It takes a while, but eventually Scudamore transports him from his past, with its lingering presence of Evelyn, and into his future as an embalmer. The pull of the decelerating train an hour later drags him from the complex world of hypochlorite disinfectants. After replacing the book and locking the briefcase, he slides his arms through the silky tunnels of his coat sleeves, picks up his bags and steps off the train.
32
‘William Lavery. Is that Lavery and Sons, Sutton Coldfield?’
‘Yes, sir.’
William and three others are being shown the workrooms in the basement mortuary. He expected desks, but there are none. The small group stands between the two fireclay embalming tables. Lying on one is a cadaver, covered with white paper. Arthur Mason, Director of the Thames College of Embalming, tall, congenial yet authoritative, is greeting each of them individually.
‘I knew your father, William.’ Arthur stands with his hands behind his back, his head slightly inclined and dipped – the undertaker’s quiet air of compassion undergirded by expertise. William nods. Undertaking is a family business; it would be unusual – embarrassing even – if your family was not known. But it pleases him again, that choosing this work, this way of life, he has aligned himself to his father. Most of the time, this is a comforting thought. Only occasionally does he wonder if his father might have preferred him to have made choices that aligned him to his mother instead.
‘Is your uncle well?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir.’
‘Good.’ Arthur turns to the stocky, ruddy-faced man to William’s left, older than William, but possibly still in his twenties. ‘And you must be Roger Turner. How’s Mr Turner?’
‘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.