Page 98 of Wedding Crasher

Gabe shoved his chair back and headed downstairs.

Melanie buttoned her winter coat as Gabe walked into reception, and she met his eyes with the startled gaze of a fox staring down the double barrel of the farmer’s shotgun.

He crossed to block the closed door.

‘I trusted you,’ he said softly.

‘You canstilltrust me,’ she whispered, as she stepped towards him.

‘No.’ Gabe laughed bitterly and shook his head. ‘No, I can’t. You slept with Rupert. You took the note from the fireworks and gave it to him.’

He drew no pleasure from the way she flinched at each new accusation.

‘But worst of all, you deliberately let a defenceless old woman take the blame for something that you did.’

‘I can explain, Gabe. Please, just listen …’

‘I don’t think so.’

He handed her a brown envelope. ‘Just leave, and don’t come back.’

He swung the door wide and stepped aside to let her pass.

A little later, Gabe nudged the door to the chapel of rest open with one foot and carried two mugs of tea into the quiet room. He sat down next to Dora’s lifeless form and picked at the seal on a packet of Jammie Dodgers.

He knew perfectly well that it made no sense to bring tea and biscuits for a dead person, but he felt that Dora would appreciate the gesture, nonetheless.

‘Cheers, Dora.’

He clinked his mug gently against her full one and dunked a biscuit.

‘It’s been a bit of a day, to be honest, Dora. I’ve smacked Rupert, sacked Melanie, and Marla still can’t stand the bloody sight of me. Two out of three ain’t bad, huh?’

He smiled, certain that Dora would have had plenty to say about the day’s events. He sat in companionable silence with her until he’d finished his tea.

‘I’ll take special care of you tomorrow. Only the best, I promise.’

He touched her cool fingers, adorned only with a single band of gold.

The symbol of Ivan’s eternal love.

Gabe picked up both mugs, one full and one almost empty, and left the room with a heavy heart. Tomorrow was going to be a long day in more ways than one, not least because the funeral parlour and the chapel needed to work seamlessly together. Marla had conducted all of her negotiations through either Jonny or Emily thus far, but the luxury of avoidance wouldn’t be available to her in the morning. They’d have to work shoulder to shoulder if they were to give Dora the send-off that she deserved, and by hook or by crook, Gabe intended to make Marla understand that he wasn’t that man from the newspaper article.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The next morning dawned, sprinkling a fairytale glitter of frost across the village. Lights and kettles were flicked on, and early morning cuppas were raised in silent salute to Dora. Wife, neighbour and friend.

At the funeral parlour, Gabe lingered before closing Dora’s casket for the last time. Death had stolen her beady vivaciousness and replaced it with a soft serenity; her precious yellow dress was tucked safely under her arm.

‘Sleep well, old girl,’ he murmured, as he carefully sealed the lid. He laid his hand against the polished yew for a few seconds of silence before heading outside to check on Dan.

At the florist, Ruth and her two teenage daughters had been at work since five o’clock that morning to finish all of the floral tributes on order. They barely noticed that their fingers were red with exertion and the pricks of thorns as they chewed their lips and concentrated on the flowers.

Down the lane, Ivan, who had been out with his secateurs since sunrise, laboured slowly up to the chapel with his arms full of delicately scented lemon wintersweet and fragile yellow hellebores to decorate the altar. Marla chastised him gently as she made him a sweet cup of tea, then drove him home again and ironed his good shirt. Whilst she was gone, Emily moved the vases of white lilies she’d artfully arranged and replaced them with Ivan’s love tokens, her cheeks damp with tears.

Jonny unloaded beer and wine from Marla’s car into the chapel kitchen, where quiches, cakes and plates of sandwiches were overflowing every available surface. It was a testimony to Dora’s popularity that so many of the villagers had turned up at the back door that morning with food clutched in their hands. Cecilia, back from visiting her friend in London, had appointed herself chief food organiser, thanking every neighbour as she took their offerings and gave them a nip of sherry in return.

‘Dora would have loved all this fuss, wouldn’t she?’ Emily said to Jonny as she came through to the kitchen with a newly delivered trifle in her arms. She balanced it on her bump as she hunted for space to set it down.

---