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

‘You’ve watched too many re-runs of The Golden Girls,’ Marla laughed as she placed a bottle of wine next to the ice-cream on the table. Emily’s eyes moved from the wine to the ice-cream with a heavy sigh.

‘This is my staple dinner when Tom’s away.’

Marla found spoons and glasses and sat down. ‘Which seems to be quite a lot these days?’ She twisted the lid off the chilly Pinot Grigio.

‘You noticed.’

Marla nodded and filled their glasses.

‘He’s just busy with work. You know how it is.’

Emily peeled off the ice-cream lid and sighed.

‘Who am I kidding? He’s avoiding me, Marla.’

‘Surely not. Why would he do that?’

‘Because we’re trying to have a baby.’

Marla nodded, her face a study of sympathy. She’d been aware of Emily and Tom’s decision to add to their family from fleeting conversations and casual remarks, but looking at her friend’s miserable expression it was obvious she’d played it down, or else played it close to her chest. ‘Well … I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that avoiding you isn’t going to help make that happen.’

Emily’s shoulders slumped. ‘That’s the problem. It isn’t happening.’

Oh. Marla hated to see her friend so low, and cast around for something encouraging to say. ‘They say it can take a while to catch, Em.’

‘Yeah, I know. But it’s been over eighteen months now.’ Emily started poking her spoon gloomily into the ice-cream.

Marla couldn’t believe her friend had kept this secret so long. ‘Have you seen the doctor?’ she asked.

Emily shook her head with a cynical laugh. ‘Why do we, as women, know that it’s okay to ask for help, but men see it as an insult to their manhood? Well, Tom does, in any case.’

Marla reached over and squeezed Emily’s hand. ‘Give him time, Em. He loves you. He’ll come around.’

‘You reckon? Think, Marla. When was the last time you even laid eyes on Tom?’

Marla cast her mind back. Actually, she couldn’t remember. Tom used to visit the chapel almost daily, but now she came to think about it she hadn’t seen him more than a handful of times in recent months.

‘Exactly.’

‘I never realised, Em. What are you going to do?’

Emily looked helpless. ‘I’ve booked us in to start tests – or for Tom to give a sample, at least. I haven’t dared bring it up again since I told him, because it always ends up in a row.’

‘I’m sorry, honey,’ Marla soothed. ‘Bloody men. Mars must be a boring place with all of that testosterone swilling around making civilised conversation impossible.’

Emily rolled her eyes. ‘I bet they play a lot of darts and live on beer and pizza.’

‘Give me Venus anytime,’ Marla said. ‘Wine and ice-cream is much more fun.’

Emily clinked her glass against Marla’s. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ she agreed, pushing the ice-cream tub across the table. ‘So. Marla.’

Something about the sudden speculative gleam in Emily’s eyes put Marla on her guard. ‘Umm?’

‘Have you never met the one?’ Emily pressed.

‘The one?’ Marla fidgeted in her chair, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking. ‘You’re such a hopeless romantic, Em.’

‘Is that a yes?’

Marla shrugged. ‘I’m just not looking for Mr Right.’

‘Everyone is, Marla.’

Marla sighed. ‘Not me. I’ve no desire to tie myself down to some man, only to see it all go wrong a few years later and end up as another divorce statistic. No thanks.’

She winced as a shadow passed over Emily’s face.

‘Oh God, Em, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you, obviously.’ She squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘It’s just a personal thing, that’s all. I’ve had more step-parents over the years than I have fingers to count them on. Us Jacobs just aren’t cut out for all of that forever and ever, amen stuff.’

Emily sighed. ‘I don’t think divorce is a genetic thing, honey,’ she said. ‘You can’t go through life avoiding commitment on the off chance that you’ll get your heart broken.’

‘I’m not saying I’m off men altogether,’ Marla said, scraping a curl of ice-cream onto her spoon. ‘I just don’t see the point to all the forever and ever drama.’

‘I’d keep that line out of the chapel’s press-pack if I were you,’ Emily laughed.

Marla lifted her shoulder with a smile, well aware that her own values flew in the face of her livelihood.

‘Well, that’s a shame, really,’ Emily wheedled. ‘Because if you were in the market for romance, I think I’ve caught our new neighbour making eyes over the coffins at you.’

Marla brandished her spoon across the table. ‘Enough, Em.’

‘But I have!’ Emily laughed. ‘Come on, admit it … he’s easy on the eye, isn’t he?’

Marla studied her fingernails. ‘I haven’t noticed.’

‘Rubbish! Let’s pretend for a second that he isn’t an undertaker, and he isn’t your arch enemy …’ Emily’s eyes danced. ‘You would, wouldn’t you?’

Marla looked her friend straight in the eye. ‘Honestly? No. No, I wouldn’t.’

And she meant it. The way her body reacted whenever Gabriel Ryan was around frightened the living daylights out of her. Even without all of the barriers Emily had listed, Marla’s biggest problem with Gabe was that he stole away her powers of self-control without even trying, and they were just about all she had to hold on to.

Half an hour later, Marla sloshed a measure of brandy into a tumbler and threw one last log on the fire. She’d finally managed to prise Emily away from the ice-cream and into a taxi, and had spent the last twenty minutes clearing and straightening the kitchen until the cottage was back to peaceful perfection again. Bluey loped in, well-fed and content to flop down onto the sofa he more than filled, and Marla curled herself into the armchair beside him. Companionable bookends, as always. This was all she wanted, all she needed. She reached out and stroked his gentle face as she sipped the nightcap in an attempt to settle her stomach. It seemed to be constantly jumbled up with nerves these days. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since Gabriel Ryan had roared into the village. It had taken three years of hard work to carve out her place here in this community, and the sense of safety and peace it afforded her was precious beyond measure.

Gabriel. Even his name was a misnomer.

The man was no angel, that much was for sure. Hell’s angel, more like, with that filthy great motorbike and James Dean sex appeal. Strange really, for an undertaker. But then, as a marriage-phobic wedding coordinator, who was she to judge?

Her eyes wandered over the small collection of family photographs on the fireplace.