Page 67 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
The silence prevailed as Mort poured each of the men a cup of coffee. Stribley emptied seven sachets of sugar into his.
‘My Maureen never let me do that,’ he said sadly. He added enough cream to overflow the cup – Mort had to spring forward with his pocket square to prevent the liquid from marking the table. The coaster was right there! ‘Or the creamer.’
‘Ernestina and I had different ideas about how hot a cup of coffee should be,’ said Duggo, dipping a finger into his coffee and nodding happily. ‘Lukewarm brings out the flavours, if you ask me.’
‘I’m not much for coffee,’ said Orson, looking distastefully at his cup. ‘Got any beer?’
Mort tried to recall what was left in the fridge following the most recent funeral fiasco. ‘I have champagne.’
Orson pursed his lips. ‘Weird for a funeral home. But it’ll do.’
‘Talk amongst yourselves,’ said Mort, heading off again. Thiswas why he didn’t entertain unless it was for work. Although, he supposed, it was kind of for work.
He returned with a bottle of half-flat champagne and a few decorative flutes etched with the wordsCongratulations: he’s dead!
‘Wow, hope they don’t put that on my tombstone,’ said Orson, turning the flute in his callused hand. His wedding ring flashed; Mort realised that all three men were wearing their rings.
Orson had apparently caught Mort staring at his ring finger, because he raised an eyebrow. ‘Any plans for your girl next door?’
For want of something to do with his hands, Mort poured himself a flute of champagne, wincing when it bubbled over. He quickly sucked the foam off the top of the drink.
‘She’s not my girl. We’re … just neighbours. Colleagues. Friends. Confidants.’
Who’d shared a passionate few moments that he couldn’t get out of his head. And who, despite their divergent dress codes, were perfectly suited.
Duggo snorted. ‘That’s a lot of words to say that someone’s not your girl. My Ernestina was all those things, too. Literally started off as the girl next door. Freckles, head of red curls, denim cut-offs – oh, I was a goner the day she moved in.’
Mort sipped his champagne, thinking back on how he’d felt when he’d first crossed paths with Lily. That giant smile, those sparkling eyes, those ridiculous business cards with the kissing couples that had been his very first introduction to her. And how she justrolled with everything, no matter what happened. She’d been unflappable when Derrick and Fran had abruptly carked it at the cinema (and then when they’d come back to life). She’d handled the switcheroo with surprising aplomb (much better than Mort had, in fact). And no matterthe difficulties her clients hurled her way, she took it all in stride.
‘He’s off with the fairies,’ chuckled Stribley, giving Mort a clap on the back. Mort inhaled his champagne, and burst into a spluttering coughing fit. ‘Look at him, one of us.’
Mort set down his glass and took in the motley group of men lounging around his office. Between the coffee and the desserts and their shared interest in Mort’s love life, they’d relaxed a little. He could see a sense of relief in all three of them. Maybe all they needed was a place to come together.
‘So,’ said Mort. Where to from here? How did you start a conversation with a group of strangers? He was used to delivering the usual polite condolences, but beyond that he had little. He’d always tried not to empathise too much, because otherwise this career would drown him with its pain.
Orson shifted on his seat, spilling his champagne, which to be fair, Mort had overfilled. (Bubbles were hard to anticipate, especially when you were dealing with half-flat champagne.)
‘Sorry,’ said Orson, on the verge of tears as he looked down at the spill.
‘Not to worry,’ said Mort stiffly. He pulled out his desk drawer, which contained his overflow store of handkerchiefs – but then spotted the pink corner of an ice-breaker card game that Lily had given him after listening to one of his more awkward client intake meetings through the grille. Hang on. Perhaps this could be of use.
Handing Orson a black handkerchief (he’d hidden the ones that had turned rainbow in the switcheroo at the bottom of the drawer), he reached for the box of cards, then set it on the table.
He grimaced as he took in the name of the game –Dirty Laundry– but pressed on, proffering the box to the men in front of him.
‘A dear … friend gave this to me. It’s to help us get comfortable talking about our feelings and getting to know each other.’
‘But we already know each other,’ said Stribley warily. ‘We’re sitting here, aren’t we.’
‘We’ve eaten lunch near each other in the same room before,’ added Duggo. ‘We’re old friends.’
‘Good start,’ said Mort slowly. ‘But I think we can go a bit deeper. Let’s start by taking a card. A few cards. I’ll go first.’
Have you ever had sex outside?read the card.
Maybe not.
‘What’s the longest you’ve gone without bathing?’ he said, improvising.
