performers who paint themselves grey and pretend to be a statue.
‘Something’s wrong,’ whispered the mother of the bride, who was outfitted in a tiered green frock ornamented with bows and baubles. ‘It’s meant to be Christmas tinsel. Glittery stars and trees and crushed up candy canes. Not …’
Lily swallowed.
So did Mort. Oh no. Not now. He had an awful feeling she knew what exactly the guests had sprinkled all over the wedding party, and it wasn’t festive spirit.
‘Is that … a bone shard?’ said the maid of honour, who’d just picked something white and sharp from the snowy bobbleof her Santa hat. She pulled a pair of reading glasses from the pocket of her velvet dress and squinted at the shard.
It’s beginning to feel a lot like … corpsemas.
The flower girl giggled, holding up a tooth. ‘Mama, look what I got! Santa read my letter!’
Her horrified mother swept in before the flower girl could jam the tooth between the gap in her own gummy smile. ‘Luna! Drop it! Drop it right now!’
She turned on Mort. ‘Santa! Howcouldyou!’
‘Ashes!’ screamed Rina, spitting. She scoured at her tongue with her velvety train; ornaments flew all over, shattering on the fake-snow-covered floor. ‘I’ve got ashes in my mouth! IN MY WEDDING HAIR!’
She flung off her pillbox cap, short-circuiting the string lights and sparking a small fire that Mort quickly doused with a few measured stomps.
Lily stepped forward. She grabbed a set of sleigh bells from one of the choir members and shook them frantically. ‘It’s just … day-old snow, everyone. Part of the festive experience. No need to worry.’
Mort was holding a bone shard. ‘Quite a bit to worry about, really. Judging from this, I think the crematorium’s out of order.’
‘Thewhat?’ bellowed Great-Grandma Zinnia. ‘The ice-cream parlour’s out of order? What kind of Christmas party is it without ice-cream and pudding?’
Lily shoved the photographer forward. ‘Quick, do something!’
The photographer waved their camera around. ‘Everyone, group shot! Say … CONFETTI!’
Ashes, Ashes, We all Fall Down
Mort
‘Confetti!’ came the howl through the funeral parlour’s mail slot.
Mort, who was standing in front of the viewing room mirror trying in vain to unglue his Santa beard, was not particularly in the mood for visitors. Trying to figure out precisely where he and Lily stood while being decked out in head-to-toe velvet and ducking the determined advances of a bevy of elderly relatives had depleted his social battery entirely. And now he had the added punishment of homework: he had Aunt Jemimah’s body to deal with and a whole set of funeral preparations to handle. At least her entire family was in the area – although judging from the whole seating debacle, it would be a sparely attended funeral. Perhaps Mort could advertise grave-spitting as part of the festivities.
The person at the door was not going anywhere.
Mort stooped to open the mail flap.
