Love Your Neighbour: A laugh-out-loud love from the author of One Day in December. Kat French

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ