The Undertaker's Cabinet Read online

  "What? Already?" Bobby nearly choked on the beer.

  "Yup!"

  "Where?"

  Tom rocked onto the back two legs of the chair. "Here! I'm always here, so why not make it pay. Got my first shift tonight."

  "That was quick. Won't the management mind you drinking before work?

  "I kinda know the management pretty well." He turned and looked at the attractive middle aged woman behind the bar. She winked back at him.

  Bobby shook his head. "Christ, Tom."

  "What?"

  "You know." He took another drink, "Is this what you want?"

  "I don't know what I want but I know what I don't want," Tom's reply was swift.

  "Yeah yeah you don't need to spell it out again. That stupid prank at the shop pretty much did that."

  "Sorry mate. Infantile, I know." He paused. "Disappointed?"

  "With what?"

  "Me."

  Bobby paused before answering. Was he disappointed or just resigned? "Disappointed doesn't come close you moron."

  Tom drained his bottle and came round the table to him. "You love me really. I know you do. Right I better show willing."

  Bobby finished his and stood. "You know where I am if you need me."

  "You too. Come on, bring the big one in."

  "Jesus, how much have you had?" He wrapped his arms about his brother and hugged him.

  "Not enough. Give it the rest of the shift and I will have though."

  Bobby left the bar and turned toward home. Littleoak was a dead end in all sorts of ways. Geographically, there was no chance of passing trade and the town had grown as large as it was ever going to get. Apart from the statue of Crabbe there was no reason to come.

  It was two miles in a straight line from the square to get back home. The house had been in the family since the Moretons first came here and although it had been altered and extended, the core remained the same. It had been built in a fairly isolated spot a couple of miles out of, what was then, a village. But eventually Littleoak had crept up to it and nudged it in the ribs. "We're your new neighbours. How d'you like that?" Nevertheless the town hadn't developed any further past the old homestead and it remained on the edge of town. Further past the house was a copse where the dog walkers let their dogs run free and crap everywhere. Beyond that, there was nothing much except a fifty foot drop into the Atlantic Ocean and the steady blink of Wolf Rock Lighthouse.

  He patted his belly. It was already showing signs of getting tighter with the walking and dietary adjustments. What he couldn't do without though was a drink. A decent whiskey or a bottle of beer was his weakness and it was getting to the stage where he knew there might be a nasty problem lurking around the corner. He was probably on the bend right now and he could turn back or just keep his foot to the floor. The doctor didn't need to know anything about that though. What was he going to say? 'You need to cut down on the booze, Mr Moreton It's not good for your blood pressure.' Neither was running a failing funeral parlour but you don't hear any complaints about that.

  Bobby reached home and turned up the path. The street lights stopped long before the house but in the darkness the size of its shadowy bulk was impressive. He'd hated the house as a kid. None of his mates wanted to come over and play; not that he had many. Being the son of the local undertaker was not cool and living in a house that looked like something from a horror film sealed his popularity. Nevertheless he had a couple of loyal friends who came over and found his house and family to be just like everyone else's. They left fifteen years ago for university and for life and never came back. What was in Littleoak to keep them here? They didn't have a family business to look after. They didn't have the weight of nearly two hundred years of Moreton undertakers bearing down on them; nailing them to the town like the flayed skin of a rotting corpse.

  He opened the door and stepped inside. The house was cold whatever the season but tonight it felt even more so. He flicked the old fashioned switch and washed out light limped over the hallway. If an electrician saw the wiring he'd have no choice but to condemn the place straight away. He walked into the parlour, as his dad had called it, and more or less fell into the old leather armchair. He hated this house, he hated the business but most of all he hated the smell of his dead wife's perfume which drifted about the house like a ghost's fragrant whisper. 'Bad company until the day I die.'

  Chapter 3

  Bobby went through his normal morning routine; flipped the sign, piped the music and had a cup of good, strong black coffee. There was no use in being melancholy about his situation. There was no-one other than himself who could turn the ship around, especially since Tom's departure. He stood in the window and looked over the square whilst drinking his coffee. The cup was a gift from one of the salesman who frequently called. On the side in bright red letters was written 'Graveside Ltd. We love you to death!' It was one of the more demonstrative and less subtle mugs in his extensive collection.

  It was another unremarkable day in Littleoak. People passed by the shop without looking in but why would they? It wasn't exactly a 'come in and browse' sort of destination. He turned and walked away; the stinging nibble of half a bottle of whiskey gnawed at the base of his skull. Now was as good a time as any to take a look at the spreadsheet and try to get to grips with it. He'd just sat down to switch the computer on when a crash came from the room next door. The cat! He hadn't looked in on him yet. He jumped up, ran to the preparation room and opened the door slowly. "Puss, puss!"

  A blur of black fur streaked past his legs, and hurtled along the corridor to the showroom; its claws raked and scrabbled at the floor trying to get purchase. Bobby took a quick look in the preparation room for any obvious signs of destruction before following the cat. It looked like it needed to be somewhere, and fast.

  "Hey!" Bobby called after it but it had already disappeared into the shop somewhere. He called after it again but he wasn't expecting a response. The cat couldn't get inside any of the coffins but there were plenty of places for it to hide. Great. Not exactly what he had in mind to try and turn things around.

  He peered around the first headstone; the 'Family Range.' He hadn't taken Tom's advice in blatantly advertising the 'Buy two get one free' aspect of the package but that's what it amounted to - buy a coffin and a headstone then you get the flowers free. The cat wasn't to be seen and he moved onto the next package before the phone rang.

  He considered ignoring it. If, on the slim chance, someone happened to come in, a rabid cat streaking about wasn't likely to be well received. The ringing stopped and then immediately started again. Someone was eager to reach him.

  "I'll deal with you later." He called over his shoulder and walked back to the office.

  "Moreton and Sons." He switched into work mode. He kept his voice soft but assured, just the way his dad had taught him.

  "Mr Moreton, hello, it's Jack Butler. I'm ringing on behalf of my dad. It's my mum you see, she passed away this morning in hospital and he said you're the only one he trusts to look after her."

  "I'm so sorry to hear of your loss Mr Butler. I know your father very well. He was an old friend of my dad's. I'll come to the hospital straight away."

  "Thank you. She's on ward thirty-two." The line went dead.

  Bobby opened the garage in the rear yard. The great hulking figure of a modified Rolls Royce Silver Spirit lurked in the back. His dad had spent thousands and thousands getting it fixed up and ready for use. It was to 'set us apart' from the others. Unfortunately it had never been used and his dad died before it was finished. It was an impressive reminder of the past glories of Moreton and Sons and Bobby could've quite happily driven it headfirst into the ocean. He climbed into the Mercedes van and checked he had everything he needed. It had been Tom's job to reload the van after every collection and it had driven him mad when Bobby double checked it each time they went on a call. He closed the door; everything was as it should be. He'd loaded a body on his own before but it was never easy. Perhaps one of th
e hospital porters would help him.

  He hadn't been able to coax the cat out from whatever den it had made for itself but as long as it didn't take a crap on one of the headstones it didn't really matter. He might have to buy some food to try and tempt it out then grab it quickly and push it out of the door. He didn't relish the idea; the cat looked like it could handle itself.

  He pulled up in the designated parking bay at the hospital. Death had never been an emotional matter for him; at least not until Lucy had finally succumbed. He'd been around it since he could talk and a body without an emotional attachment was just a body. That wasn't to say the gravity of what had happened was lost on him, it wasn't. It was simply easier to deal with. He slid the collapsible trolley from the back of the van and started the long walk to the geriatric ward.

  The truth of the matter was, death was a business just like any other business and people wanted to be treated better in death than they were in life. Or at least their loved ones wanted that for them and they needed a business like Moreton and Sons to make it as easy as possible to accomplish. He rarely spoke to families in those moments, other than the briefest offer of condolences. His words fell unheard to the floor where they mingled with tears of grief. As his dad had said, "People don't want your sympathy in those moments. They want to know you're going to look after their mum or dad. It's as simple as that."

  And he did look after them. He looked after them as if each and every one were a member of his own family. The young man with half of his head missing from a motorcycle crash was Tom. The old lady whose body had just got too tired to carry on was his grandmother and the beautiful woman with the honey coloured hair was Lucy. Each one was prepared, washed and dressed as if they were going to the party to end all parties. And if they wanted to dance the eternal night away in blessed oblivion, well that was just fine too because they'd be ready, ready for anything.

  He zipped the bag and wheeled Nancy Butler quietly back down the corridor toward the waiting van. His dad had always talked to the bodies as he drove them back to the parlour. It had freaked him out at first but the more it happened the less odd it seemed. Of course, Tom had never quite got used to it and made fun of him for doing it but Tom wasn't going to be around anymore so it didn't matter. He closed the van doors and drove away. "If we've met before Nancy I apologise but I don't remember it. That's a bit rude isn't it? You should never forget a lady. My dad, Charlie met you a few times though. Your Ron used to do a few odd jobs for him now and again. Anyway, just so as you know, I'm a bit short staffed today. My idiot brother's decided to pursue a different career; a career in the bar trade. It'll probably do him good."

  A groan came from the back. As the body started breaking down, gases were driven out like a mischievous guest at a lifeless party. The noises had sounded frightening as a kid and even now the long drawn out sobs were difficult to ignore.

  "So, I'll get you cleaned up. Not that you're dirty, Nancy, but if you're going to the most expensive, most decadent party in all the world, we need to buff you up so you're as shiny as a new pin, okay? Jack's bringing me your best frock tomorrow and a photo of you looking your absolute best. I'm going to make you look that good and a bit more. And would you like to know a secret about the guest list for the party?" He paused. "That's right, your mum, your dad and every single person you've ever loved will be there. Except Ron of course but you don't need to worry about him. He'll be along when the time's right and in the meantime it looks like Jack's going to have his hands full with him."

  He pulled into the yard and backed up to the double doors. "Does that all sound fine and dandy? Good." He unbuckled his belt. "Oh and just one last thing. I'm afraid I'm going to have to see you naked. Now don't fret about that, it isn't anything I haven't seen before and I promise not to look any more than I have to. It's just something I've got to do. Come on I'm rambling now, let's go and get you ready for the party."

  He could complete the embalming process single handedly without a problem. In fact he'd been taught from a very early age, perhaps inappropriately so, how to do it. Nevertheless it was not a quick process and without Tom's help Bobby didn't expect to finish anytime soon.

  Once he'd managed to get her onto the embalming table, Bobby started work. He tied his apron, took the brown leather case from the shelf and turned it over. In bright gold letters were the words Moreton and Sons (Littleoak). He had no idea how old the case was but it had always been there and the letters never seemed to fade. Inside was a bespoke Rosewood makeup box, a pearl handled cut-throat razor and leather strap, an antique silver backed grooming set and three perfume atomisers. The perfume had been in the bottles for years and there was no way of knowing what was in them. He'd have to change them all soon though, each one was down to the last dregs. He quickly pushed aside the image of the half empty bottle of Chanel on the dresser beside Lucy's side of the bed.

  Next he washed and sprayed a strong disinfectant into her eyes and mouth. The process of bacterial takeover was already underway but that would slow the little buggers down a bit. He ran his fingers across her cheeks. The gesture was almost like a caress from a lover but under his touch he could feel the soft down which he would have to shave off. He reached for the blade and ran his finger across the edge. He knew it was sharp enough to cut a shadow off the floor but he ran it across the leather strap a couple of times just to make sure. How many chins had that blade shaved over the last two hundred years? How many Moreton men had held the pearl handle in their rock-steady hands and waved it over those unseeing eyes?

  Now Nancy was clean and bathed Bobby walked over to the stainless steel shelf and took two eye caps and cotton wool balls. For some reason it always felt as if he were 'turning someone off' when he closed their eyes. The eye caps stopped the sockets looking empty when the eyelids were shut but beneath them the eyes were already sinking back deeper and deeper into the skull. He carefully put the caps on Nancy's chestnut eyes and applied a small amount of adhesive to her eyelids. "Sleep tight," he whispered.

  It didn't matter how long it had been since the last embalming, he'd done it so many times he could do it without thinking. Tom had been much older, at eleven, on his first time but his reaction was an early indication of where his future didn't lie. As their dad passed the needle through the gum, up into the nostril and back down again, he'd expertly set the mouth in a relaxed expression. Tom had been handed the mouth former and poked it tentatively at the dead man's mouth.

  "You have to actually put it in there, Tommy," his dad had said gently.

  "Why?"

  "Because if you don't his mouth will look like grandad's when he's asleep."

  "Well that's just fine by me." And he'd walked away.

  They all should have known back then that being a funeral director wasn't the job for Tom Moreton but none of them wanted to admit it. Bobby tied the surgical string and inserted the mouth former. He stood back and surveyed what he'd done so far. The mouth wasn't quite right and it needed to be. Moving anything after both cavity and arterial embalming were finished was difficult. He tightened the string a little and moved Nancy's body into position.

  "That's better Nancy, isn't it?"

  The banging noise at the shop door made him jump despite himself. He looked down and Nancy and smiled. "I thought I'd annoyed you for a minute." He draped the hospital sheet over her, ripped the plastic apron off and slipped his suit jacket back on. "Be right back." He pulled the embalming door behind him and walked toward the front door. He'd locked it before leaving the hospital and hadn't bothered to open it up again. He was a one-man band now and there wasn't much he could do about it.

  The banging sounded again. The force of it nearly shook the door off its hinges. Even the little bell wobbled nervously.

  "Coming!" Bobby shouted.

  He opened the door. Outside, in front of the shop, a few people had gathered. They weren't laughing like yesterday but they were looking in the window.

  "Have you seen what's going on in y
our window?" The man stepped back for Bobby to come outside which Bobby did.

  "What's going on?"

  "Take a look."

  The window display was not something Bobby gave much thought to. It had a couple of headstones, a few plastic flowers and some memorial statues. In addition something new had been added. Several partly eaten animal carcasses had been draped over the headstones; their beady and lifeless eyes peered onto the street. A large black cat was also chasing a rat through the Astroturf. It wasn't an appropriate display but it was certainly a powerful scene.

  "Jesus Christ!"

  Bobby shot back inside and clambered over the partition into the window. The cat had gone too far this time and he intended to wring its scrawny neck. The smell in the display hit him first. The stench of cat urine was as powerful as formaldehyde and it brought tears to his eyes.

  He wiped his eyes and felt something small tap over his shoes followed by something much larger. The cat was grumbling as it ran and the rat was making a high pitched squeal. Bobby reached down but he was far too slow. "Come here!" he shouted hopelessly. He was aware that the crowd was growing in numbers outside; after all it wasn't everyday a cat butchered helpless rodents in the window of Moreton and Sons. The rat was much larger than the other creatures, and it was making a decent fist of evading the cat. Nevertheless it was inevitable that it would suffer the same fate as its comrades. Bobby made several more attempts before realising he was just making a spectacle of himself and he climbed back out of the window. He'd just have to be content with clearing up the mess when the hunt was over. It wouldn't do much for business but then again how much worse could it actually get.