‘We’re invited to a christening,’ Gloria says, ‘Paula at work. I’d like to go to this one.’
‘You sure?’ He turns, holding the disinfectant to his chest.
‘I like Paula.’ Gloria is bent over, her face near the nails, but now she sits up straight, holding the brush over the bottle. ‘And it’s what people our age do, celebrate when friends have a baby.’
William kneels to put the container away in the cupboard. His back to her, he tries to slacken his jaw. Gloria doesn’t miss a thing; she knows every physical manifestation of his inner world. She screws the top on the bottle, returns it to the basket, walks over to him and bends down to kiss his forehead.
‘I’m going to this one, and if you’d rather not, fine. But don’t try and stop me.’ She ruffles his hair. ‘I’ll see you when you’re done.’ Her slippers slap her feet as she leaves. William remains crouched before the cupboard, the slow, heavy mingle of guilt and frustration in his gut.
She persuaded him that his aversion to parenthood shouldn’t stop them getting married, but he’s never been able to put his anxiety aside. Two months before their wedding, Gloria told him if he offered her a get-out clause one more time, she’d stand in the street and scream. He believed her, so he stopped.
William stands up now and walks to the coffin, unhooks Barbara’s manicured hands. He breathes in the cool chemical whiff of the varnish.
‘It’s for her sake we shouldn’t go, Barbara,’ he says, ‘not mine.’
45
Oddly, they’ve never actually argued about not having children. In the run-up to their wedding, it was a bust-up about Evelyn that he wasn’t sure they’d recover from. Gloria had made it clear early on she wanted the full lowdown on his small, complicated family. It was hard, telling her the little he remembered about his father’s shockingly quick death from cancer, about the close relationship that had existed between him, Uncle Robert and Howard, about his mother’s insecurity, and him, slap bang in the middle of it all. Gloria was the only person in the world he’d told about his chorister days, about Martin and the horror of Ash Wednesday. She hadn’t said a thing when he’d told her, just opened her arms and held him for a long time. He’d been so grateful for that; the feeling that no matter what, she was on his side.
But it was different a few weeks later, when he said it would be too awkward, too painful to have his mother at their wedding. He actually put into words that his mother was the villain in all this. She had cut short his time in Cambridge. She had broken up the family. She had left him to go to Swansea. It was all her fault.
Gloria looked horrified. He’ll never forget the way she looked at him when he said that.
‘You said she asked you to go with her to Swansea.’
‘But she didn’t have to go. She could have stayed in Sutton.’ He got flustered and suddenly very angry. ‘If you love me, Gloria’ – his voice was quivering – ‘you won’t raise this again and you’ll never ask me to forgive her.’
‘I can’t promise you that,’ she said, as quiet and angry as him, ‘but I pray to God that one day, you’ll grow up and face this like a man.’
He stormed out of the house and didn’t come back until late that night. But she was waiting for him, as if seconds, not hours had passed. She said if he wanted to marry her, then his mother wouldn’t just be welcome at the wedding, she’d sit at the top table.
So that’s what happened. Having put his own conditions on their marriage, he knew she had him over a barrel. Evelyn sat next to him at the wedding, but they barely spoke. He noticed how she smiled and talked with Robert and Howard, as if continuing conversations they’d been having without him knowing. Gloria held herself back, he could tell, for his sake. And that was the last he’d seen of his mother.
? ? ?
Monday morning and a full day ahead, with three bodies to look after. He does most of the embalming now. Uncle Robert and Howard handle front of house and admin, leaving him in the solitude he relishes; alone but not alone. After a big investment last year, the mortuary, though relatively small, is one of the most modern in Britain; rotatable porcelain embalming table, porcelain sluice, high-level extractor fan and a twin gravity stand. Everything has a place in the deep, high cupboards lining the walls. The three of them budgeted and researched it together, but it was William who took the lead, who knew what he wanted. The two older men were happy that for at least some of the time, William seemed at peace.