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Chapters (77)
  1. Landing Page
  2. A TERRIBLE KINDNESS
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. ABERFAN
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. CAMBRIDGE CHOIR
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. FAMILY BUSINESS
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. MIDNIGHT CHOIR
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. ABERFAN
  68. 59
  69. 60
  70. 61
  71. 62
  72. 63
  73. 64
  74. 65
  75. Acknowledgements
  76. About the Author
  77. Copyright

Doing this quiet, intimate work in the peaceful morgue, and with no audience, was enormously appealing. The simplicity and privacy of it won him over. No performance, no audience, no humiliation. As the distance between him and his chorister days increased from days and weeks to months, his future as an embalmer acted as an anchor for his present and some kind of hope for his future.

He let the routine of his days carry him. From one lesson to another, to lunch, usually on his own if he got his way, though sometimes he put up with someone’s small talk. Then straight home, his bag heavy with textbooks, to a warm, quiet welcome from Robert and Howard, who carried on around him, delivering tea and biscuits and taking a quick glance at the work he was doing. Sometimes, looking up from his books, William imagined Evelyn at work in a very different environment; moving lightly amongst polished pianos, hulking double basses and cellos, glinting trumpets and flutes. In those early days, when she still thought he was going to join her there, she wrote to him about it; ordering obscure sheet music for customers, recommending local teachers to parents, stock-taking. Yesterday a man had come in to buy a kazoo and asked her to recommend a good teacher, and the piano tuner’s young guide dog had cocked its leg on a drum kit. It impressed him really, her persistence in trying to entertain him, but it was now ingrained in him to brace himself against her, hold her responsible, never forget. So no, he didn’t write back to her, even though sometimes he felt a twitch of humour, the urge to respond, to continue with a piece of nonsense she had started. But he always managed to resist. While his mother knew from practical, matter-of-fact letters from Robert that he was healthy, going to bed on time and doing his homework, she had absolutely no idea that William had been helping in the mortuary and was often entrusted to take sole charge of the H and the C of Pack Her Cotton Dress Clean Today Please. She had no idea of the growing resolve that he wasn’t going to Swansea at half-term. But then neither did Robert and Howard.

35

‘William!’