A Terrible Kindness(10)

The door swings open, nearly hitting Harry.

‘Whoops.’ Betty smiles at Harry who holds the door for her then leaves. She stands opposite William. He feels he ought to apologise, but her calm gaze lets him know she is not expecting anything from him.

‘There’s just one more for us to do,’ he says. ‘Can you get the buckets and sponges ready?’

‘Of course.’ She immediately turns to the wall against which the buckets are waiting.

Coffins, not blanketed bodies, now fill the pews; some are dirty, smeared with slurry, though they tried not to let that happen. It takes him a moment to spot the brown bundle. Feeling the give of flesh, the bend of a leg, he wonders what lies inside, worries he might not have it in him to go through this again, marvels at Jimmy and Harry’s stamina. At least with Betty, he has reason to keep his face calm, tell himself he can do what he has to do.

Two buckets and two sponges are ready. Betty stands as if to attention on one side of the table.

‘Thank you,’ he says.

‘You’re welcome.’

He gives them both a moment, time to breathe in and out a few times.

‘This is going to be one of three,’ Betty says plainly, ‘I’ve seen the parents left outside.’

William pulls back a blanket for the last time. They look. William glances at Betty. She shakes her head, lips pursed. ‘Can’t be sure.’

Almost in synchronicity, the two of them plunge their sponges in the water and set to work. A peace settles over William, knowing most of this is behind him. He and Betty work well together, intuitively knowing which parts of the body she can clean, and which need his expertise.

Next to them, Jimmy is hand-pumping the embalming fluid through a body. For a few seconds, the only sounds William’s aware of are the suck and hiss of the pump and the swill of dirty water squeezed from their sponges. Then, a plummy voice from over his shoulder: ‘… Chapel Choir, Cambridge, singing Allegri’s “Miserere”.’

William spins round and lunges at the radio, his gloved fingers grappling with the knobs until the noise stops. He turns, radio in both his hands. Jimmy and Betty are staring at him.

‘Sorry.’ He exhales quickly to imitate a laugh. ‘Can’t stand that poncy stuff’ – he puts it back on the ledge – ‘can I retune it to something else?’

Jimmy nods at William’s workstation. ‘Best just get on, there are parents waiting.’

? ? ?

The child’s silky black hair could have been recently combed, but the face is its own disaster zone. Betty rubs with the tired, soft sponge on the left forearm. William is glad that Betty doesn’t try to talk. She’s taken off her glove to scrape a stubborn patch of slurry with her fingernail. William glances at her every few seconds but she doesn’t look up.

When Harry returns from his tea break, the room is momentarily filled with the familiar thunder of a departing lorry. Jimmy, Betty and William are focused on the work and don’t notice Harry casually turn the radio back on. So when the simple plainchant of the tenors can be heard – Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea: et a peccato meo munda me; ‘Wash me thoroughly from my wickedness: and cleanse me from my sin’ – Betty doesn’t notice the change in William. Neither does Jimmy, massaging formaldehyde through a wrist. And even though they are working in such close proximity, no one notices the sponge drop to the floor as William grips the edge of the table. But Betty does look up in time to see him put both hands over his ears, eyes tight shut. He takes a step back from the table. His head hits the wall, his knees crumple, and he slides down until he is squatting on the floor.





10




‘Apologise once more, William,’ Betty says, kneeling before him, ‘and I’ll hit you over the head with that radio.’

William feels his spine against the cold wall, the floor bearing into his bony backside. He clasps his shins, his body a tight, clutched package, while Harry and Jimmy look down at him. He notices that his shoes are filthy.

Betty sits next to William, legs outstretched, prises one hand from his leg and holds it in her lap.

‘To be honest,’ she says, ‘I feel the same when the Beatles come on. I can’t stand them.’ She turns her head to look at him, play in her eyes. ‘I’m going to do this next time my husband starts dancing around like an idiot to “Yellow Submarine”.’

Harry and Jimmy chuckle. Harry bends to make eye contact with William. ‘Sorry, mate, just turned it back on. Didn’t realise.’

‘You weren’t to know,’ William says, getting up, letting his hand slide from Betty’s, grateful, embarrassed. ‘I’m OK now.’ He lowers his gaze again, doesn’t want to look or be looked at. ‘It’s just that music.’

? ? ?

Uncle Robert is on the driveway before William has turned off the engine. It’s after 10 p.m. and he wonders if he can summon the energy to get out of the car. He leans into Robert’s embrace, feeling the pat on his back; tenderness disguised as vigour that has characterised his care of William over the last five years. The smell of his aftershave, the neat tie and woolly jumper bring tears to his eyes.

‘Hungry?’ He takes William’s elbow. ‘There’s a shepherd’s pie with your name on it.’

‘I’m starving,’ William says as they walk into the house. He takes off the shoes that tomorrow he will throw in the bin and leaves them by the door.