‘Not too bad, sir,’ Roger replies, a friendly, easy smile on his face, ‘though I think he’s ready to ease off. That’s why I’m here.’
William expected to be the youngest. He knows that small undertakers often only have one qualified embalmer and it’s quite usual for the son to work for many years in the business before qualifying in this particular aspect. William pushed to start young, because he knew that his interest lay in the morgue, not the funeral parlour. To be left alone to work with the dead, not sit with the pain of the bereaved like Howard does, talking them through the endless decisions they are generally totally unprepared to make; coffin size, coffin finish, flowers, orders of service, music. He knew from his early days in the morgue with Robert that doing something so personal and important, but not having anyone watching you, not even the person you’re looking after, suited him perfectly.
What William notices first about Simon Drake, the third man, is how his eyelashes flash white in contrast to his dark suit. William has never seen anyone quite so pale, as if his skin has never seen the sun. The Drake family business is in Worcester. Arthur, it turns out, trained with Simon’s father.
The fourth and final man is the nearest in age to William, but since they gathered here half an hour ago, William has been keeping his distance.
‘And you, young man, must be Ray Price?’ Arthur says.
It’s no surprise that Arthur doesn’t know Ray’s grand father, or father. William feels some pity for the young man, who probably doesn’t even realise how out of place he looks, how everything about his appearance confirms his ignorance of the undertaking world. Embarrassed on his behalf and only vaguely aware of what clannish prejudices are moving within him, William has deliberately stood on the opposite side of the table to Ray.
‘Yes, sir,’ the young man says abruptly. He is small and wiry, with haywire black hair. His suit is rumpled and his white cuffs are grubby.
‘And you’re going to be working for Lightfoot’s in Leeds?’
‘Yes, sir, if I qualify.’ His strong northern accent surprises William.
William has noticed, and is sure everyone else will have too, that Ray’s fingernails are dirty and ragged. How long before he realises this won’t do, before he makes adjustments? Decorum, cleanliness, tidiness, are all parts of the whole that communicate respect. And although right now they are in a basement morgue, not a mourner in sight, you never forget who you are serving.
‘Well, Ray, you couldn’t be in a better place if that’s your goal.’ Arthur’s voice takes on a more formal tone, hands clasped at his stomach. ‘Thames is the largest embalming company in the country and the best known training institution. Many local funeral parlours can’t afford in-house embalmers, so by providing top-quality services at reduced rates, we get a steady supply of cadavers on which you can learn your trade.
‘In here’ – he gestures at the room – ‘you will watch demonstrations, but more importantly and more commonly, you will stand alongside your tutor, either myself or Norman, my deputy, and watch us work, gradually practising aspects of the procedure yourselves. Occasionally, you will go out to homes or hospitals to accompany embalmers, but the bulk of your work will be in here.’ He pauses and looks in turn at each of them, enjoying, William thinks, the assumed gravity of the moment. ‘And if you work hard and pay attention, what you learn here over the next twelve months will turn you into some of the best embalmers in Europe.’
Ray’s eyes dart all over the room. For William, Simon and Roger, nothing in here is new; the embalming tables, the trolleys with buckets and drainage trays, the cadaver. They will all have had access to mortuaries and chapels of rest from an early age. In fact, William will have been a relative latecomer at fourteen.
Arthur walks towards the door, beckoning them to follow. In the far corner of the adjacent, smaller room are two stacks of six stretchers, and embedded in the wall, cool storage chambers.
‘These are actually an ex-air raid precaution.’ Arthur lays his hand on the basic-looking steel frames, each with five wooden slats, painted white, running lengthways. On each corner is a metal bracket which enables them to be stacked. ‘Simple, but they do the job. Bodies are stored here, and taken through to the demonstration room next door.’
William wishes he felt kinder, more generous towards Ray, but being near him raises unease in himself, an unease that takes him back further than his first weeks with Robert, when he stood next to his first cadaver with his uncle’s hand on his shoulder. What bothers him today, glancing every now and then at Ray, is the knowledge that he, eight years ago, and almost dizzy with the unfamiliarity of it all, was just as much of an oddball himself. And who knows what those four years in Cambridge would have been like had he not been rescued so early and so completely by Martin and his friendship, which both cocooned him and propelled him out into chorister life. He’s not unaware how perverse it is, that rather than wanting to offer the same kind of rescue to Ray, to go out of his way to ease his passage into a new world, William resents Ray for the mirror he presents him with. Well-practised, William swats the image of Martin from his mind.
‘You’ll learn your trade here. Observing good practice and practising yourselves are the heart of what we do. Nevertheless, there’s no avoiding the theoretical knowledge you need. At the end of each day, you’ll be given a written question from your tutor, and that evening, you’ll answer it to the best of your ability, using Scudamore. When your tutor has time, you’ll go through your answers together.
‘So’ – Arthur claps his large hands – ‘let’s get to work.’