Page 44 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
‘Lovely touch with the black carpet.’ Desdemona nudged the carpet roll with a toe. Lily was astonished she could even lift her feet in those boots. The woman must be a powerhouse in the gym. ‘I might repurpose it for the film premiere.’
‘Thanks,’ said Lily. ‘There was a leftover bolt from the seamstress who leased the shop before me.’
The familiar rumble of Mort’s hearse shook the light-studded streets.
‘Your chariot,’ said Lily, with a grin.
Desdemona nodded approvingly. ‘Nowthisis how one travels on to the next stage in life.’
Pulling the hearse around in front of them, Mort climbed out, looking oddly … shevelled. His black tux was impeccable – and set off with a black and red paisley bow tie – and his usually tousled hair was neatly combed. Was that product?
‘You did your hair,’ noted Lily, impressed.
And damn, he smelled so good. Unless that was cedar from a coffin she was smelling, in which case … okay, he still smelled so good.
Mort scoffed. ‘It’s Friday the 13th. Not dressing up would be most improper.’
He paused, taking in Lily’s uncharacteristically monochrome outfit. ‘You look … lovely.’
These were effusive words coming from Mort. Lily tried to swallow back the enormous grin that threatened to take over her whole face. This was Desdemona’s night, not hers. ‘Thanks, but it’s just the moonlit beauty of our bride reflecting on to me.’
Said moonlit bride was presently posing in front of a decorative lamppost like something out of a French horror film. But shedidlook great.
Mort popped the back of the hearse, which creaked open deliciously to reveal a profusion of black satin cushions arranged in the shape of a coffin. Behind the cushions was a wall of black roses sourced from Whoops-a-Daisy (whose treasure map stamp was a dried daisy nested in acrylic), arranging them so that they filled the back of the hearse in a solid black wall of petals.
Quoth the raven: Evermore, was spelled out in spidery writing atop the roses. (This had been Ambrose’s suggestion.)
Lily squeezed Mort’s arm; the display was the epitome of the macabre. It was perfect.
Clopping forward on her astonishing boots, Desdemona clapped her hands over her mouth – although carefully, so as not to ruin her purple-lined lipstick – overcome with emotion at Ambrose’s thoughtful addition to the celebration.
‘It’s deliciously sombre,’ she whispered. ‘The soul aches at the very sight.’
‘Let me know when you’re ready,’ called Mort from the driver’s seat, as Lily adjusted Desdemona’s hem so that Briony could snapa series of shots of the bride in repose. Desdemona snatched up one of the roses and held it to her throat, inhaling deeply.
‘Ah, the sweet scent of the night, of the little deaths it offers,’ she murmured.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ whispered Mort as Lily buckled up next to him. ‘I had an issue with a body. It was a whole thing.’
Desdemona was high on the scent of the roses she’d been huffing (maybe Lily shouldn’t have spritzed them with all that hairspray as a preserving agent). ‘Mort, tell me,’ she murmured. ‘How many corpses have made the journey back here?’
‘Hundreds,’ said Mort, crawling down Jupiter Street at a speed so slow it was surely an arrestable offence. ‘Some of them couples.’
‘How romantic,’ breathed Desdemona dreamily. ‘Heading back to the earth together, becoming one with the mushrooms …’
Lily cranked the stereo, which was preloaded with a goth rock playlist she’d spent hours putting together as she worked on the ‘sky’ chunk of the jigsaw puzzle Gramps had assigned her. She had a fairly solid area of blue on her upstairs table, and a newfound appreciation for fuzzy guitar and nihilistic lyrics.
‘I never pegged you as a Ministry fan.’ Mort braked for a tourist who was a solid three metres away from the road and could therefore conceivably do a running jump onto the hood.
‘What?’ Lily danced along in her seat to the amazingly Eighties drumbeat. ‘What part of me doesn’t suggest I live my life like every day is Halloween?’
‘You really embody each wedding you work on. It’s … impressive.’
‘Thanks. And you do a lot for the dead denizens of Mirage-by-the-Sea.’
As the hearse inched along, Lily leaned out the window, marvelling at the giant moon that hung like a very brave trapeze artist in the mist-shrouded sky.
‘Perfect for Friday the 13th,’ she mused.
