Trick of the Light

by Fiona McCallum

  She’d never really been one for getting among nature much beyond walking in parklands and well-formed trails back in Adelaide. She and Stuart had gone camping with friends once many years ago and had both loathed it and vowed never to again.

  She turned her head slightly to listen: a car somewhere not too far away; another vehicle on the highway a lot further away; the rustle of leaves caught in a gentle gust of wind; the ‘quark-quark-quark’ of a crow.

  Perfect, she thought with a contented sigh as she turned back and made her way over to use the loo.

  Erica had just washed her hands and emerged from the impeccably kept facilities and was about to get into her car when there was an almighty cacophony of mass squawking overhead. She turned and watched a huge flock of magnificent sulphur-crested cockatoos come in to land in the branches of a large gum, their mass movement as graceful and fluid as if someone had thrown the contents of a tin of white paint into the tree.

  She dragged her attention away to check her watch: still a little early, but she could explore the nearby businesses in the street.

  As she pulled into the angle parking out the front, she looked up at the imposing stone building looming tall and wide in front of her. It was like a monument in its own right. Its stateliness and lack of adornment were a comfort. Like an old smooth hand being held out, Erica mused and almost laughed at the poetic thought. Where the hell had that come from? She got out and turned to properly take in the other buildings around her. Post office, bakery, a couple of cafés, including one with a gallery, what looked to be a bicycle hire shop, a supermarket and hotel on the far corner. Everything seemed to be there on the one compact street.

  ‘You must be Erica.’

  Despite the voice being familiar, the way it cut into the stillness caused Erica to almost jump out of her skin. She turned around slowly.

  ‘Hello. Welcome,’ he said, coming down the steps of the building she’d been admiring. ‘I’m Walter,’ he said, holding out his hand. She accepted the firm grip.

  ‘It’s wonderful to meet you, Walter,’ she said, smiling up at him.

  ‘Found us okay?’

  ‘Yes. No problems at all.’ Looking into his face, any apprehension she might have had evaporated. He was much younger than her father but had the same shade of reassuring blue to his eyes and warm, friendly crinkle to the corners of his eyes and mouth. This man might be surrounded by grief and sadness, but it hasn’t blunted his spirit, she thought.

  ‘Welcome to Melrose and to Crossley Funerals,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘As you can see, we have everything we need,’ he said, with a sweep of his arm. ‘I hope you’ll love it here as much as I do. But if you don’t, do please tell me.’

  ‘The same goes for your thoughts on me,’ she said.

  ‘I think we’re going to get on famously, Erica. Thank you so much for being here,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you for asking me.’

  Erica tried not to sigh aloud. But she must have let it slip because Walter said, ‘Yep, it does that to you.’ She looked up, frowning at him slightly. ‘The country; it gets right into your soul, your bones. Tranquillity. And the Flinders Ranges is particularly magical. Though I am biased,’ he added, grinning broadly.

  ‘And rightly so, I’d say, from the glimpse I’ve already had,’ Erica said.

  ‘This, my dear, is the place to put back together a broken heart and heal a bruised soul. You’ll see.’

  Erica nodded and then swallowed as she almost choked on a sudden rising rush of emotion. She was grateful Walter spoke again before she needed to.

  ‘Would you like to take your things up and see the flat or have lunch first?’

  ‘I don’t mind. Either way is fine with me.’

  Walter checked his watch. ‘Since you’re early, let’s unload your car and give you a quick tour. If you drive just up there, you’ll come to a driveway to your left. Pull in and park out the back by the green door. I’ll meet you there.’

  Erica drove as instructed. Around the back of the building was a large gravelled parking area. She parked in front of a high-gloss green door as brightly coloured as the grass on the side of the road and paused for a moment to smile at it before getting out.

  ‘You travel light,’ Walter said, taking Erica’s suitcase out of the boot of her car and putting it down alongside the matching carry-on and shiny aluminium makeup kit she’d already placed there. ‘I was expecting a full car load.’

  ‘Yes. Please don’t take it as a sign I’m not committed. My two daughters arrived home suddenly from their overseas trip on the weekend, so I was able to leave everything as it was in the house back in Adelaide.’

  ‘Oh. I hope everything is okay.’

  ‘Yes. Perfectly fine. Just a change of plans.’ Erica didn’t like holding back from him, but was wary of over-sharing and potentially making a poor impression. And she was a bit tired of thinking about everything; she wanted to give her undivided attention to her new job. He took a small bunch of keys from his pocket, selected a key and put it into the lock.

  ‘This door provides access to the whole premises, so we keep it and the door off the hall into the office locked. We mainly use that roller door ourselves because we’re usually in the car. I live in a cottage at the end of the street. This is the key to this door and this is the one for yours. Colour coded green for you. You’re at the end of the hall and up the stairs,’ he said, holding up the keys and showing Erica what he meant. ‘Well, welcome,’ he said, pushing the door open and standing aside. He waved his hand with a flourish.

  Erica stepped into a corridor with a bank of small high windows underneath which stood a welcoming little hall table with a lit Tiffany style lamp, wooden chair next to it and row of hooks on the wall further along. Underfoot was a red hall runner with pale yellow timber floorboards extending each side.

  ‘Head on up,’ Walter said.

  As Erica made her way up the stairs towards another matching green door carrying her carry-on and makeup kit, she was reminded of a little boutique hotel she and Stuart had stayed in during a trip through rural Victoria many years earlier. She couldn’t remember the name of the town now. On the landing, Walter reached past her and put the key into the lock on the door and opened it.

  ‘Welcome,’ he said, waving his arm to shepherd her in. Erica went in and put down her luggage beside the kitchen bench; Walter deposited her suitcase beside it.

  ‘Oh, this is gorgeous,’ she said, taking in the cheerful, sunbathed room.

  ‘I’m so pleased you like it. Here are your keys,’ he said, holding out the bunch, which Erica accepted. ‘Blue is to the office and mortuary. I hope you won’t find the décor too fuddy-duddy or chintzy,’ he said, turning and gazing around as if taking in the space for the first time himself.

  ‘Oh no, I think it’s lovely. Absolutely perfect,’ Erica said, taking in the stunning space, which had clearly been very carefully designed. The cream curtains, currently pushed wide open, in green and blue floral – the blue being very close to the shade Wedgwood was famous for – were sumptuous with their fullness, and had covered pelmets and swags lined in the gorgeous solid blue. The sofa and pair of armchairs matched the curtains, and the rug covering the floorboards underneath was a series of blue squares with tiny versions or just a section of a flower picked out from the floral fabric. All was tied together with a selection of plain, floral and check cushions on the plush lounge area seating. Underneath the four-seater square timber dining room table nearby were wooden chairs with seats upholstered in the check cushion fabric and on top a runner made of the floral edged, or framed, in the check. Erica thought if she tried to explain it it would sound overwhelming, but it all worked beautifully, so much so her mouth began to water. The space was minuscule compared to her home back in Adelaide, but not cramped in the slightest despite there being a kitchen, lounge and dining table in probably just the size of her study. Again she was reminded of the perfectly put together
room in the boutique hotel.

  ‘It’s only small, but there are two bedrooms. They’re similar in size so you can take your pick. See which view you’d prefer to wake up to. Would you like me to leave you to freshen up and get a feel for the place or come straight to lunch?’

  ‘I think I’d like to eat first, actually, if that’s okay?’ she said.

  ‘Perfectly. Best we get some nourishment while the phone is quiet. You’ll learn to take meals when you can.’

  ‘Great. I’m good to go, then,’ Erica said.

  ‘Here are your keys. Please keep everything locked. We never used to have to lock anything, but times have changed. I’ll show you around on our way through.’

  Erica locked the door of the flat behind her and followed Walter back down the stairs to another green door.

  ‘Are you up for seeing the mortuary on our way?’ Walter asked, pausing in the downstairs corridor.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It can be quite confronting, especially preparing a body for the first time. But not to worry, I’ll be there every step of the way. Though you said you have some experience, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, during my training. And I was perfectly fine. But that was a long time ago, so I won’t know for sure until I actually try.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘But I can say I am absolutely willing to give it my best shot.’ Erica really hoped when the time came her stomach wouldn’t let her down. It hadn’t before.

  ‘Just a quick squiz. I’ll show you everything properly later,’ Walter said as he opened another green door; Erica saw a tiny lobby with a frosted glass door in front of her marked with MORTUARY, STAFF ONLY in black lettering. ‘The main entrance we use is off the garage,’ he said, unlocking the glass door. ‘But sometimes there’s a need for people to come to this door. Hence the signage and doorbell just here.’ He indicated the button to his right as he pushed the mortuary door open.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said, stepping inside. Erica stood beside him, taking in the room, which was just like what she’d seen during her course: cold, lots of steel, clinical, clean. Here were two empty steel gurneys with drainage holes, sinks against one wall, steel cabinets on another – most likely containing instruments; she couldn’t read the labels from here – and on the far wall a bank of eight steel doors, four up and four below, which Erica knew were for sliding bodies into.

  Erica was perfectly fine with being there. The only thing that bothered her was the unpleasant but familiar smell of harsh cleaning chemicals – it reminded her too much of all that time spent in the oncology ward with Stuart. I’ll get used to it. I have before. At least the absence of soft furnishings meant this room bore no resemblance to Stuart’s last hospital room so it was unlikely she’d be unexpectedly waylaid by those memories.

  ‘So far so good?’ Walter asked, fixing his gaze on Erica and offering her a gentle smile. ‘Not too confronting?’

  ‘No, I’m good. I have to be honest, though, while I have no qualms about blood and other fluids, the thought of putting a needle into someone makes me shudder a bit.’ Erica liked that she felt comfortable to tell him what she was feeling, even if she didn’t really know what that was exactly herself.

  ‘I was like that initially. What got me over the line was telling myself that they can’t feel anything – I had to say it to myself almost like a mantra in the beginning.’

  ‘Yes, I think that’s it. Perhaps my brain hasn’t quite caught up with the fact that I can’t hurt them.’

  ‘Perhaps. I’m not sure about you, but I wonder if it might be connected to being a parent. When my son was little, a cut or injury no matter how minor turned my stomach. Or so I thought. But then I realised it wasn’t actually making me queasy, but upsetting me in another way – the anxiety that I was completely failing as a parent because I couldn’t take his pain away or stop his tears.’

  ‘That’s it! Yes. I’ve never felt so hopeless or helpless as when one of my girls was in pain.’

  ‘And you couldn’t let your fear or shock show or appear less than fully in control else everyone would dissolve, right?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Erica said with a laugh. ‘And the worst was with broken bones – with them you had the added feeling of failure for having let them do whatever it was that caused the accident – in our case rollerblading and netball.’

  ‘Oh yes. The joys,’ he said, smiling. ‘Okay to keep moving?’

  Erica nodded.

  ‘I see it as an enormous privilege to prepare my clients for their final send-off,’ he said solemnly as they left the room. ‘I won’t say for the afterlife because I’m not religious. Not one iota. Firmly against, in fact,’ he added. Erica thought the clunk of the door’s lock at that precise moment after he’d turned the key served as an audible full stop or even an exclamation mark.

  Oh. Erica wanted hug the man. The force of the thought took her breath away. She hadn’t realised how much this had been weighing on her – more than the knowledge she’d be tending to dead bodies.

  ‘Just don’t advertise the fact, please,’ he said, waiting beside the now open green door for her to come through so he could close it.

  ‘Oh no. Of course not. I’m the same, by the way – against organised religion, that is.’

  They made their way down the narrow hall.

  ‘Um, if it’s not too personal, what is your son doing now?’ Erica asked.

  ‘Not too personal at all. Peter. He’s a paediatrician in London. I guess you could say the smell didn’t get to him but the death must have,’ Walter said with a smile. ‘I don’t blame him one bit. I’m actually thrilled he didn’t feel compelled to stay for his mother and me. Of course we missed him – and now I do, terribly at times. It would be nice to see him more often, but I don’t dwell on it. Maybe one day he’ll return and bring his expertise to Adelaide, though I’m not sitting around holding my breath.’

  ‘He sounds great.’ Erica wasn’t sure how to say she loved Walter’s attitude without sounding patronising. Thankfully he continued speaking.

  ‘Right, so this is the main office. Front desk, obviously, and administration – where we spend most of our time. And through here is the reception room. Don’t worry, again, I’ll explain it all in greater detail later.’ Erica followed him into another room, which was a plush lounge area with a display of a variety of caskets and coffins set up not far away from a seating area with two Chesterfield style couches divided by a large timber coffee table. Despite the coffins and caskets, which were beautiful in their own right in their multiple shades of glossy paintwork and dark and light shades of lacquered timber, and despite knowing why people were usually in there – at the worst time in their life – Erica found the room comforting as well as formal and professional.

  ‘Let’s sit for a moment,’ Walter said.

  Erica perched herself on the leather sofa with a view of the display.

  Walter sat down beside her. ‘Yes, our beliefs don’t come into it at all. Sometimes you really have to grit your teeth. I think funerals aren’t too different from weddings, except for who’s doing the organising. Obviously. Both are a reflection of the person or people at the heart of the ceremony, or they should be. If I’ve known the deceased – and nine times out of ten around here I do – then it’s during my time in there,’ he nodded towards the mortuary, ‘that I do my best to reassure them. I know it sounds kooky, but I talk to them. I explain that this is their loved ones’ turn. Especially if I haven’t been able to gently steer the family away from one choice or other.’

  ‘I suppose there would be plenty of occasions when people find they don’t know or didn’t know their loved one very well at all – their choices of music, that sort of thing?’ Erica said.

  ‘Exactly. And plenty of people have differing opinions.’

  ‘And there’s the added pressure to get it right.’

  ‘Yes, the finality. It makes some people panic, I think. Completely understandable. But it run
s a little deeper at times in these parts, too. There have been plenty of examples of families getting a little, ah, competitive.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Oh yes. Though you didn’t hear that from me. And if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it,’ he said, smiling. ‘But we have been asked for the details of such and such’s funeral and then told, in more eloquent terms, “We want better than that.” And when you probe into why – perfectly normal to think it’s because of some aspect they didn’t think was up to par – you discover that, no, they just want to spend more or at least have it look like they have. There are some who seem to have the deluded notion that spending more is somehow an indication of their loved one’s importance. But just like in real life, the surface can hide a multitude of sins – in a non-religious sense, obviously. Sadly, it often feels to me as if an expensive funeral – all the bells and whistles, if you will – is being done out of guilt or trying to make amends for unresolved things from the past.’

  ‘People really are interesting creatures.’

  ‘I often say that to my clients when I’m preparing them. We share secrets – well, it’s a one-way street. They don’t reply of course – I’m not mad. Though sometimes …’ He laughed and pretended to look thoughtful, his finger at the corner of his mouth. ‘But talking to them eases the cloying silence, which at night can sometimes become terrifying if you let yourself get caught up in it. I blame all the horror movies and thrillers. Anyway, you won’t know for sure how you’ll go until you try. I understand that, so please don’t ever think there’s anything you can’t talk to me about.’

  ‘Thank you. And the same goes from me.’

  ‘So, what do you think? Still keen to stay?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Of course.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, Erica. I understand it takes time to develop trust, but I have to say, I do feel we’re going to make a great team.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Oh, and in case we get hectic and I forget. People have an exceptional knack of dying at night and when it’s least convenient, and around here hospitals don’t have the facilities to store bodies for any length of time so we can’t dilly dally with collections. There also seems to be a pattern of things happening in threes, so that’s another reason for keeping everything as up to date as possible. I’m really not exaggerating when I say it can be a bit feast and famine-like. But if you can’t find me and I haven’t advised I’m out – communication between us is key – you might find me snoozing in here, now you have the flat.’