William leans down now, to click open the lock of his new briefcase and grip the broad spine of Scudamore’s opus, hoping that the weight of it, the dusty smell, the small text and detailed drawings, can work their magic. Six months ago, once he was accepted on the course, William started to read his father’s textbook and found it an unexpected treasure, light relief when he wasn’t studying for A levels. He’d known about veins and arteries, but a retromandibular vein? A superior mesenteric artery? He was mesmerised, laughing out loud when he found out there were two circulatory systems in the human body: the pulmonary circulation loop and the systemic circulation loop. In the past weeks, he has romped through the dense text and meticulous illustrations, finding he can easily retain the most outlandish names, from the lateral circumflex femoral vein to the dorsalis pedis artery. Following the surge of fluids through the cardiovascular system, William couldn’t understand why people don’t talk about it more often.

It takes a while, but eventually Scudamore transports him from his past, with its lingering presence of Evelyn, and into his future as an embalmer. The pull of the decelerating train an hour later drags him from the complex world of hypochlorite disinfectants. After replacing the book and locking the briefcase, he slides his arms through the silky tunnels of his coat sleeves, picks up his bags and steps off the train.

32

‘William Lavery. Is that Lavery and Sons, Sutton Coldfield?’

‘Yes, sir.’

William and three others are being shown the workrooms in the basement mortuary. He expected desks, but there are none. The small group stands between the two fireclay embalming tables. Lying on one is a cadaver, covered with white paper. Arthur Mason, Director of the Thames College of Embalming, tall, congenial yet authoritative, is greeting each of them individually.

‘I knew your father, William.’ Arthur stands with his hands behind his back, his head slightly inclined and dipped – the undertaker’s quiet air of compassion undergirded by expertise. William nods. Undertaking is a family business; it would be unusual – embarrassing even – if your family was not known. But it pleases him again, that choosing this work, this way of life, he has aligned himself to his father. Most of the time, this is a comforting thought. Only occasionally does he wonder if his father might have preferred him to have made choices that aligned him to his mother instead.

‘Is your uncle well?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

‘Good.’ Arthur turns to the stocky, ruddy-faced man to William’s left, older than William, but possibly still in his twenties. ‘And you must be Roger Turner. How’s Mr Turner?’

‘Not too bad, sir,’ Roger replies, a friendly, easy smile on his face, ‘though I think he’s ready to ease off. That’s why I’m here.’