Undertaking Love

Chapter 3

Jonny clanged his fork against the side of his wine glass.

‘Order, mon chers, order!’

He looked from one face to another as they gathered around Marla’s kitchen table. It had been a little over a week since Gabriel Ryan had thundered into the village on his motorbike, and this was the first official meeting of the hastily cobbled-together committee to get him thrown out again just as fast.

Emily paused with her fork full of lasagne midway to her mouth, and Dora, the chapel’s octogenarian cleaning lady, fiddled with her hearing aid until it whistled furiously. As the self-proclaimed campaign leader, Jonny shot her a mutinous look. Dora’s husband, Ivan, smiled benignly at his wife.

‘You hum it, I’ll play it, dear,’ he muttered, and helped himself to a third glass of Merlot.

‘So,’ Jonny said with a theatrical flourish. He nodded pointedly at Ruth, village florist and gossip central, to start taking notes in the pad he’d thrust into her hands when she sat down. Taking a great slug of wine, she darted her eyes around the table, then picked up her pen and clicked the end a few times in a show of efficiency.

Satisfied that his every word would be recorded for posterity, Jonny cleared his throat and planted his hands on his snake hips.

‘Right, so. We all know why we're here. The fucking Munsters are trying to set up shop next door to the chapel, and it’s our job to get shot of them. Like, pronto.’

He glanced around at the suddenly hushed group, who looked slightly shell-shocked by his rousing opening gambit.

Ruth raised a hesitant hand.

‘Er, Jonny? Do I have to write the “fucking” bit down?’

‘Christ almighty, Ruth!’ he exploded. ‘Just get the general gist down, this isn’t CSI fucking Shropshire!’

‘Why is he reciting the alphabet?’ shouted Dora, her hearing aid now whacked up to full.

‘He isn’t, Dora. It’s a cop show,’ Emily supplied.

‘Oh. Oooh, you wouldn’t half make a lovely Bergerac, Jonny.’

‘Drove a Jaguar, you know.’ Ivan nodded sagely.

‘“Bergerac”?’ Jonny seethed, askance. ‘Fucking “Bergerac”? Pure Captain Jack Harkness or no one, thank you very much Dora.’ If he could have donned a military overcoat and heavy boots to ram his point home, he would have.

‘Captain Hairnet? Never heard of him,’ Dora muttered, a gleam in her eye as she ran her hand over her freshly set hair.

‘What did he drive, Jonny?’ Ivan said, squinting at the wine bottle to see if there was any left. ‘Might jog my memory.’

‘A goddamn bloody space ship!’ Jonny all but shouted, sending Dora's hand straight to her ear to adjust her hearing aid again.

Ivan nodded. ‘I know who you mean, now.’ He leaned across to stage whisper to Dora. ‘The one with the big ears, darling.’

Dora's face cleared into a smile that displayed her neat rows of false teeth to perfection.  She looked at Jonny and tapped the side of her nose. ‘Beam me up, Scotty.’

The mutinous expression on Jonny's face as he felt for his cigarettes made Marla drop her head into her hands, and Bluey flop his massive head onto her knees under the table in silent solidarity. This was hopeless. Gabriel Ryan was going to open up his funeral parlour regardless, and there was precious little they, or anyone else, could do to stop him.