18
Early rain and brisk winds will ease quickly and move eastwards later on
IT’S FUNNY WHAT you get used to. I would not have touched a Healthy Options Prawn Salad the first month I worked here and now I look forward to it.
I have hoovered both Relatives Rooms. I start on Chapel 1. We’re not allowed to hoover if a coffined client is waiting to be viewed, though it’s OK to dust. Even when empty it feels all wrong to hoover the chapels, not that they’re especially holy, what with the Axminster tufted and the air chillers on. I can’t put my finger on it. The dead deserve some peace and quiet. Important to respect their needs, it’s not like they want much. Dead men need no one and nothing. Fair play to them, we could all take a tip. I learned it off them: need nothing, be patient.
Lorelle pops by at lunchtime. I make a dash for the loo: hair, breath, spinach.
All right, Lee?
Well, hello. Wasn’t expecting you.
I can’t stop. Just dropping the ones for the four o’clock.
You can’t resist my tea, though. Don’t try to fight it, I say, suddenly inspired.
She rolls her eyes.
I like it when Lorelle leans against the wall while I brew up in the office, like we’re in our own kitchen. We’re not, of course. Irene is there frowning at her screen, mouthing words. She pretends not to listen but she does. I want to mention my poem but something stops me.
Ever been to Turkey? Lorelle asks.
Not Turkey, no, I say.
Nor me, she says. I quite fancy it.
Turkey’s nice, says Irene, without looking up from her screen.
A moment. Me and Lorelle look at each other. I stir the teas. Lorelle smiles when I pass hers. I always offer the handle. I burn myself but I careth not.
I went to Paris on the train, May Bank Holiday, two years ago, Lorelle says.
Irene starts to hum. Not a tune, just arbitrary notes, any old. Just to cover up that she’s listening. Impossible to be yourself when someone’s having a nose. Especially when they’re pretending not to. Especially when you’re making the moves on a drop-dead gorgeous florist. I try to relax. I lean on Howard’s empty desk.
Ever had artichoke hearts? I ask. I speak casual, at a level I hope Irene won’t hear.
Lorelle blinks. What?
I would definitely recommend that particular dish if you are ever in the vicinity of Il Terrazzo, I say.
Derek spins in.
There you are! I’ll be burying myself at this rate. What the eff are you doing? Pardon my French, Lauren.
I collect the cups. Derek never remembers Lorelle’s name. Irene hums three loud notes and turns the printer on.
One of these days I will hold open the door of the van and lean in to kiss Lorelle as she clicks on her seat belt. On the nose, on the cheek. Nothing too forward. Circling my prey. But not today. I am waylaid again by Derek who, as it turns out, only wants to mention that the rocket leaves in his ciabatta taste like pissed-on dandelions. The delay means that Lorelle has already slammed the door before I get there. Timing. Spoilt opportunity, but. I’m a great believer in fate. Fate will find a way. I wave to the back of the van as it disappears up Seddlescombe Road.
*
I BOIL UP for the teas and coffees, arrange the mugs on the tray. Some people expect us to be religious here. We can be if required, it’s not a problem, we have crucifixes at the ready. Many of our deceased clients wear a religious symbol in their coffin, even if they didn’t in life.
Relatives like a little bit of something godly when they’re on the premises. Almost everyone wants prayers and Bible readings at the funeral service, as befits. I saw a family member cross himself with his mobile phone last week. God is in the modern world, moving mysteriously. He is probably on YouTube.
All denominations and believers are welcome here, even if we do not partake ourselves. Saying that, Mikey has leanings. He believes in God but he doesn’t go to church. There’s someone watching over us, he says, but he can’t be more specific than that.
Irene is the most religious here, even though she writes a stern letter when a payment is late. She goes to church Christmas, Lent and Easter. She will always lend you a fiver but she wants it back.
Howard is on the fence. He likes Christianity, the hymns, the palaver, but. He can’t say if there’s a God or not and he won’t be drawn. He said he admires Sufis. That shut us up. Derek does not believe. He says he did as a boy but the Royal Navy put paid to it. He may have drifted back to the fold, he says, but working with the deceased has warped his point of view. For me I would like to think there is a God, but it doesn’t look good from here. We don’t get bogged down, to be honest. We deal with the here and now. Paperwork, paperwork. We have to get them in their coffins, get them sorted, checked, checked again. Me and Derek need the odd little joke to get us through the day. Caution is the byword, mind you. Derek always says that. Once your reputation’s gone in this game, you’re dead, he says. Always the joker, but keep it behind closed doors. A good rep is important around the living but it’s one hundred per cent critical around the deceased.