Page 56 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
Mort nodded. ‘We have a two-for-one deal on plots at the moment, if you’re interested.’
‘Ooh, making a liar oftill death do us part, I see,’ said Amos, running a hand over the fake bull’s spotted hide. ‘It is kind of a romantic gift, though, isn’t it. What kind of caskets do youhave? Or do you think cremation is the way to go? What about cryogenics?’
‘That’s entirely up to your preferences,’ said Mort, adding drily: ‘Although I’d have to direct you to a start-up in the Bay Area for the cryogenics option. I believe there’s an app subscription involved.’
Lily bit her lip, amused – Mort’s sharp sense of humour always seemed to come out of nowhere, but it got her every time.
‘Hmm, worm food or judgemental remains sitting outside the Conservative Ladies’ Township Society.’ Amos rested his elbows on the bull as he pretended to think it over. ‘Oh, they’d besopissed off. Let’s do the one that pisses off Republicans. Help me down?’
‘A good call, as always.’ Lily offered Amos a hand as he scrambled off the bull, cackling. She knew the giddy feeling, although she hadn’t ridden one of these since orientation at college. Sadly, she couldn’t remember much of that night. ‘When I say this wedding is going to be amazing …’
‘Expect the cops to be called,’ said Bernard. ‘Multiple times. It’s not a party if there’s no public disturbance complaint!’
Mort nodded politely, but Lily could see the alarm in his expression. Noise complaints and police escorts were not Mort’s preferred way of partying. He was more the paperback book and a glass of wine kind of guy, which Lily was slowly starting to come around to, especially in the wake of her phone calls with Venus.
‘Do you want me to run you out to your accommodations?’ Lily asked. Although she’d have to borrow Mort’s hearse to make it happen – her Miata was only a two-seater, and she wasn’t sure that either of the two men would fit inside.
Bernard shook his head. ‘We’ve got our trusty Stormy Daniels with us.’
‘The … adult star?’ clarified poor Mort, who rather looked like he’d happily step into an open grave.
‘Nowthatwould be a hoot. No, no, our car. It’s stormy blue. Let us know if you need help getting poor Rosa down to the venue.’ Bernard gave the mechanical bull a hearty pat, and with some cheek kisses and waggling of fingers, they set off back down the laneway, ready to check into their accommodations.
But because comings and goings always coincide in some sort of Newtonian twist of narrative, Gramps appeared from down the laneway, eating a croissant and pushing a rolly tweed suitcase along the cobblestones. It was not a subtle entrance; Lily had heard armoured vehicle parades that were quieter.
‘Mort, my boy! Your visitor, checking in! Nice bull, Lily. A good way to draw in happy couples to your business. And if someone dies, Mort can do the funeral.’
‘I pride myself on my holistic approach,’ said Lily.
Mort, in the meantime, had turned the colour of one of the ghosts that presumably haunted the funeral home. ‘Visitor? But I thought Amos and Bernard had rented Aunt Dot’s?’
Gramps shook croissant crumbs off his ruffled black shirt. ‘I don’t know who that is, but good for them. No, the pipes in the bathroom backed up like something out of a horror movie. You should’ve seen it: ooze and sludge all over the place. Stribley’s out dealing with it, but he said it’ll be a few days. It’ll be like old times – you and me and a jigsaw puzzle!’ He pulled out the jam jar Lily had found at Then Again, giving it a hearty shake. ‘No picture, so we’ll just have to wing it. I love what you’ve done with the greyhounds. Poodles – a nice touch.’
‘Me too,’ said Lily, pulling Mort and Gramps in for a selfie. ‘Say switcheroo!’
The Little Sleep
Mort
‘It’s good to be back in the old digs.’ Gramps set aside his rolly suitcase and cast a squinty eye around the funeral home. ‘Even if it does look … different. Although my vision isn’t what it used to be. What happened to the organ?’
‘The termites,’ improvised Mort. ‘Lily found me the pianola as a temporary replacement. Elsie does the job, but she lacks a certain gravitas.’
‘Elsie, hmm?’ Gramps thumbed the middle C key that Lily had written her note on.
‘One of Lily’s names. The girl names everything. Her car, large appliances, that plant that Jorge had dropped off as a thanks for all the cake, novelty kitchen sponges … She’ll name her pot of tea if she thinks it’s going to take a while to drink.’
Mort had spent his whole life trying not to get attached to things, and here was Lily giving the local pigeons a cohesive backstory told in three parts, complete with character charts and star signs.
Gramps lazily thumbed out ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ on the pianola. ‘Sounds like you’re in love with her.’
Mort spluttered. ‘Why would … What gave you that idea?’ Mort folded his arms indignantly. ‘Absolutely not!’
‘Definitely love,’ diagnosed Gramps, letting the last note of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’ linger. Then he tapped the long rectangle of photo booth pictures that Mort and Lily had taken a few weeks back, which Mort had stuck under the lid of the pianola. All right, so Mort had kept the picture, but so what? He needed proof of the switcheroo in the event of a legal claim. And besides, he looked quite fetching in the third photo, and it never hurt to have an updated head shot available.
Gramps ruffled Mort’s hair, something Mort had always felt should fall under cruel and unusual punishment. ‘I’ve seen enough partners sobbing over their dead lover’s corpse in my time to know love when I see it.’
Mort scraped his hair back into its usual messy state. ‘Really selling it there for me, Gramps.’
