Читать книгу Love Your Neighbour: A laugh-out-loud love from the author of One Day in December - Kat French, Kat French - Страница 8

‘Standing room only, you said,’ Marla hissed out of the side of her mouth at Jonny as he straightened the wine glasses on the table by the entrance for the third time. She glanced around at the sparse gathering in the chapel. Barely thirty people, even though Jonny had used the promise of free wine as a shameless lure on the flyers for the public meeting and had stocked up on cheap chardonnay in the expectation of a full house.

‘Sshhh, chillax, flower. There’s time yet. It’s still early.’

Jonny slapped Emily’s hand away as she sidled over and reached for a glass of wine.

‘Did you see the hot reporter from The Herald over there?’ she stage-whispered with an exaggerated tilt of her head towards a guy standing alone on the far side of the chapel. His starched shirt and tie set him apart from everyone else in the room, as did the camera slung nonchalantly around his neck.

Jonny grinned. ‘Did I ever, sweet cheeks! He can take my close-up, anytime.’ He flexed his muscles and turned his chin so Emily could admire his best side.

‘Put your guns away, Rambo. I think he has his eye on our Marla,’ Emily said, laughing at Jonny’s disappointed pout.

Marla shook her head at the pair of them, but shot a glance over at the reporter anyway. He caught her eye and smiled, and she looked away quickly. She was way too nervous to flirt. They all turned as the heavy door inched open, and slumped again as Dora and Ivan shuffled in, arm in arm.

‘Evening all.’ Ivan nodded jovially around before making a beeline for the drinks table.

‘I’m only here for the wine, dear,’ he confided loudly to Emily behind his hand. ‘Are there sandwiches?’

Dora, resplendent in her Sunday-best coat and her sparkly brooch, frowned and batted him with her handbag. ‘You said you were too full to eat much of my cabbage and sausage hotpot.’

Ivan pulled an exaggerated look of horror at Emily then smiled beatifically at his wife and patted her hand. ‘You must have misheard me, my love. It was a triumph as always.’

Emily shook her head affectionately at them. She’d never known her own grandparents, but in her head Dora and Ivan were the perfect replacements. They were quite the double act, as in sync as any comedy duo, and yet every now and then she caught the odd look and private smile between them that melted her heart. She knew from snippets that Dora had revealed over the years that Ivan had been the love of her life from the very first day she’d met him as a starry-eyed teenager. Behind their banter and their light-hearted jokes lay solid gold love; theirs was a marriage to aspire to.

Emily sighed and glanced at her watch. Tom had promised to try and make it, but given the shaky state of their relationship she’d have been more surprised by his presence than his absence.

Half an hour later it was apparent that no one else was going to turn up. The only people to come through the door since Dora and Ivan had been Kevin, the village plumber and occasional Elvis impersonator at the chapel, and Ruth the florist, who needed to stay abreast of the village gossip in order to keep her customers happy and spending their pennies.

Jonny made his way up to the lectern with a resigned look on his suntanned face.

‘Right, then. Let’s make a start, shall we?’

‘Hang on! I think there’s someone coming!’ Ruth called out, and an expectant hush fell over the small crowd as they stared at the doors with bated breath.

It swung open, and a dramatic gasp rippled around the room as Gabe and Dan strode in.

Marla shot to her feet in panic as Jonny’s eyes popped out on stalks. He had yet to meet either of the men in the flesh, and his tongue was practically hanging out.

Gabe nodded in greeting towards Marla. ‘Don’t mind us. We’ll just sit at the back.’

He relaxed into a seat in the back row and smiled genially around at everyone, as if he’d just entered his local pub rather than a meeting held with the sole intention of running him out of town.

‘Yeah. And heckle loudly,’ Dan muttered as he slid into the seat next to Gabe with a mutinous expression on his face. He couldn’t stand the way Gabe was being treated by the villagers, and he fully intended on letting the small-minded nimbys have it with both barrels at some point this evening.

At the front of the chapel, Marla alerted Jonny in hushed tones to the fact that the two sex-gods on the back row were in fact the opposition party, crushing his hopes of dragging them into the vestry later on to drink the crate of left-over chardonnay.

Marla took her seat and nodded in encouragement as Jonny moved to the lectern and cleared his throat, though she privately felt this was almost certainly a wasted evening that could have been better spent treating Emily to dinner at the pub.

‘Right then …’ Jonny held up his hands to shut down the low-level chatter around the room, then wiped them on his thighs as if they were sweaty. ‘We’re here tonight to discuss the effect that the proposed funeral home next door will have on our local community.’

Marla’s toes curled and her eyes hit the floor. Gabe infuriated the hell out of her. Why on earth had he come here tonight? She wished with all of her heart that he’d stayed away, because his presence in the room changed everything. Even Jonny had been rendered polite by uncharacteristic nerves. Gabe raised his hand.

‘Just for the sake of clarity, I should say at this point that it’s approved, not proposed.’

Dan snickered next to him, but fell silent again as Emily turned around and caught his eye. Ruth the florist, who’d once again been press-ganged into the role of reluctant minute taker, struck out ‘proposed’ and wrote ‘approved’ above it in dark letters instead.

Jonny’s lip curled at Gabe’s direct attempt to undermine him. Marla saw his confidence click back into place as he threw his chin up and rolled his broad shoulders. She held her breath for the onslaught.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, you all know why we’re here.’ Jonny planted his hands on his hips as his cat-like eyes flashed. ‘If we don’t do something sharpish to stop the Addams Family from opening up their frickin’ freak show next door, then this village will be going to hell in a handcart. Capisce?’

He looked out at his wide-eyed audience. ‘Brides and bodies are a bad combination, you hear me people? This stops now, before Lord Voldemort over there casts his dark mark above our village!’ He thrust his arm skywards and looked towards the rafters, and every neck in the place craned back as if they fully expected him to have cast an actual spell with an invisible wand.

Gabe laughed out loud and threw his hands up in the air, whilst Dan’s chair scraped loudly against the flagstones as he shot to his feet in temper. ‘What the fuck is going on here, people? A witch hunt?’

Gabe stood and laid a hand on Dan’s arm. ‘Let the people speak, Dan. I want to hear what they have to say.’

Jonny faltered as they both sat down again. Such a blatant display of rampant testosterone was something he’d normally pay good money to see.

‘I’ll tell you what they have to say,’ Jonny said, swishing his arm over the crowd to indicate their collusion in his speech. ‘They say that you have no place here. They say that they don’t need you.’

‘And do you agree with them?’ Gabe said softly, his eyes fixed on Jonny. Marla glanced between the two men in the few silent seconds that followed and saw straight away what Gabriel Ryan was up to, and, judging by Jonny’s pink cheeks, he’d succeeded. He was melting in front of her eyes.

‘Because it strikes me that you’re a respected man here in the community. Your opinion matters to these people,’ Gabe went on, and Marla watched her campaign leader preen like a lion getting his mane stroked. His ego, more like. She cleared her throat and caught his eye with a deep frown.

‘I most certainly do agree with them,’ Jonny blustered, flapping his arm half-heartedly rather than swishing it this time. He licked his lips and pushed his hand through his hair. ‘You, Gabriel, are a very, very, bad man …’ He sounded as breathless as a heroine about to pass out. Marla groaned as someone at the back heckled ‘get a room’, and Jonny fanned himself with his speech, clearly at a loss for what to say next other than ‘yes, let’s get a room.’

‘Marla, would, er, you like to say something?’ he croaked eventually, and stepped down from the lectern without waiting for her reply.

She shot him daggers as she walked past him. This hadn’t been part of their carefully worked-out plan. He was supposed to be the front man of the operation. She was thrown even further off her stride when the reporter stood up and flashed his camera in her face.

‘First of all, thank you everyone for coming tonight, we really do appreciate your support.’

She ignored Dan’s loud snort, but even from the other end of the chapel she didn’t miss the swift dig in the ribs that it earned him from Gabe.

‘As you all know, the “proposed” funeral parlour,’ she paused to shoot Gabe a ‘don’t you dare interrupt me’ look, ‘creates a huge problem for us here at the chapel.’

Gabe lifted a warning brow but let her continue without interruption.

‘If they are allowed to open, there is every likelihood that we will be put out of business within twelve months.’

She looked around at the people in the room, and was gratified to see the troubled expression that crossed their faces.

‘We bring a considerable amount of business to this area. The florist is busier than ever, the B&Bs are full most weekends, and a new one has just opened its doors to meet the demand for rooms from our wedding guests.’

Marla glanced over at Helen and Robert Jones, the owners of the latest boutique B&B. She was encouraged by their nods of agreement.

‘The tea shops are packed, the art gallery sells out, and the pubs and restaurants enjoy full houses. In short, ladies and gentlemen – as long as this chapel thrives, then the community does too. Just yesterday we lost out on a booking directly because of the funeral parlour’s presence. The first of many, no doubt.’

A frisson of shock reverberated around the room and Gabe’s head snapped up. Marla flinched with guilt. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but in truth, the bride-to-be had probably already decided that the chapel was way too kitsch for her sensible accountant fiancé. The funeral parlour next door had been the last on a long list of issues, and Marla strongly suspected she’d used it as a convenient excuse to make a quick getaway. She brushed off any lingering guilt and threw back her shoulders to deliver her killer punchline:

‘I’m not here tonight to beg for favours. I’m here to spell out the hard facts. If we go under, then I’m sorry to say that the rest of the village will go down with us.’

She let her eyes travel slowly over the faces of her friends and acquaintances in the room, until finally, she settled on Gabe. She was glad to see that she’d managed to wipe that smile off his face.

She’d served and, even if she said so herself, she’d very nearly aced it.

Fifteen: love.

The atmosphere in the room had changed as she spoke. Brows had furrowed, and accusatory eyes had turned towards Gabe. He got to his feet with a sigh, and laid a restraining hand on Dan’s shoulder as he went to stand too.

‘May I speak now, please?’

He looked only at Marla. To refuse would be to play into his hands, so with the tiniest of shrugs she moved aside to offer him the floor.

Every eye in the place was on him as he made his way along the aisle. When he reached the front he stood silently for a couple of seconds, scrubbing a slow hand over his stubble while he searched for the right words.

‘Thank you.’ Again, his eyes lingered on Marla, who looked down and studied her burnt-orange shoes as if she’d never seen them before, to avoid holding his gaze.

‘Most of you know who I am, but for those who don’t, I’m Gabriel Ryan.’ He paused for a second and looked around. ‘Gabe to my friends, which I sincerely hope one day you will all be.’

His small smile didn’t penetrate the stony looks on their faces. ‘Contrary to popular belief,’ he looked pointedly at Jonny, ‘I haven’t come here to cause trouble. I happen to believe that this community really needs me, and that I can be here without threatening the chapel – or anyone else’s business, for that matter.’

He glanced towards Dan at the back of the room. ‘I’m sure many of you knew Dan’s grandmother, Lizzie Robertson.’ Gabe cast a sad smile of solidarity towards his friend.

‘I was there on the day she died, and I saw firsthand how hard it was on her family to wait for the undertakers to get there from almost forty miles away. It made a terrible situation even harder than it needed to be. That won’t happen to other families now that I’m here.’

Lizzie had been a much-loved and respected member of the community and her death had come as a terrible shock to many. The mention of her name instantly softened the hard edges of the atmosphere in the room. ‘I’m passionate about what I do.’

Marla swallowed hard at his choice of words and stamped down the image that popped into her head of Gabe in the throes of passion.

‘I’ve grown up in the funeral business, and I’m damn good at it. My father was an undertaker, as are my brothers back in Dublin. It’s in my blood.’

He had an unfair advantage with that musical voice. Marla could feel her own defensive walls shaking under the assault, so God only knew how everyone else in the room was holding up.

‘Being accepted by all of you is vitally important to me. Believe me, I can be here without being a threat to the chapel.’

He zeroed in on Marla.

‘I’m sorry if you’ve lost a booking, Marla, but I’ve already offered to sit down and iron out a compromise. I’m ready and waiting whenever you are.’

She frowned. He’d batted it right back at her, and somehow he’d managed to make her sound churlish and uncooperative.

Fifteen all.

She stood tall next to him and lifted her chin.

‘Nice words, Gabriel. But nice words can’t change the fact that no bride wants to risk being confronted on her wedding day by a hearse and sobbing families. They’ll choose another venue just as soon as they see your sombre shop front, because they won’t want that as the backdrop to their picture-perfect day.’

Thirty: fifteen. He didn’t answer straight away and she pressed home her advantage.

‘We aren’t just a little bit incompatible, Gabriel. We are polar opposites, and we simply cannot exist as neighbours.’

Forty: fifteen.

It was pin-drop silent in the room as everyone awaited Gabe’s comeback.

‘You’re wrong, you know.’

Marla’s stomach flipped as his voice softened to a velvet boxing glove. ‘We’re not so different. I guess you could say that we’re both in the business of helping people move on to the next stage of their lives.’

Oh, oh. Danger. He was clever. She grudgingly conceded a point.

Forty: thirty.

‘“Till death do us part”, Marla … isn’t that what you’re so fond of saying over here? Well, when that sad day eventually comes, trust me, it won’t be you these people will turn to. It’ll be me.’

Deuce. And rather unsportingly, he didn’t give Marla a chance to get back into the game.

‘I’m not asking you to like me. But I am asking that you pay me the common courtesy of being civil.’

Advantage Gabriel Ryan. Marla felt like she was five years old. She could feel him limbering up for match point and she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say to stop him.

The reporter, who had been madly scribbling notes, stood up and flashed his camera in Gabe’s direction. Jonny, clearly less enamoured of the reporter now that the meeting had gone awry, reached over and ripped the nearest page out of the journalist’s pad, balled it up and shoved it into his own mouth with a sarcastic smirk.

‘You know, it would have been so much simpler to have just allowed us to open here without the fanfare,’ Gabe said from the front. ‘As it is, you’ve created a media story that’s nothing but free advertising for me and bad publicity for you. Way to go, Marla. Way to go.’

Game, set and match, Mr Gabriel Ryan.

Jonny slumped back and stared with satisfaction at his computer screen. The brainwave had hit him last night as they’d sat picking through the bones of the disastrous meeting over too warm chardonnay.

They should use the chapel’s website to take their petition nationwide.

Up until now they’d only targeted the locals for support, but what of their actual customers? After all, the majority of the weddings they held at the chapel were for outsiders. Maybe they were the people who could swell the petition numbers enough to make the local council sit up and take notice.

Cherry-red ‘Save our Chapel!’ and ‘Vote for Love!’ banners now covered the homepage. His next job was to drum up support on every wedding forum and celebrity wedding blog in the land. He’d set up an online petition for people to add their names to, and whilst he was on a roll he’d emailed several high-profile couples who’d been married at the chapel, hoping to rope them in.

After much deliberation, he’d decided not to mention his plan to Marla just yet. He felt shoddy about the way the meeting had ended last night; he’d let Gabe and Dan’s arrival throw him right off-kilter and he badly wanted to make amends. If he could pull this off and present it as a fait accompli, then Marla would know for certain that she still had his unwavering support.

Besides … much as he adored her, Marla could be terribly straight sometimes, whereas he was more of a ‘whatever gets the job done’ type of person. If that meant delivering the occasional low blow, then so be it. She was too classy to resort to underhand tactics, but as her self-appointed big brother and protector, he certainly wasn’t.

He clicked his computer to sleep and headed for his leopardskin-covered bed, safe in the knowledge that by hook or by crook, he intended to claw back the upper hand from Gabriel Ryan.