A Trick I Learned From Dead Men Read Online Free Page A

always had a big head. Ned would be a genius in any language. She said that. Fair play to him, but. He still can’t iron his clothes. Or get a job. His dream is to be a landscape gardener. Fat chance, as Les pointed out before he gave up pointing things out, There aren’t any landscapes left.
    OK, there is a certain Je ne sais quoi to Ned. I can see why she thought he was beamed here by some supernatural force: his laughing elves, his flying hands, his noting of things no one else can clock. And OK, he’s not a bad bloke, I can see his plus points. We have the odd laugh, granted, and no way does anyone lay a finger on him while I’m around, but. The world and him is a private party, only one VIP. Ned is king in the silent land. I don’t begrudge him, I’m just saying. If I had been the supernatural one would she have preferred me? I don’t dwell. No point. I am no fool. She’d have gone anyway.
    Lee and I have an understanding, she used to say. Lee is my soldier.
    I take care of things. I took it as a compliment.

3
    Cloud at first but drier and brighter conditions developing throughout the day
    YOU HAVE TO tick everything off, make sure they have everything. You wait till their clothes arrive before you prepare them. Once their clothes arrive they’re on their way, as if it’s a journey, which it is. Gown is easier, done in no time. No need to manoeuvre the client, two flared sleeves and a long bib, clever, you’d never guess that’s all there is to it. Whereas your self-clothed client you often have to alter garments to get them on, snip snip. You don’t want to drag the skin, especially the oldies, you don’t want skin-slip.
    Waiting for the clothes can hold you up. Derek says they never had these troubles at the Royal Opera House. That could either be a joke or p’raps he used to work there before he had The White Stag. Ever the dark horse, I’ll probably never know. That’s how we found out Howard wanted to be a pole vaulter, a chance remark. When I told Derek, he said, Gordon effing Bennett. We all looked at Howard different after that. I’m going to ask him why he dropped pole vaulting and entered undertaking. I’ll choose my moment. People are never what you think. Till they’re dead, that is.
    At Rest
. The engraver makes light work of it. Gravograph is a nifty machine, you begin to think of all kinds of things you could engrave. Only drawback is the noise, like a drill through metal, which is what it is.
At Rest
is my preference.
Rest in Peace
is longwinded compared. Derek veers between the two, Depending on my mood, he says.
    There are motifs: the men get the swirl, women get roses. Babies have
Asleep
. I haven’t had a baby yet, one to dread. I have a few work firsts left to come: newborn, immolation, suicide. All in good time, ready or not.
    Everyone dreads a baby. Fortunately they are few and far between. Derek says he can count them on two hands, which is good. Still, you can’t shirk if one comes in. Derek does them asleep, sheet folded under their chin. Small children are prepared in a flash. No death mask for them, the skin is plumper, tricking you, making it harder to take. The eye sockets alone let you know they are gone. Children are buried with their freckles fresh on their face. Christening dresses are popular, undone is easier; we’ve had Buzz Lightyear , skinny jeans. We never say no. Philip Cuell died of spina bifida and took his light sabre with him. Soft toys, iPods, juice. The parents’ request is our command. We don’t answer the phone. The radio goes off. The satins are white.
    *
    T HE WOODS KNOW me these days.
    Evening, Lee. Buenos tardes.
    I startle a bird snoozing in a tree.
    Hello, Mr Pigeon, not expecting me were you? Fear not, I am unarmed.
    He clatters away.
    So. Irene says to me on Tuesday, Are you happy, Lee? I’m happy when I’m here in these woods. I should have told her that, I didn’t.
    I said, ’course, Reen. Kind of a question’s that!
    And she says,