Louise was sitting at the counter, latte in hand and her short blonde hair tousled from her hat. She smiled at us both.
‘Hello wanderers,’ she said. ‘You’ve been ages. Do you want a drink?’
I made a face.
‘We’ve drunk our own bodyweight in tea,’ I said, clambering up onto one of the counter stools that were not designed for shorties like me. Harry – who was a good four inches taller than me – draped herself elegantly onto the stool next to Lou.
‘I’ve told Esme,’ she said, anxiety clouding her pretty features. ‘Hope you don’t mind. I told her about our plans.’
Lou pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.
‘What do you think?’ she asked me.
I smiled.
‘I think it’s bloody brilliant,’ I said. ‘I’ll help in any way I can.’
Lou reached out and squeezed my hand.
‘We’ll take you up on that,’ she said with a broad smile.
Harry had taken her iPad out again. Apparently she’d had enough of the lovey-dovey stuff and was back in business mode.
She filled Louise in on what was happening with the food and the dresses.
‘Gosh you’ve done loads,’ Louise said, impressed. ‘I’ve been busy too.’
‘Photographer?’ I asked hopefully. I’d been uber-fussy about my wedding photos. I’d looked through dozens – tens of dozens – of portfolios online, spoken to many on the phone and eventually settled on a woman who was based in Edinburgh and who took beautiful, candid shots – quite different from traditional wedding photographs. We’d agreed to pay her well over the going rate to come up to Claddach as well as covering her travel and a night’s accommodation. But now there was no way for her to get here and I was devastated. So I was really hoping Louise had managed to sort something out – I knew the alternatives wouldn’t be as good as our original choice, but surely there was someone…
Lou gave me a smile. The sort of smile that said “hey, what could I do?”. I didn’t like that smile.
‘Douglas came up trumps again,’ she said. ‘Another one of his contacts.’
‘Okay,’ I said. At least the photographer wouldn’t be more used to funerals, like Kirsty was. No one had a photographer at a funeral.
‘He’s more used to doing funerals,’ Louise said apologetically. ‘But Doug said he’s really good.’
‘For goodness sake,’ I muttered. Harry laughed.
‘You can speak to Doug about him later,’ Louise said. ‘But I’ve got his card, here.’
She handed me a business card which was, I was pleased to see, lacking in any black borders, lilies or crosses. It had a very nice photo of Loch Claddach on one side and on the other it simply said William Walters, photographer, and a mobile number and website.
‘Thank you,’ I said to Louise, feeling happier about it all. ‘I appreciate it.’
My phone rang in my pocket and I pulled it out. It was Kirsty, sounding very flustered.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ she said. ‘I know I’m meant to be meeting you in fifteen minutes, but my dad’s gone out to a sudden, and I’m on my own and I can’t leave the shop.’
I gulped.
‘A sudden?’ I said, not liking where this was going.
‘Death,’ said Kirsty, cheerfully. ‘I never know how long they’re going to take. Can you meet me here instead?’
‘There?’ I said, shuddering. ‘At the funeral shop?’
‘We can talk in my office,’ Kirsty said.
‘Okay,’ I said reluctantly, knowing how much of a favour she was doing us. ‘I’m just at the café. I’ll track Jamie down and see you there.’
I ended the call and looked at Louise and Harry, who were both laughing now.
‘I’m going to the funeral home to talk about my wedding,’ I said. ‘I hope this isn’t a sign.’
‘Maybe it’s like tarot,’ Harry said. ‘Death means new beginnings, remember?’
I shivered again. Harry and I hadn’t had a lot of luck with tarot cards in the past.
‘At least Jamie will be there,’ I said. ‘I won’t be dealing with the Addams family on my own.’
‘The Addams family weren’t undertakers,’ Louise pointed out helpfully as my phone rang again. It was Jamie.
‘Sorry,’ he said. I rolled my eyes. ‘I know we’re supposed to meet Kirsty. But Dad’s been called out to deliver a baby so I said I’d take over at the surgery.’
‘In the midst of life we are in death,’ I said.
‘What?’ Jamie sounded confused.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and meet Kirsty on my own, then, to talk about OUR wedding.’ ‘Sorry,’ Jamie said again. He did sound sorry, which was something, I supposed. ‘It’s crazy here, Dad’s frantic and I just don’t want to drop him in it. He was supposed to have retired, not be dashing around delivering babies.’
‘I know,’ I said, feeling guilty for being mean. ‘You’re doing a brilliant job. I’ll go through everything with Kirsty and tell you all about it when we’re both back home.’
‘I love you,’ Jamie said.
‘Love you too,’ I said, ending the call. I looked at Harry and Lou.
‘So it’s just me, Kirsty and a load of dead people,’ I said. ‘See you later.’
I slid off the stool, pulled on my coat and headed for the door. I was lucky enough never to have been inside a funeral home, so I wasn’t sure what to expect from Kirsty’s. I rang the doorbell on the glass door, and waited as she came to let me in. She was back in her bank manager gear and looked a world apart from the girl on stage the night before.
‘Hiya,’ she sang, locking the door behind me. ‘Sorry to drag you here. Dad’s really strict about having someone in the shop all the time.’
‘What about overnight?’ I asked, interested despite myself.
‘Ben lives upstairs,’ she said.
‘Someone lives here?’ I said. ‘Here?’
‘In the flat, upstairs,’ Kirsty said. ‘Ben’s Dad’s assistant. So if anyone comes in person, he’s normally here. Hardly ever happens though. Mostly people phone – and we’ve got a rota for that.’
She led me into her office, which was nothing like I’d expected a funeral home to look.
At one end was a beautiful wooden desk, with a closed MacBook on top and a pot of pens. At the other end were two cream sofas with a low coffee table in between them. A long bookshelf lined the wall. The carpet was thick, ivory wool and the curtains a shimmery brown fabric.
‘Sit down,’ Kirsty said, pushing a box of tissues and what looked like a brochure for coffins to one end of the coffee table out of our way.
I sat down on one of the sofas and looked round.
‘This is really nice,’ I said in surprise.
‘What were you expecting?’ Kirsty said with a smile. ‘Hard chairs and lots of velvet?’
‘Well, yes,’ I admitted.
‘I made some changes when I took over,’ Kirsty said. ‘Shook it up a bit. I think if people are looking to us to help them through a horrible time, then we should at least give them somewhere nice to do it.’
She was still smiling – not a false, customer service smile, but a genuine smile.
‘You love it, don’t you?’ I said, bemused.
‘I do,’ Kirsty said. ‘It’s brilliant. Well, that’s probably not the right word for it. But it’s very satisfying and I think it’s important too.’
I nodded. That was how I felt about my job. I felt a sudden kinship with Kirsty, despite her strange job and her chameleon appearance.
She picked up a notebook, opened it to a clean page and sat, poised, with her pen at the ready.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Tell me what you want.’
We sat for about forty-five minutes, chatting easily as I told her our plans for the ceremony. We had two readings, I told her. One was being read by my wayward brother – whereabouts currently unknown – and the other by Jamie’s quietly spoken cousin Annalise, who thankfully lived close to Jamie’s parents on the outskirts of Claddach.
‘So we’ll have the first reading then I say a few words about marriage and you and Jamie,’ Kirsty said. ‘That’s my favourite bit actually, finding out about the deceased, erm I mean about the couple, and their life, erm, lives.’
She made a face at me.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I promise I won’t get funerals and weddings mixed up on the day.’
I giggled, struck by how ridiculous the whole thing was.
‘I trust you,’ I said. ‘What happens after that?’
‘Then it’s the ceremony,’ Kirsty said, pulling a sheet of paper out of the back of her notebook. ‘You can choose any of these vows, or you can write your own.’
I took the sheet.
‘I’ll speak to Jamie,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine he’ll want us to write our own – he’s not very poetic. His would all be about me letting him watch the Six Nations in peace.’
And not minding when his ex-fiancée turns up with his son, I thought to myself. I wondered if that was the sort of thing covered by “for better or worse”. I hoped so. I wasn’t sure if I could take things getting any worse than they already were.
‘Okay,’ said Kirsty, shutting her notebook after we’d talked about every aspect of the ceremony and agreed that she should pop into the gallery before Saturday to have a look round.
I stood up.
‘Thank you,’ I said, feeling unexpectedly emotional. ‘I’m not sure what we would have done without you.’
Kirsty pulled me into a hug.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m so pleased you asked me.’
There was a knock on the door of her office and Douglas stuck his head round.
‘Esme,’ he said with a smile. ‘I was hoping to catch you. Louise said you need a photographer?’
‘We do,’ I said. ‘Do you think your friend William could help?’
‘I’ve left him a message,’ Doug said, coming into the room properly. He was wearing a black suit and a black tie and looked very funereal.
‘In the meantime, have a look at his website. He’s really terrific.’