A Trick I Learned From Dead Men
Contents
1. Some clear spells in the east, clouding over later in the evening
2. Windy, but with hazy sunshine developing for most, with occasional hill-fog
3. Cloud at first but drier and brighter conditions developing throughout the day
4. A grey start but brightening up in the morning with some patchy cloud later on
5. Rain will clear in the east, leaving a warm bright day, if changeable at times
6. Mainly dry across the south and east, mild and breezy nationwide
7. A grey start followed by clear spells, then comfortably warm with some sunshine
8. Rain and cloud at first but drier and brighter conditions developing
9. Some outbreaks of light rain and intermittent drizzle expected in the afternoon
10. Any cloud in the south of the region will soon move away, leaving a dry day
11. A dry evening, with some clear spells and cloud increasing through the night
12. A dry start, with keen east or southeasterly winds, particularly on summits
13. Cloudy with light rain at first, becoming brighter and clearer by the afternoon
14. Cloudy and dull, with some light rain or drizzle at first and sunny spells later
15. Mild with strong winds, gradually easing throughout the day
16. Perhaps a bright start but soon somewhat cloudy, with showery rain
17. Drier, clearer, with more moderate winds, which will ease later on
18. Early rain and brisk winds will ease quickly and move eastwards later on
19. A fine day, sunny at first with light showers developing in the south-west
20. A fine and dry day with a good deal of sunshine and some light winds
21. Dry overnight with long clear spells. Mist and fog patches will form in places
22. Patchy light rain possible initially, otherwise dry with some sunshine at times
23. Some low cloud and mistiness, turning foggy later with drizzle possible
24. Dry and sunny, light north-westerly winds mid-morning onwards, cloudier later
26. Generally cloudy, drizzle in places, turning bright and sunny late morning
27. Perhaps a bright start but becoming cloudy, with showery rain a likelihood
28. Becoming warm in sheltered areas, unsettled later in the evening, a dry night
29. To the south and east spells of fine, dry weather. Possibility of showers in the west
About the Book
After the disappearance of their father and the sudden death of their mother, Lee Hart and his deaf brother, Ned, imagine all is lost until Lee lands a traineeship at their local funeral home and discovers there is life after death. Here, in the company of a crooning ex-publican, a closet pole vaulter, a terminally-ill hearse driver, and the dead of their local town, old wounds begin to heal and love arrives as a beautiful florist aboard a ‘Fleurtations’ delivery van.
But death is closer than Lee Hart thinks. Somewhere among the quiet lanes and sleepy farms something else is waiting. And it is closing in.
Don’t bring your work home with you, that’s what they say. Too late
.
Sometimes sad, often hilarious and ultimately tragic and deeply moving,
A Trick I Learned from Dead Men
is a pitch perfect small masterpiece from a writer described by Richard Ford as having ‘a moral grasp upon life that is grave, knowing, melancholy, often extremely funny and ultimately optimistic’.
About the Author
Kitty Aldridge was born in the Middle East but grew up in England. A graduate of the Drama Centre, London, she has since worked in theatre, film, and television as an actress and writer. Her first novel,
Pop
(Cape, 2001), was longlisted for the Orange Prize for Fiction 2002 and shortlisted for the Pendleton May First Novel Award 2002. Her second novel,
Cryers Hill
, was published by Cape in 2007. Her short story,
Arrivederci Les
, won the Bridport Short Story Prize 2011 (
Bridport Prize Anthology 2011
).
For Esther
Also by Kitty Aldridge
Pop
Cryers Hill
A Trick I Learned
from Dead Men
Kitty Aldridge
It’s not that I’m afraid to die. I just don’t want to be there when it happens.
Woody Allen
For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.
Genesis 3:19
So it goes.
Kurt Vonnegut
Prologue
NEVER SAW IT
coming. Not in a million. You don’t. The story fattened up in the retelling. They do. A shame, they said. A pity. It started with her, of course, that was the beginning. Then him that didn’t deserve it. Then it was the youngest. Or was it the eldest? Or both? None of us could explain it, not even me. I should know. I am the eldest. Or was. I have forgotten. That is to say I remember but I don’t look back. That is to say I look but I don’t dwell.
It was talked about. Still is. One of them was deaf or was he blind? Tragic, yes. This is how they talk. Of course, looking back you could see it coming, they say. The hand of fate, the finger of God, or was it the wheel of fortune?
Nice boys, they didn’t deserve it: this I have heard at the post office, the pub, Somerfield. And I have heard: They were strange. And also: They were perfectly normal. I’ve heard it all: They deserved it. It was foretold. And more.
Hard to recognise yourself in the tale they tell. This new folklore turns you and yours inside out till you can’t see what was once your own. Out of the mists stroll you, re-drawn. The new you is a fable, a warning. So our lives go. The trouble comes slowly at first. It always does. These things happen. C’est la vie.
1
Some clear spells in the east, clouding over later in the evening
YOU KNOCK FIRST
before you go in. You don’t wait of course.
Good morning, Mr Gillespie. Lee here. Nice day.
Everyone is known by their formal name: Mr, Mrs, Miss. We have not yet had a Lord or Lady, but we had a Doctor and a Major. Babies and kiddies are their first name. Everyone is someone. They have status, the dead. Derek said that. It’s true, you’re somebody when you’re dead, you get respect.
Derek has started on Mr Gillespie, but I must take over, as Derek’s off to the crem for a two o’clocker. I pull on latex gloves. Three out today, Mr Gillespie, I say. We’ve got our skates on, I say. I find a bit of chat breaks the ice. I thread up and open Mr Gillespie’s mouth. Here at Shakespeare & Son it matters not what you did when you were alive, we don’t look back. What matters is the
here
and now. Your status as a deceased individual makes you important, a VIP. True to say for some it’s a first taste of VIP treatment. Death is an egalitarian state, red carpet all round. All are equal at Shakespeare & Son, no one is better than.
A great leveller, death, Derek says. He tends to talk through his nose. Derek Locklear has been an undertaker for nigh on eighteen years. He fell into it when his establishment, The White Stag, near Junction 4 by the flyover, went bust. You never know what’s around the corner, he says. On day one he tells me, Lee, you’ve got an old head on young shoulders. I took it as a compliment; I’m twenty-five next birthday. Granted he rabbits for England, but Derek is chock-full of wisdoms. A waste really, as most of it falls on deaf ears.
Derek’s still got his mutton-chops and waistcoat, but he took to funeral care like a duck to water. Derek is not the boss; Howard Day is our funeral director, he runs the shop. He speaks poshly, which is important when you’re dealing with the dead, people expect it, it gives them faith.
Lee Hart is a knob. Someone wrote it on the bus shelter. I know who. Sticks and stones. You have to rise above it. I no longer use the bus service, I walk everywhere, it’s better – get out and see the world.
Some people reckon there’s not much to funeral care, but there’s more to it than meets the eye. I am learning at Derek’s elbow, as he’s been there and back. I am Derek Locklear’s apprentice. Some people call him Del. I didn’t expect to wind up in the trade either, funny. I had my eye on Communication Technology, a pipe dream, as it turned out. We all enter these doors in the end, think on. At my age I am what you call the early bird here, but still. Basically it helps to have the right personality, death doesn’t suit everybody; lucky I was born for it.
Hang on while I fetch my scissors, Mr Gillespie. Nearly done, I say. I don’t see the need to work in silence, it’s not a library. Derek has Radio 5 on.
Everything sinks after death, Mr Gillespie has loose folds. Funny how bones rise up as deterioration begins, but it’s natural as. Everything dissolves in the end, it’s the process. A face shows its skull, a challenge for us. No point dwelling. The trick is be positive, be respectful, even when you’re pushed for time. Mr Gillespie has all his own teeth, not a full set, but still.
Here we go, Mr Gillespie, I say. I tilt his jaw and go through the soft palate with my long needle; there is a little pop – same as when we needle-threaded our paper mâché sculptures at school for hang and display – a million years ago seems.
* * *
Shakespeare & Son Funeral Services is situated between the old council estate and the playing fields. A pebble-dashed single-storey, you wouldn’t look twice. Mind you, when the sky is blue the roof looks red, when it is in fact brown. At the other end of the street is a pub called The Ship. We don’t drink there.
I tend not to vary my route. Often you don’t see another soul, just the birds calling, sound of your shoes on the lane. Animals raise their heads when they see you. Just me, Lee, I say. Same old. Harvest time you might meet a giant contraption coming the other way. The combine is wider than the road, hung with choppers, spreaders, you name it. You have to step in the ditch for it to pass. Contractors nowadays, strangers in the cab; everyone knew everyone when we were at school. I’m not saying it was better.
Takes a minute to get out of the ditch without making a mess of my trousers. I wear a suit for work. It’s a question of respect. I have two suits and I rotate them. I have three self-ironing shirts off eBay. I bought them with a pinch of salt, but they have proved to be worth their weight in gold.
On clear mornings you can see the forest from the bridge over the dual carriageway. It sweeps to the left, widens, curves around to the right. I hadn’t realised a forest could do that, turn like a river. Not a natural forest
of
course, but still. Sometimes there is mist on the carriageway. Cars hurtling blind, dangerous. I catch the face of a driver looking up, seeing me, afraid I might jump. Funny. I wave but they’re already gone.
