by David Haynes
Benjamin looked closer. It was undoubtedly the work of a true craftsman. "Indeed it is, but what are we to do with it?"
Mr Moreton turned the key in the lock and the cabinet opened up as if it were a book. The light from the lamps illuminated half of the contents while the others remained in shadow. Even though he was used to the instruments used in his profession, Benjamin could see objects inside the cabinet which were as corrupt looking as they were unfamiliar.
Mr Moreton stepped back. "I am going to practise my craft on him and then I am going to make Alice immortal. I am going to keep her so I can remember her always as she was this very morning. I intend to make embalming an art and give people their loved ones back for all eternity. Is this not a worthy endeavour, Benjamin?"
He stepped back and felt his mouth open involuntarily. Perhaps Mr Moreton and Roe had more in common than ever he thought possible.
"Worthy," he whispered.
Chapter 8
"Well she works fast," Bobby said under his breath.
"I'm sorry?" the other man replied.
"I'm sorry too. I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey. I've changed my mind."
"I'm not sure I follow."
Was this how things panned out? Moreton and Sons was well known and had been the benchmark for other undertakers for the last century. Nevertheless, it seemed news had travelled fast, particularly when it was bad. He shouldn't be surprised about how long it had taken for the vultures to start circling.
"Look, I'm not sure where you're from Mr...?"
"Jacobs. Mr Richard Jacobs." Jacobs smiled and touched the brim of his hat again.
"Yes you did say, sorry. Have those clowns in Bridgewest sent you? The Savage Brothers? I'm afraid, even if I was selling, which I'm not. They would be the last, and I mean the absolute last, people I'd sell to."
"The Savage Brothers? No, Mr Moreton. I represent my own interests and mine alone. I can assure you of that."
Bobby realised the smile on Jacobs' face was unlikely to change. It was not the easy smile of a man prone to good will but altogether more...creepy. Yes that was it. Creepy fitted this man down to the bone.
"Well you've still had a wasted journey. I've decided not to sell." Bobby put his hand on Jacobs' arm and immediately regretted it. The man felt as if the only things holding him together were the cloth of his suit and his pale papery skin.
Jacobs stood firm under Bobby's grip and the smile remained. "If I may be permitted to present my offer, you will find it more than satisfactory. I have no doubt."
Jacobs had just overtaken the Savage Brothers in the race for the last people alive to sell Moreton and Sons to.
"Again, I'm sorry Mr Jacobs. I can't make it any plainer. I'm not selling." He didn't want to throw the old boy out of the shop but it might yet come to it if he was pushed far enough.
"Allow me then to make an observation or two?"
"If it makes you feel better about your wasted trip then go for it. I'm all ears."
"You, Mr Moreton find yourself in a terrible and seemingly inescapable position. The once grand Moreton and Sons has fallen on hard times, has it not? There are no more sons and once you pass, as you inevitably will, your less than able brother will take up the reins. He abhors this monument to the past and is unlikely to experience the tumult of fatherhood. With him, Moreton and Sons will pass into the history books where it will lie like an unloved cadaver. Whilst you love this beautiful craft, you despise what has been entrusted to you, yet in equal measure you cherish it with every part of your soul. I am simply here to bring an end to your misery and to restore Moreton and Sons to its rightful place. I..."
Bobby held up his hand. "Whoa there. I'm in a pretty bad mood and that's just tipped me over the edge. Time to go." Bobby used more force on Jacobs this time but still he smiled.
"Very well." He looked down at Bobby's dishevelled condition with the smile still painted across his face. "Perhaps I should come back when you are less under the influence of alcohol?"
Bobby opened the door and guided Jacobs through it. "I plan on being under the influence for a while yet. Cheers!"
Just as he was about to push the door behind Jacobs, the cat shot between his legs and out onto the pavement. Bobby couldn't help himself. "And stay out!" He looked up at Jacobs. "And that goes for you too!" He slammed the door and sent the little bell into a jingling frenzy.
He moved to the window and peered over the partition. Jacobs walked past the window. He was still smiling and he tipped his hat again. In the crook of his arm was the cat. Its mouth was stretched into a gruesome grin and it hissed at him. Bobby waved back with two fingers and mouthed an obscenity.
*
Esther was later than the twenty minutes she'd promised but Bobby was pleased. The extra time had given him the opportunity to change into his spare suit and have a decent wash in the embalming room. It wouldn't be the first time he'd used the hose to shower himself in the icy cold water, but it might be the last. He took a sip of his tea and silently thanked Tom for having a sweet tooth. He didn't usually take sugar but today it was a necessity.
Jacobs was weird, there was no doubt about that. Weird and creepy completed the picture. How on earth did he know so much about them and the state of the business? It wasn't as if either he or Tom had broadcast it and it didn't show in any of the last few burials. They were all carried out with the usual Moreton class. He rubbed his unshaven chin. It probably wasn't all that surprising. They were well known and several other undertakers, like the Savages would no doubt relish the prospect of the oldest company in the county going out of business. And not just because of the extra trade. No, it was just out of meanness.
Today might not be the best day to start making plans for the future but now his mind was set, he'd have to come up with something to generate trade. Rolling out the red carpet for an appointment with his majesty King Cholera wasn't an option, so what exactly could he do?
The bell rang over the door and distracted him. He picked up his mug of tea and walked into the showroom.
"Hello again!" Esther said cheerfully.
"Did you send that creep round here?" He spoke more abruptly than he'd intended.
"Well I've had better greetings, Mr Moreton. I've only met one creep this morning and he's standing in front of me." She paused. "That was a joke by the way."
Bobby stared back at her and grimaced. "Yes I get it, don't worry. No I meant some old guy about seven feet tall, wearing a top hat. You couldn't miss him. His smile looked like he'd ripped it off a serial killer. Nice chap."
He saw a look flash over Esther's face. It was the kind of look he'd seen on Lucy's face a thousand times. It said. ‘What are you on about?’
"Err... no. Can't say I recognise anyone of that description? Have you by any chance topped up on last night's effort?"
"Not yet but I might if he comes back." He motioned with his mug, "Tea?"
There was a brief pause where she seemed to consider the offer. "Okay. As long as there's no dead bodies back there?"
Bobby turned and walked to the office. "Not this morning."
He placed the mug of tea on the desk in front of her. "I'm sorry about this and I meant to come back and see you but that old boy showed up. I've had a change of heart about selling. It's difficult to explain but as much as I hate this place, I couldn't bear to sell it. The Captain going down with his ship and all that." He paused, waiting for a polite but disappointed response.
"Not to worry. You did seem a little..."
"Hungover?"
"I was going to say flustered but hungover is probably more accurate when you came in this morning. Any reason for the change of mind?"
"It's nothing to do with my mind, I can tell you that. It's a change of heart, pure and simple. If my mind was in charge then I'd be signing on the dotted line right now."
"That's fine. Better off making the decision now than later. It's probably not the sort of thing you should do when you're drunk anyway."
>
Bobby nodded. He wanted to tell her he wasn't a cheating husband. He wanted her to know he was actually a decent bloke. Someone who was in the middle of a bad situation that was all. But was he? Was he just that or had he become something worse, something shameful and embarrassing?
"Things have been a bit tough recently, that’s all."
Esther held her hands up. "It's not necessary to tell me anything. You've told me why you don't want to sell and that's fine by me."
"I just didn't want you thinking I was messing you about that was all."
"Don't worry, it's fine. Honestly." She got up to leave. "Thanks for the tea. Maybe I'll see you around now I'm working here." She dropped her card on the desk.
"That'd be good. You might see me sober next time." He smiled.
"Now that would be an improvement!"
Most people who came into the shop wanted to leave fairly quickly and Esther had been no exception. He drummed his fingers on the desk. There was no time to be thinking about women now, least of all one who probably thought he was a creep. And that brought him back round to Richard Jacobs. Now there was a creep. A bona fide five star weirdo.
Esther hadn't sent him, so who had? It could be any one of the local parlours sniffing about on the off chance. They'd know not to show up in person, particularly the Savage boys because he'd tell them where to go. But maybe if they sent an agent to do their bidding they might get a look in. But how had news got out about the state of business? It wasn't common knowledge, not that he was aware of anyway.
He shook his head. He couldn't think about that either, not now anyway. It was a day to survive, just that and nothing more because surviving was about the best he could hope for today. He turned the sign on the door and locked up. At least the maniac cat had gone and good riddance to it. That was another oddity; the cat befriending Jacobs like that. It was another good reason to dislike the man, if more reasons were needed besides the creep factor that was. Was it worth hearing his offer? It might be worthwhile just so he knew what the competition really thought of him.
Could he do it though? Could he sit through another diatribe about the shameful state of Moreton and Sons when the one speaking made him think of The Joker in the sixties Batman and Robin television show. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine and pinched at his skin. Not a chance, not unless a gun was held to his head.
*
Bobby lay on his back and looked up at the stars. When he'd first starting dating Lucy he'd spent a couple of hours swatting up on the names of the constellations so he could dazzle her with his knowledge. He'd taken her out to the field above the bluff and stretched an old picnic blanket on the floor. They both lay looking up at the stars and he pointed each one out in turn. After ten he started making them up but it wasn't until he reached Shih tzu that she realised.
"That's a dog," she'd said simply, "and some of those others were lads in your year at school." She'd rolled over and kissed him then as if the stars were just an unimportant distraction.
Bobby smiled. They were, compared to Lucy. He didn't have her warm body to cuddle up to tonight. Just a lousy cheese sandwich and a bottle of Jameson's but that would do. What else did he need? He took a bite and chewed it quickly. It held little taste but he wasn't eating it for its culinary properties. No, he didn't want to get completely wasted and drinking whiskey on an empty stomach was apt to do just that. The sandwich was just something to line his stomach. He hadn't drunk as much as he had last night for a long time but he marvelled at the recuperative and addictive qualities whiskey possessed. The first few swigs had been difficult to force down but once they were inside they did what nature intended and spread little warming explosions throughout his body.
He swallowed the sandwich and held the bottle to the sky. "Here's to you Shih tzu!" The flashing beacon of Wolf Rock lighthouse turned the liquid into a gentle amber lamp as he tipped it into his grateful mouth. He knew the drinking would have to stop, or at least slow down, if Moreton and Sons had any chance of making it through another six months. But once he started it was difficult to stop and that was all there was to it.
He lit a cigarette and listened to the sound of the waves on the rocks below. They fizzed and cracked and ripped and they just kept doing what nature intended with no questions asked. And that was his place in life too. He was the undertaker and that was what nature had intended for him. He didn't need to ask any questions because there weren't any answers and there was a good chance there wasn't anyone, or anything, who could answer them. It was just the way things were.
He let the smoke drift away on the metallic, ocean spray wind. They had talked about selling the Moreton house and buying a plot of land out here. They'd build a modern house with lots of glass and clean simple lines. They thought about building a house with one whole side made of glass so they could stare out at Wolf Rock; so Bobby could point up at Shih tzu every night. They never got the chance though and now there was no point. He'd die in that gloomy old haunted house and they'd find his body all twisted and black just how they found Frank Murphy's, when no-one else cared. Anyway he wasn't about to get all maudlin; not tonight. He'd come up there for inspiration and to work things through.
Somewhere along the line, something had gone wrong. At some point, he'd taken his eye off the ball and things had slipped. People were living longer, sure, but wasn't the population increasing too? His reputation, he hoped, was still good enough for people to trust him and Littleoak still retained a healthy population. The bottom line was this - people still died and they still needed taking care of when it happened. He just had to work out how to get all those bodies into Moreton and Sons.
"A pleasant evening for a picnic, Mr Moreton."
Bobby jumped; nearly spilling his precious bottle of whiskey. "What the...?" he looked up at the tall figure standing silhouetted against the moon. There was no mistaking the skeletal figure of Richard Jacobs.
"I apologise, Mr Moreton. My intention was not to startle you."
"Startle me?" Bobby started, "I nearly dropped my drink and if that'd happened you'd be in the Atlantic by now."
Jacobs touched the brim of his hat and bowed slightly. "Again, my apologies to you."
The man loomed over him even more now Bobby was lying on the ground. "What do you want, Jacobs? I thought I made my feelings clear earlier." He paused. "Have you followed me here?" There was little of Jacobs' expression he could see but the slight change in the shape of his face was enough for Bobby to tell Jacobs was wearing that creepy and disturbing smile he liked so much.
"Followed you? Absolutely not. I was merely enjoying a stroll along the coastal path and saw the embers of your cigarette in the darkness." He inhaled deeply. "I do so enjoy the fragrance of burning ashes."
"Well don't let me stop you. The path goes all the way along the coast to Mostyn. You should get there by dawn if you start now. Don't fall over the edge though, it's a long way down!" Bobby turned away and looked toward the lighthouse. It winked at him as if pleased with his dismissal of Jacobs.
"I may rest a moment first."
Bobby heard shuffling and the sound of a cap being unscrewed. He turned and looked unbelieving as Jacobs was getting himself comfortable on the grass and pouring a drink from his flask.
"Do you mind?" Bobby said with more than a little anger in his voice.
"Mind Mr Moreton? I do not mind at all."
The smell of coffee drifted into Bobby's nostrils. The coffee held the spicy undertone of a spirit, possibly brandy.
"One of my little habits I'm afraid. Sweet coffee laced with a fine cognac is a tonic I am quite sure. Of course I should not imbibe but we all enjoy a tipple, do we not Mr Moreton?"
"Don't try and make small talk, I'm not in the slightest bit interested. If you're staying, I'm going." Bobby picked up his bottle and cigarettes and dragged himself to his feet.
"Will you not do me the courtesy of listening to my offer. It is more than fair."
"Unless it's ten million
forget it." Bobby started to walk away.
"Is that your price, Mr Moreton. Is that what you truly desire? For the house. For Moreton and Sons."
Bobby stopped. A South Westerly was on the way and the wind whipped through the trees making them bow their heads at Jacobs' question. "What I truly desire is for you to leave me alone. If you bother me again I'll be phoning the police."
"Sell it and run, Bobby."
It was nothing more than a whisper carried on the wind but Bobby heard it as clear as if Lucy were beside him again; back on the bluff. "What? What did you say?"
Jacobs got slowly to his feet. "Why nothing. I uttered not a word. We are both connoisseurs are we not? Of whiskey, of cognac and of the beautiful business of undertaking. We have much in common, you and I. Do you not yearn for the old days? The days when your grandfather and I buried five men a day? The days when men and women would stop and bow their heads as we passed in our carriages, as black as night. We were kings then. We were Gods." He took a step forward and Bobby recoiled instinctively.
