Page 45 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
‘Here.’ Mort pressed a button. The sunroof opened, giving Lily whatever the opposite of the bird’s-eye-view to the moon was. She reclined her seat, staring up at it.
‘What an idyllic night to come together as one,’ whispered Desdemona from behind her.
Lily shot a glance at Mort, then hastily averted her eyes as she realised that he was doing the same thing.
‘Watch the road,’ she murmured in a sing-song voice.
As the hearse climbed the top of the hill, the Spanish Mission rose up before them, its quaint arches and massive trees reaching up at the sky in celebration.
‘Almost there,’ said Lily, producing a makeup compact from her purse. ‘Are we ready?’
‘Deadly ready,’ said Desdemona.
Lily climbed through to the back of the vehicle, gently pushing the roses aside. She cracked open the compact, then grimaced. The thick, cake-like makeup was not what Desdemona had handed her earlier that evening.Casket Casewas tooled in silver on the front of the compact. Shit. It was Mort’s mortuary makeup. The switcheroo was at work.
Desdemona gasped, then clasped her hands to her throat. ‘Where did you get that? It’s all the rage after Kat Kadaver showcased it on TikTok. It’s been sold out for months.’
‘And it’s … all yours!’ said Lily brightly. ‘A wedding gift from me. Oh look! There’s even a lipstick.’
She passed Desdemona a matte pink lipstick (Frigid Fluid) that didn’t quite seem the bride’s style until Desdemona gave another gasp – ‘The lipstick hue fromThe Corpse Bride! You’ve thought of everything!’
‘It’s my special brand of magic.’ Lily carefully adjusted Desdemona’s gown in preparation for the bride’s arrival at the wildflower field. ‘Now let’s get your cape on.’
‘I’ve got the step stool.’ Mort came around with a child’s mourning chair, which wasnotthe chair that Lily had sourced. At least the switcheroo was working for this particular wedding, she thought, as Desdemona waxed excitedly about olden-day mourning rituals. It was the others that were going to be more of an issue.
But, she thought wistfully, as a shooting star launched itself overhead, maybe they’d have this whole spell reversed by then.
When Desdemona appeared against the giant studio-style lights that Lily had borrowed from Rerunning Up That Hill, a murmur arose among the small knot of guests like the flapping of a cave full of bats – which to be fair, was probably the vibe they were going for. The bride’s black beaded corset skimmed her hips, making the explosion of her tulle mermaid skirt all the more eye-catching. A beaded floor-length cape in matching tulle clung to her shoulders like the most extravagant raven wings.
Ambrose stood at the far end of the field by the gravestones, which Lily had carefully lit with additional cinema lights. (‘We’re going for a spooky Ed Wood vibe,’ she’d told Dot, who had needed little coaxing.) He wore a majestic black velvet tuxedo over a purple silk shirt studded with skull buttons, and a canted brimmed hat that straddled the line between pirate and steampunk. (In a good way.)
Sunny the budgie perched happily on his shoulder, nibbling sweetly at Ambrose’s chain-link earring, which swung from his left lobe like a miniature obstacle course. Meanwhile, beside him, two pugs – one in a top hat and the other in a pinstriped vest – panted happily from black satin cushions, their curly tails waggling.
Breaking character from her usual funeral vibe, Desdemona beamed as she drank in the stunning scene: the vibrant wildflowers bobbing in the gentle evening breeze, the smallknots of black-clad guests on the ancient pews the mission had generously lent them for the night, the table of dyed-black burgers sourced from Burgermeister and the equally dark desserts from The Hot Pot, the haunting light of the moon that hovered high above them.
‘It’s perfect,’ she whispered to Lily. ‘I could die happy. Not that I would, because that’s not my particular aesthetic. But you know what I mean.’
‘I do indeed,’ whispered Lily, giving her hand a squeeze. Ouch, those nails! ‘Are we ready to hit the music?’
Desdemona nodded. ‘Let’s do it.’
Mort rolled a score into the rickety pianola that was now enjoying a pleasant semi-retirement inside the funeral home. Lily had set black candles into the candelabras at its front, and had shrouded it in a length of black lace that Janessa Hodges had left at the back of the upstairs wardrobe. (Having all of this excess fabric around was proving a boon.)
Mort set the pianola to play, then stomped his foot on the pedal. He gave Lily a thumbs up as the discordant notes of ‘Hurt’ by Nine Inch Nails rang out crookedly into the moody night. A self-playing piano in a cemetery field under a full moon: it was deliciously haunted, if Lily could say so herself.
‘How on earth did you get a score for that?’ whispered Briony, her camera snapping as Desdemona slowly made her way down the ornate Turkish-style carpet runners Lily had dragged into a line to form an aisle. Black candles glimmered in hurricane lanterns along the edge of the runners, casting a soft light on Desdemona’s ankle-twisting platform shoes.
‘Internet,’ said Lily proudly. ‘I printed it out and cut the little holes myself.’
‘Wow. Dedication.’
In astonishing testament to her capacity to her childhoodballet lessons – that ankle strength! – Desdemona made it to Ambrose without injury.
‘My bride.’ Ambrose’s dark eyes sparkled as he pulled Desdemona to him. Desdemona sank into his arms, her black-painted lips curving into a smile as the gentle light of the moon played over them.
Lily’s heart swelled – this was why she did this. She loved seeing people in love celebrating that love, however that looked. And as a wedding planner, it looked all ways.
The celebrant – an older woman clad in flowing black robes and with a pair of goggles pushed up on her head – stepped forward. (Elvira had been double-booked.)
