Page 3 of Wedding Crasher

Gabriel Ryan stilled the growling engine of his Kawasaki Z1300, restoring the sleepy early morning peace to Beckleberry High Street. The pavements still glittered with the dawn frost of early spring, and his breath hung on the icy air as he slid his helmet off. He sat stock still for a couple of seconds and drank in the sight of his perfectly hung shop signs for the first time.

Gabriel Ryan, Funeral Director. One thought consumed all of the others in his head. Mine. It’smyname over the door.

Time to grow up, Gabe.

His father’s last words had become his mantra over the last few months. If he’d ever needed to feel the warmth of his beloved Da’s approval, it was now. He kicked the bike stand down and fished around in the pocket of his battered leather jacket for the front door key.To his own front door.This was it. Elated and scared witless all at the same time, he felt for his mobile as it buzzed against his chest. He didn’t need to glance at the screen to know who would be on the other end of the line.

‘Hey, Rory.’ He slipped the key into the lock and turned it.

‘You there yet, little brother?’

At forty-five, Gabe’s eldest brother Rory’s voice sounded heart-wrenchingly similar to their Da’s. He’d appointed himself patriarch of the family after their father’s heart attack last summer – a role he took very seriously.

‘Sure am. Just arrived.’

Gabe cast a last glance up at his name as he passed underneath the sign and stepped inside.

‘And?’

He looked around at the haphazard clutter of stepladders and paint pots that littered the reception area.

‘And, yeah. It’s looking pretty good.’

‘Only Phil the Drill said it’s an almighty mess.’

Phil the Drill has a big mouth, Gabe thought, but refrained from saying it, because he knew that Rory meant well, and would no doubt relay everything he said back to their mother and three other brothers. He brushed off Rory’s concerns.

‘It’s nothing I can’t handle.’

Besides, it wasn’t a lie. He’d handle any amount of mess rather than go home and take his place in the family firm. He loved the bones of his family, but being back there had just been too hard on his heart since last summer. His dad was everywhere, and for Gabe, the only way to deal with his grief was to be somewhere else.

‘How’s Ma?’

Rory’s rich laugh rumbled down the line. ‘Same as ever. Bossy. Interfering. But she misses you.’

Guilt stabbed through him. ‘Tell her I’ll call her later.’

‘Don’t forget, okay?’

‘Course not.’

‘And Gabe …’

‘Yes?’

‘Good luck, little brother.’

Gabe clicked the phone shut and rested his helmet down by the door. He’d drifted from funeral home to funeral home since his father’s death, unable to settle but unwilling to go back to Ireland. His heart might belong in Dublin, but he was going to make this place his home now.

It had all happened quite by accident really. He supposed some might have called it fate if they were given to believing in such things. Firstly, he’d turned thirty. His family had, of course, wanted to throw the customary huge bash at the club in Dublin, and Gabe had known perfectly well that once he was there they’d use every trick in the book to make him stay in Ireland and leave his days in England behind. He’d refused their pleas and opted to stay in Shropshire with his best mate Dan, making plans for a weekend where the sole intention was to drink until they couldn’t stand up anymore.

A weekend which, in turn, was devastated beyond repair by the untimely death of Dan’s gregarious, life-loving grandmother. Gabe’s funeral director instinct had kicked in hard as he’d leaned over to gently close Lizzie Robertson’s eyes for the last time. He’d poured out generous measures of scotch for her family, and made the calls they were too shell-shocked to handle themselves.

Much later, over midnight brandies, it had struck him exactly how far away the closest undertakers were. Dan’s family had waited a good few hours before anyone could reach them from Shrewsbury, the nearest market town to sleepy Beckleberry. Much longer than any family needed to wait at a time like that. And so the seed had been sown. A seed that grew with frightening speed, like a magic beanstalk leading Gabe towards his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

But I don’t have any premises, and I can’t afford it anyway, he’d reasoned, and he’d smiled with relief that there was a bona fide reason to let himself wriggle off the hook. Which was all very well, until his brothers finally wised-up to the fact that he really wasn’t coming home and bought him out of the family undertaking business as a birthday gift.

Still, he’d laughed when Dan shoved property details into his hands for some place that had just come back onto the market due to a deal falling through with a cupcake company.Cupcakes?How could a company hope to survive just selling cupcakes? No wonder the deal had fallen through. It would be way too small, but he’d viewed the premises anyway to shut Dan up. Cupcakes didn’t take up as much space as dead bodies.

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