The Undertaker's Cabinet Page 5

  "No sir, I did not." Moreton turned away quickly and stepped back. "You will dress him in these clothes for his funeral."

  Benjamin turned as Moreton indicated the attire draped over the back of a chair. "Dress him? I cannot dress him."

  "You can, Benjamin. You must. And you must do it quickly." Moreton turned his back and walked toward the door.

  "Quickly. I cannot do it at all!" He started after Moreton but he was already five steps behind and when Moreton exited the room, Benjamin heard the sound of the key turning in the lock.

  "You can call me when you have finished this task and I shall unlock the door."

  Benjamin pounded his fists on the door. "Let me out, let me out, I say! I shall not do this!"

  Moreton's voice came back quietly from the other side. "You must act quickly or you will need to break the arms to get them into his suit."

  Benjamin turned away slowly and emptied his stomach onto the floor. "I cannot do this." he whispered.

  This rite of passage marked a turning point in Benjamin's life. One that would be felt for many years to come and in ways which he would not expect. In the days which followed this event he was elevated from a simple would-be assistant to a venerated position within the Moreton family; that being Jerome and his wife Alice. He was taken from the terrible death ridden atmosphere of the preparation room directly to Moreton's home where he was introduced to Mrs Moreton.

  "Benjamin, I should like to introduce you to my wife, Mrs Alice Moreton."

  Benjamin was at once conscious that he had performed only the most perfunctory cleansing of his hands following his encounter with Gerald Seymour. He hesitated before offering his hand.

  "Benjamin, if you are concerned that you carry the smell and touch of death upon your clothes and skin, allow me to put you at ease. For many years Jerome has carried that scent upon his person and whilst I find the smell less than appealing, it no longer causes me concern. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

  Benjamin took her hand and lowered his head. "Then you must forgive my ignorance Mrs Moreton for it has been a long time since I have been shown courtesy by any other person than your husband. I am very pleased to meet you." Her skin was cold and clammy and when he withdrew his hand he fought hard against the desire to wipe his palm on his trousers.

  "Good!" exclaimed Moreton. "Benjamin will have an appetite like an ox this evening, Alice, for he has dressed Gerald Seymour this very afternoon.

  Alice clasped her hands together. "Excellent Benjamin. Tonight there is Mr Moreton's favourite, veal." She turned and disappeared into another room.

  Moreton clapped him on the back. "You shall enjoy this Benjamin. Veal is such a wonderful and tender meat."

  Benjamin felt his stomach lurch at the very thought but he just smiled.

  "Come along we have matters to discuss before we eat." Moreton ushered him in the opposite direction into a small parlour where he was instructed to sit beside the fire.

  Moreton remained standing. "It did not escape your notice that Mrs Moreton is unwell?"

  Benjamin was astounded and embarrassed. He had not thought Mrs Moreton ill and now he felt worse for his earlier thoughts on her clammy touch. "I apologise if I was anything other than courteous, sir. I did not..."

  "There is no call for an apology, Benjamin." Moreton gazed at the flames. "She has been unwell for some time but the doctors do not know what ails her." He turned away from the flames. "Damn fools they are. I should see them all on the gallows for their dishonesty!"

  Benjamin remained silent for he did not know what to say and did not how to react to such an angry display from a man usually so calm.

  "I apologise for my outburst but I am nearing the end of my tether." Moreton turned and in the flames Benjamin thought he saw tears in the other's eyes. "You see I needed an assistant in order to allow me time to tend my Alice. Although she would not hear of me selling my business she will allow me to spend two or three days each week by her side. You have been sent by God, Benjamin. In you I trust my business for as long as she needs to recover her health. And if at the end of that time, you desire it to be so, I will make you my partner on equal terms."

  He did not know what to say in the face of such frankness at the hands of a man he barely knew. He was pleased when Moreton spoke again.

  "Now, we shall hear no more on this matter. Come, I can smell the veal!"

  Moreton was once more his usual self; cheery and full of life. Yet now Benjamin knew what lay beneath he felt more akin to the man than ever.

  Each and every Wednesday evening for the next eighteen months Benjamin dined with the Moretons as one of their kin. He was treated like a son and he grew fond of them both.

  Chapter 5

  Bobby walked briskly along Main Street. Although last night's nocturnal activities had starved him of a couple of hours sleep he didn't feel too bad. He put it down to having a reason to come to work and that reason was Nancy Butler. He reached the shop and peered cautiously into the window display. There was no sign of the cat eating rats yet which had to be a good thing.

  He opened the door, stepped inside and inhaled deeply. It didn't smell like cat shit either, just the familiar and very faint smell of embalming fluid. So far, so good. He stepped inside the office and hung his coat on the back of the door. He'd always been fastidious about his appearance, at least when he was working, but long since gone were the days of the bespoke tailored suit his dad had bought for him on his first full day. Nevertheless he still spent more than he probably should on his suits. If you don't look like you have respect for your own appearance, why should they believe you would treat their beloved any differently? That was what Dad had said and it was true.

  He never wavered from the black, pure wool suit with dark silk lining and it was always worn with a white cotton shirt and black slim tie. He was dressed for a funeral. He was fortunate that his physique could accommodate an off the peg suit just as well as the one his dad had bought him. Even so, as he patted his burgeoning belly, he realised for the first time in twenty years he might have to consider going up a waist size. It certainly wasn't from over eating that was for sure.

  There were only two emails to address and they were cleared quickly by hitting the delete key. God alone knew what Tom had been looking at on the Internet, but judging by the email's title, "Today's babes in YOUR area!" it wasn't connected to the funeral business. He cleared the screen and walked toward the Chapel of Rest.

  Moreton and Sons didn't officially open until nine o'clock but his morning routine always brought him to the shop around eight. At just after six a.m. he could be found standing under the hot stream of the shower in a near-hangover daze, just trying to organise his thoughts coherently. This morning had been different. He'd woken up feeling unusually focused and it wasn't just because he'd got work to do for the first time in a few weeks. At some point between the cow incident and waking up his unconscious mind had made a few decisions.

  He had enough savings to keep Moreton and Sons running for about another month and then he might have to start selling things. But he knew that was just throwing more money down the drain. He'd give it the month and if things hadn't improved then that was the end. He'd wind the business up, sell the house and simply move on. Tom was as settled as he was likely to be. Besides he was a big boy now and could look after himself. There were bound to be directors looking for someone as experienced as he was. He was pretty sure he could work himself around the country, maybe even the world. There was nothing to keep him in Littleoak anymore. Not even Lucy's grave.

  He unlocked the door and stepped into the Chapel. He reached instinctively along the wall searching for the light switch. The room was boxed in on all sides and there were no windows or other ways for natural light to enter.

  "Morning Nancy! All ready for Mr Butler to come and visit I hope!" His hand found the switch and flicked it on. The open coffin sat atop a trestle, behind which were heavy, black velvet drapes. It was a little
old fashioned for some but nobody had come there to admire the fashion or texture of the curtains.

  "What the...?" Bobby couldn't finish his sentence. What little moisture was in his mouth just a few seconds ago had been sucked away somewhere deep and dark.

  "Oh God!" he whispered. Nancy had looked perfect last night; the vision of peace and tranquillity relatives expected to see when they came to visit the beloved deceased. Nancy's face was lined in scratch marks, her lips nothing more than a tattered blush. She looked like she was pulling a terrible and macabre wink where the one eyelid, which had been glued down, had been more or less chewed off entirely. It hung down to the side, connected only by a slim thread of skin at the corner.

  Bobby put his hands over his face. If he closed his eyes, counted to five, then opened them again, surely whatever terrible nightmare hallucination he'd just seen would have gone away. Surely.

  He made it to ten and then opened his eyes. Nancy looked worse second time around, not better, but he couldn't look away. Was she repairable? Possibly, but not in the forty-five minutes he had left before the Butlers arrived. He tried to tease the eyelid back into place but the flesh had been shredded and looked more like rotten wicker than skin. If he did anything now, Nancy would only end up looking like Frankenstein's monster. He'd have to delay them; say he hadn't finished or something. Just buy a bit of time to do what he could.

  He sank to his knees. What was he thinking? There wasn't enough time. It was impossible. He wanted to leave the business, but he didn't want his last funeral to be like this.

  Something brushed against his legs and shrieked loudly as it flew past him.

  "I'll fucking kill you!" he snarled through gritted teeth and turned just in time to see a black tail disappear out of the Chapel. He scrambled to his feet and fell through the door and into the corridor. The cat had disappeared again. "Come back here you little shit!" He waited a few seconds and looked at his hands. He wasn't going to risk another close encounter with the cat but he had a few instruments which might make dispatching it easier.

  He hurried into the embalming room and looked through the pristine instruments. He'd always preferred to tie jaw bones together by hand; it was more precise in his opinion. But Tom had insisted on using a needle injector gun to get the job done. Bobby closed his hands around it and smiled. Tom had just earned his wages for the last five wasted years.

  "Here kitty kitty!" he called and tip-toed down the corridor into the main shop. He was well aware of what he looked like but it was irrelevant; he had an extermination to carry out.

  After half an hour of searching he still hadn't found the cat and he had all but given up. He slumped in the office chair. God he wished he had a bottle of Jameson's and a packet of Marlboro Lights with him right now. It would make what he had to tell the Butlers a tiny bit easier. How do you tell a grieving father and son that their mum has been mauled by a wild cat? A wild cat you couldn't evict from your own shop at that!

  He briefly considered running. Just run out of the shop, down Main Street and keep on going until he hit the cold deep waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Movement in the corridor outside of the office caught his eye and he turned slowly. The cat strutted past with his tail straight up like a car aerial. It turned briefly and spat in his direction.

  Bobby leapt up and grabbed the injector gun. "It's time to meet your maker my little furry friend." He'd locked the embalming room on his way out but had neglected to close the Chapel. As he came out of the office the cat had already found this out and was running back toward the open door. "Got ya!" Bobby called. The cat hissed back at him.

  Bobby pushed the door closed behind him but didn't lock it. He held the injector gun out in front like a cop from a film and crouched with his back to the door. The cat wasn't hiding under the coffin and the black drapes didn't quite reach the floor so he'd be able to see four black paws if it was trying to hide behind them.

  There was only one place left. He stepped forward and looked inside the open coffin. Nancy was in the same forlorn condition she'd been in earlier - why wouldn't she be? But he gasped when he saw the cat. It had perched itself on Nancy's chest and was delicately licking the loose flap of skin which used to be her eyelid. It flapped up and down making her wink grotesquely. His instinct was to grab the cat by the throat and throttle the living daylights out of it but he paused. Not because he was frightened of the cat, which he was, but because of how gentle the cat was being. It was totally out of character.

  It didn't last long though because as soon as the cat had softened up the eyelid with the scrubbing barbs on its tongue, it bared its sharp little fangs and sank them into whatever flesh was left and started chewing.

  That final barbaric act galvanised Bobby into action and he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the cat's neck. The cat reacted immediately and started screaming. Its needle-point fangs flashed through the air as it tried to grab Bobby's hand. Its claws raked at thin air as he held it away from his body. He'd learnt the hard way how to handle a venomous cat.

  Nevertheless he knew he had to make the encounter brief. The cat's writhing was energetic and muscular and he knew it wouldn't be long before it broke free. He forced the cat down into the coffin directly across Nancy's mauled face and raised the injector gun. "Got you, you little bastard."

  "Mr Moreton?" A man's voice asked from behind him. "Mr Moreton, what exactly are you doing?"

  Bobby loosened his hold on the cat and it seized the chance to escape. It flew off Nancy's face in a blur of black fur.

  Bobby turned slowly. In the doorway to the Chapel was Jack Butler standing behind the wheelchair bound figure of his dad. "There's been an accident," Bobby stammered, "involving Mrs Butler." He looked helplessly at both of them and then back at Nancy. "I'm afraid it's bad."

  *

  "Is that for real? Is that actually for real?" Tom asked.

  Bobby could see a smirk starting at the corner of his brother's mouth. "I wouldn't be in here at midday if it wasn't. It isn't funny Tom. Not in the slightest." Bobby wasn't in the mood for his brother's sick sense of humour and his voice carried a warning.

  "I'm sorry. It's just really grim. Where's the cat now?"

  If at all possible, Crabbe's bar was even less enticing during the day than it was at night, and that was no mean feat. Even though the smoking ban had been in effect for several years, stale cigarette smoke clung to the walls and furniture, such as it was, like a cheap ill-fitting suit.

  "I don't know and I don't care. Barlow came over from Mistlewood in his shiny new toy to take over the arrangements. I can't imagine the Butlers will be bothering us again. That's the end, Tom. The end of Moreton and Sons." He raised his glass and downed the double Jameson's in one gulp. "Fill me up bar keep." He passed the empty glass back to Tom who unhooked the bottle from the dispenser and slammed it on the bar.

  "Let's do this the Wild West way. Shall we?" He took a glass for himself and poured two enormous measures.

  "Won't you get in bother with madame?"

  "She owes me after last night. Let's just say..."

  "No," Bobby said firmly. "I'll need more of this before I'm ready to hear about that."

  They both downed their drinks in one and Tom set them up again. "This is gonna be messy, isn't it?"

  Bobby smiled over the glass. "Very. Crank up the jukebox and let's see what I'm made of these days."

  Creedence Clearwater Rival were telling everyone that a bad moon that was rising. Bobby already knew that but he sang along anyway and swayed on his stool in agreement.

  "You forget just how good some of this old stuff is," he spoke to himself. Tom had been forced to leave his side when a trio of women came into the bar late into the afternoon. Years of drinking whiskey deprived him of the chance to fall unconscious in a dribbling mess. All his efforts had achieved so far was a state of dissatisfied ambivalence to the world, and to the bar.

  "Don't go round tonight. Well it's bound to take your life. There's a bad moon on
the rise." Bobby trailed off with a howl and slammed his glass onto the bar.

  "Aren't you the undertaker?"

  Bobby took a moment to focus on the woman who had spoken. "Er yes. At least I was."

  "You helped with my granddad a couple of years back. You were wonderful." She turned to the two other women she'd come in with. They were sitting at one of the tables under a collection of terrible Crabbe portraits and were already deep in conversation. "For all of us. As a matter of fact that's why we've come back."

  "To see me?" As soon as his vision had cleared he recognised the pretty woman who'd placed her hand on his and soothed his nerves.

  She laughed as if laughing was the easiest thing in the world. "Yeah right. No, it's Granddad's birthday today and he always came in here on his birthday. Two pints of Guinness and that was him done." She held up her pint and winked. "So we have a drink, my cousins and me, and we say cheers to the old boy."