Undertaking Love

Chapter Sixteen




Dan straightened his black tie and winked at his reflection in the rear window of the hearse.

Not too shabby, Danny boy. Not too shabby at all.

It was just a shame that Emily-from-the-chapel didn’t seem to agree with him. He’d only caught one fleeting glimpse of her since her birthday and she’d looked scared witless. What did she think he was going to do? Fall on his knees in front of her in the street and declare his undying love?

He knew the score. She was a married woman. He wasn’t going to broadcast her infidelity to anyone else, but something about her melancholy beauty had got under his skin in a way that didn’t sit easily with his usual love ’em and leave ’em attitude. He’d actually liked her, as well as wanting to get in her knickers. He knew he couldn’t expect anything to come of it, but all the same, he couldn’t quite shake her.

‘Dan, you almost ready?’

Gabe appeared at the back door dressed in equally sombre attire. His dark hair marginally more tamed than usual out of respect for Charlie Gibbons, a local veteran of both world wars. Come midday, Beckleberry High Street would be filled with mourners ready to walk the five minute journey behind the hearse to the local church, a fitting tribute to a man who deserved only the very best of send-offs.

‘What’s up, bud?’ Dan asked, tipping his head to one side.

Gabe sighed. He looked to Dan like a man who could do with a cigarette, but as a non-smoker Gabe would have to shoulder his stress without that convenient crutch to lean on.

‘I just need today to go without a hitch, you know? It’s our biggest funeral so far. I didn’t know Charlie for long, but long enough to know that he was one of the good guys.’

Dan nodded. Charlie had been a part of his childhood; the local hero who’d always laid the village poppy wreath on Remembrance Sunday. He’d spent much of the last decade propping up the bar in the pub, reminiscing about the past with his personalised Jameson’s glass in his hand. It would be one heck of an empty stool to fill.

Gabe glanced at his watch. Half an hour until the family were due to arrive.

‘Come on. We’d better get Charlie into the hearse.’



Over at the chapel, Marla searched around by the CD player in confusion.

‘Emily, where’s the CD gone with today’s music?’

She’d almost completed her third and final set of checks, her ritual safety-net half an hour before any wedding was due to start. The CD had been there on the two previous passes, but it was now nowhere to be seen.

Emily came through from the kitchen with the disc balanced between her fingers.

‘Don’t panic, it’s here. I was just giving it a last polish.’

She glanced outside as she slid it back into the machine.

‘It’s gorgeous out there today. Perfect wedding weather.’

Marla nodded. Everything was in place, even the sunshine, so why did she feel an uneasy sense of foreboding? She checked her watch and chewed her bottom lip. Midday. The guests would be arriving soon.

‘Dora definitely, definitely let them know next door that we have a wedding on today?’

Due to Marla’s reluctance to go within spitting distance of Gabe, they had ungraciously settled on a system of using Dora as a neutral go-between to ward off potential problems.

Emily nodded.

‘All covered. I asked her twice. Stop worrying Marla, we’re good to go.’



Dora wasn’t on duty at either the chapel or the funeral parlour that morning. Instead, she sat beneath the metal helmet of the ancient hairdryer at Vera’s salon, having her hair washed and set ready for her anniversary dinner with Ivan that evening. Come hell or high water, he always made a point of taking her out to celebrate each passing year, and this year they were trying out the new Italian in the village. She knew that Ivan was looking forward to a night off from her cooking as much as to a romantic date, but she didn’t mind really. At their time of life romance wasn’t high on either of their priority lists. They were just happy to have a warm hand to hold in bed, daily episodes of Countdown, and a nightly nip of whisky in their tea.

Dora smiled gently and flicked open a copy of the Woman’s Weekly, blissfully unaware that further on down the High Street, Gabriel’s receptionist Melanie had deliberately chosen not to pass on the message she’d asked her to give him about the wedding that was due to take place at 12.30.



‘Come on Charlie old boy, your public awaits you.’

Dan opened the funeral parlour gates and drove sedately around into the street, his precious cargo behind him. Charlie’s many friends and family fell silent as the hearse eased its way amongst them, and several veteran soldiers, their medals glinting in the warm sunshine, removed their hats and saluted their brother-in-arms. Gabe emerged out onto the street with Eleanor, Charlie’s widow, on his arm. She’d chosen to say a private farewell to her husband, and had just accepted a nip of Jameson’s as Dutch courage to help her through the ordeal of burying him.

Gabe took a respectful step away and the crowd bowed their heads as Eleanor placed her wedding hand flat against the glass, a final moment to draw strength from the man who’d shared her life for the last sixty years.



Just up the road in the pub, a posse of bright and raucous wedding guests drank up and streamed outside, in fine voice as they belted out the chorus of ‘going to the chapel’.

Seconds earlier, Marla had caught sight of the funeral procession in the street and flung herself out of the chapel doors, just in time to see the wedding party tottering towards her in a flurry of rainbow-coloured feather fascinators and mini skirts.

Inside, Emily and Johnny escorted the groom away from the windows in the nick of time with the promise of a fortifying brandy. A Mexican wave of silence rippled through the wedding guests as they came to a halt outside the chapel and caught sight of the sombre gathering already amassed further along the pavement. Each party looked dazed by the presence of the other – a gaggle of effervescent peacocks faced down by an austere flock of ravens. They turned in unison at the sound of a car’s engine, and watched in fascinated horror as the bride’s Rolls-Royce arrived to complete the tableau. Its white ribbons fluttered in the breeze as it came to rest nose-to-nose with the hearse.

Marla was going to literally kill Gabriel Ryan for this.

She met his eyes across the crowd, and even from this distance she could see her own fury reflected at her.

The man had some nerve.

The bride’s chauffeur opened her door and helped her step out onto the pavement, a celebratory confection in white. Marla could hardly bear to watch as her expression slipped from joy, to confusion, to shock, before finally settling on horror as she stared at the floral ‘husband’ tribute that lay in the hearse next to Charlie’s coffin.

For a few seconds, everyone stood motionless, as if someone had turned off the music in a game of musical statues.

The sunbeams that bounced off the crystals on the bodice of the bride’s dress were reflected by the tears that shimmered on her cheeks as she met Eleanor’s eyes.

Charlie’s widow was the first to make a move. She braced her bird-slender shoulders in her neat black suit and walked slowly to stand in front of the bride. She unsnapped her handbag and pulled out a starched white handkerchief.

‘Dry your eyes, pet. You don’t want to greet your new husband like that.’

The bride took the handkerchief and dabbed her cheeks.

‘Thank you. I’m so sorry about … about your husband.’

Eleanor nodded, and reached out to touch the bride’s bouquet of blood-red roses.

‘Roses were Charlie’s favourite. He was never much of a gardener mind, but he loved roses.’

The bride eased a stem from the bouquet and held it out to Eleanor, who accepted it with far away eyes.

‘It rained on our wedding day, you know. Absolutely poured down. Charlie’s mother said it was a bad omen, but then she always was a sour old crow.’

The bride laughed gently through her tears.

‘She was wrong, though,’ Eleanor said. ‘The day I married Charlie he held an umbrella over my head to keep me safe, and he carried on doing that for sixty-two years.’

She reached out and placed her hands over the bride’s clasped ones.

‘Go on now pet, you’ve kept that young man of yours waiting long enough.’



Inside the chapel a little while later, the bride’s eyes shone with happier tears as she surprised her new husband with a new line in their chosen wedding vows.

‘I’ll always be your umbrella on the rainy days.’