Leicester was the first city in Britain to go into lockdown due to its high infection rate, and the social restrictions remained for eleven months. However, despite the growing number of bodies waiting to be interred, the authorities relaxed the strict rules at Christmastime to allow family gatherings. After three days of merrymaking, the city’s population returned to a state of suspended animation and awaited a miracle.
* * *
There was a nip in the air and a dusting of hoarfrost on the asphalt outside the Newbury and Cookson Funeral Home. Yesterday’s rainfall had frozen overnight and brittle ice puddles crackled under Mr Newbury’s gleaming black wingtips as he approached the front door. Thomas, his pale-faced nephew, greeted him with a protective paper mask and they proceeded to the morgue together. The young man’s voice faltered as he broached the subject of his urgent phone call.
“Mrs Irwell’s eyes are wide open and…” he said. “There are signs of life.”
“Well, I'll be,” said Mr Newbury, depositing his trusty tweed overcoat on a rack in the hallway next to the congested storage chamber. Mr Newbury rolled up his shirt sleeves and snapped on a pair of Nitrile gloves as they passed eight daunting lines of body-bags, arranged in order of arrival. He’d almost forgotten how many bodies required preparation for burial and cremation and how far their hectic schedule had drifted off course. They’d got their work cut out and time wasn’t on their side. As the couple neared Mrs Irwell’s metal trolley, he noted Thomas’s hesitation before drawing back her shroud.
“Oh, Lordy,” he said, wincing as he peered down at the half-covered body of the elderly woman. “I see what you mean about her eyes, lad.”
“They follow you round the room, don’t they?”
Mrs Irwell’s stare was disconcerting to be sure, but at least she wasn’t sitting up and bemoaning her change of status. Certainly, it would’ve been a shock if she’d greeted him with a brief smile or a hand wave. At least, everything else looked presentable; Mrs Irwell’s coiffed grey hair was tidy, as was her makeup and manicured nails; just as he’d left her before lunch on Christmas Eve.
Mr Newbury checked the admission details scribbled on the cardboard tag tied to the big toe on her left foot. He recognised Mr Cookson’s distinctive signature and saw the note about extracting her pacemaker and making an inventory of any jewellery removed prior to cremation. Thomas had accounted for Mrs Irwell’s personal effects and drew back the sheet to display the pale scar on her chest. Mr Newbury shook his head and sighed as he stooped forward to observe the shallow breaths passing between his client’s gently parted lips. Mrs Irwell’s breathing was all but silent, except for the delicate rasp of inhaled air catching on her epiglottis.
“Has Mr Cookson been informed, Tom?”
“He was too busy to talk, but said he was on his way,” Tom said, chewing his lip. “So I couldn’t explain.”
“I don’t suppose Mr Gerrard’s repaired the boiler?”
“No chance,” Thomas said, shuffling from foot to foot. “If he’d come when he promised, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“I’m afraid it’s a busy time of the year, lad.”
“It’s him that’s caused this mess.”
* * *
There was no point in continuing to work without hot water on Christmas Eve. Everyone agreed. You can’t cleanse cadavers with cold water. ‘It’s a waste of time,’ they’d said, and after a hellish week, the staff used that ready-made excuse to leave early. There’d be no more incoming deliveries over the festive weekend, so they’d just have to play ‘catch up’ afterwards. Anything left unfinished could wait, they reasoned, providing Mr Gerrard fixed the boiler on Boxing Day. Besides, the staff all had domestic preparations to attend to and were grateful to escape the unheated mortuary and return to their warm homes.
Mr Newbury agreed to his staff’s proposal and agreed to reconvene and resume work after Boxing Day. The morgue was cold enough to prevent the onset of decay and the recumbent clients weren’t going anywhere in the foreseeable future. That was the plan. However, it didn’t work out like that. When Thomas returned to the mortuary, on the twenty-seventh of December, there was no hot water.
* * *
In previous years, it was safe to say Newbury and Cookson’s premises were closed between Xmas and new Year. Any deaths that occurred were certified and remained at the hospital morgue until the second of January. However, this wasn’t a normal festive period, and it hadn’t been an average year. The ongoing pandemic had dominated proceedings and the vast number of dead bodies requiring certification had put everybody under pressure; the situation had overwhelmed the medical community. Immediate action was necessary to reduce the backlog and avoid a tsunami of public health issues. Leicester’s healthcare Authority reached an unprecedented conclusion and granted the city’s undertakers the legal responsibility to pronounce death.
“So, Thomas,” said Mr Newbury. “You arrived first thing and---”
“The boiler wouldn’t fire up and I wanted to get started.”
“Given the impending circumstances, you had no choice.”
“I filled a bucket with cold water and grabbed a sponge.”
“Surely the water must have been freezing first thing?”
“That’s right, and I slapped a sponge-full on her chest.”
“Clearly you heard an exhale as her chest tightened?”
“Yes, but I didn’t expect a loud gasp afterwards.”
“An inhalation, Thomas? Are you sure about---?”
“Her eyes popped open. Wide open they were.”
“And she’s been breathing ever since?”
“Too right, and staring at me as well.”
* * *
It was a simple matter for Mr Newbury to check her jugular vein and determine a subtle pulse. He pursed his lips, drew a thoughtful breath, and nodded at Thomas. Mrs Irwell’s pulse was weak, but present nonetheless. Thomas called the emergency services’ number and joined the automated queuing system. ‘Damn it,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘We’re fourth in line.’
In the meantime, Mr Newbury grabbed as many sheets as he could find. There really wasn’t much choice in the matter. The couple lay them on top of Mrs Irwell. What else could they do?
“Won’t her eyes go all cloudy or something?”
Mr Newbury bit his lip and frowned.
“We could try a damp flannel on her face.”
Mr Newbury shrugged.
“It can’t do any harm.”
It was worth a try.
Mr Newbury prayed there’d be no more surprises, as there were plenty more bodies to attend to. With any luck, this would be the only unforeseen encounter, and the low room temperature would act in their favour. This situation wasn’t what he needed after a fraught Christmas pussy-footing around his relatives’ fragile sensibilities.
Soon after Thomas requested an emergency response team, Mr Cookson called to say he’d been delayed and would join them mid-afternoon. Mr Newbury was relieved his colleague wouldn’t be attending immediately. Mr Cookson was well known for his extravagant social life and the thought of him barging into the current crisis with a combination of tactless opinions and a raging hangover wasn’t an appealing prospect.
* * *
The two Emergency Medics who arrived before lunchtime were harassed and over worked. ‘What a palaver,’ they said on arrival. ‘It’s been non-stop all weekend.’ Neither had had a break over Christmas and were rushed off their feet because of ‘merrymakers, merrymaking over the festive weekend.’ The local A&E department was less busy than normal and still cautious about admissions because of viral contagion. The hospital’s authorities had discouraged unnecessary visits, leading to a sharp increase in call-outs to private addresses. A welcome respite for the hospital staff, but a nightmare for the paramedics. The majority of domestic injuries they’d attended had involved the consumption of cheap alcohol bought in bulk from local supermarkets. However, most of the injuries were either twisted ankles, scalded wrists or severe carpet burns, caused by inebriated family members negotiating cluttered pathways between their sofas and the nearest kettle.
“So, where’s your reincarnation job, lads?” said the assistant medic, charging-up his defibrillator in the nearest plug socket.
“Mrs Irwell’s lying over here and---‘’
“Let’s ‘ave a butcher’s, then.”
Thomas led the senior medic to Mrs Irwell’s trolley and removed the flannel from her eyes and the shroud from her upper torso.
“Right, let’s see what’s occurring.” The medic leaned over Mrs Irwell with his stethoscope and navigated its diaphragm over her chest. He felt for a pulse in her wrist and shook his head. “Hmm… I’m having no luck.”
“Any vital signs, boss?”
Raising an eyebrow, he looked up at Mr Newbury, who grimaced in response.
“Less than diddly-squat, matey,” he said, shrugging as he turned to his assistant. “There’s neither an obvious heartbeat, nor any sign of respiration, and her eyelids are closed, contrary to what we were led to believe.”
“What about your defibrillator?”
“Only works on a beating heart, lad.”
“But she was breathing and…” Thomas frowned, “I saw her staring at me---”
“Well, young man,” said the senior medic. “We’re all in luck, because now we’re onto our next job and you’ve no explaining to do.”
“Not so great for Mrs Irwell, though.”
“At least she lost no sleep over who cremated this year’s Christmas turkey.”
* * *
“Look alive, you two!” It was business as usual when Mr Cookson arrived at three o’clock that afternoon. “Come on, Newbury. We’ve got a backlog to clear.”
Mr Newbury couldn’t help but smile and shook his head in disbelief. Under the circumstances, it could’ve been far worse. If his colleague had clocked into work on time, God only knows how events would’ve played out.
“Haven’t either of you lazy-bones sorted out Mrs Irwell’s pacemaker?”
“I’ve made an inventory of her effects and---”
“Damn it, lad!” said Mr Cookson, brandishing a curved bone saw in his right fist. “Do I have to do everything round here?”
“Well, we thought---”
“I didn’t see that one coming,” he said, pointing the serrated blade at Thomas’ chest. “I’ve reset the boiler and certified five stiffs since arriving here.”
“Sorry, but we had a problem with---”
“Shake a lad, young man. We’ve work to do…”
The End
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40 comments
Thanks for liking my "stuff" this week. How's your "longer project" coming? I so envy you guys who can think beyond 3K word. :-)
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Hey Trudy, I trust you’re keeping well and enjoying a lovely summer…. I’ve been scribbling ideas, enjoying some daylight and catching up with old pals. I’ll be back to writing the short stories soon :)
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Sorry this one didn't make it. I tried. You, no we missed you last week. Do you need a friendly kick in the rear tomorrow night? You know I'm always ready for corporal abuse (as long as it's not mine.) ;-)
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Hey Trudy, I hope you’re keeping well and still inspired. I’m away for a couple of weeks and currently mulling over ideas for longer projects, so I’m going to be a bit quiet for the time being, however, ‘I’ll be back…’ HH :)
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I hear you. You'll be back like the Terminator. LOL Keep me posted about your work (always curious) and who knows. I might be able to steer you in the right (but probably wrong) direction. Good luck wherever/ whenever you go.
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Hi Trudy, Thank you for reaching out; I appreciate your understanding words. I’m sure I’ll get back into writing regular Reedsy submissions in a couple of weeks, and I’ll certainly keep reading your stories :) Take care HH
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Hi Howard I've loved reading your stories; they are filled with such heart and originality! I am new to Reedsy as a writer, but I am also the staff writer on a new podcast called Words from Friends, which showcases writing talent by reading out short scripts and stories, along with telling listeners a little bit about the writers. It's a fun way for writers to get their stories heard, connect with other writers and collaborate on future projects. You can listen to the first episode here: https://open.spotify.com/show/0zaAN1CC8QFwDkVul4h10I...
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Hey Sophie, Thank you for reading my stories and inviting me to submit my work to ‘Words from Friends’. I’ll follow the link and check out the first episode. Take care HH :)
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Nice journey into a wild setting for a story. Didn't see that coming haha. There's been very few pandemic stories written, I guess everyone wanted to just pretend it didn't happen for a while. I think it the long run it will be a very memorable part of history.
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Hey Scott, Thank you for reading my story and sharing your thoughts. I agree with your assessment; all those stories will emerge once people have had time to process the events of that period. Time and distance always lends a great perspective to any occasion…. Take care HH
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Excellent story. I like your boldness going with a theme that most people shy away from.
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Hey Sherri, Thank you for reading my story and sharing your thoughts. You’re right, it is a tricky subject and could offensive and disrespectful if treated badly. Hopefully, I avoided any obvious pitfalls and delivered a fair representation of life in the funeral industry during the pandemic…. HH :)
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Informative. Good sense of place. I liked it!
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Hey Holly, Thanks for reading my story and sharing your thoughts. I’m pleased you enjoyed it and hope you’ll return to read my future submissions Take care HH :)
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A great way to write about something that few people wish to discuss and you did it with a light hearted touch.
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Hey Jason, Thank you for reading my latest story. I’m pleased you enjoyed it and hope you’ll return to read future submissions…. HH :)
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Situation that must happen more than we realise. These pacemakers have a lot to answer for. I enjoyed the dialogue, characters, and pacing. Managed to be both humorous and scary. An unusual combination. but it worked.
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Hey Helen, Thank you for reading my story and sharing your thoughts. I’m pleased you enjoyed it and relieved to discover it worked because there’s a fine line between humour and bad taste when one writes about death in those terms. The funeral industry is full of colourful characters who deal with the business on their own terms and survive the process in most peculiar ways… HH :)
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Very true. It must be a kind of crazy job. If you ever get time, have a read of my story “Ritual.” It didn’t get anywhere in the competition, but it’s one of my favourite pieces on here.
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Hey Helen, Thank you for pointing out your story, I’ll check it. (A hidden gem…) HH
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People have their own ideas of what they find enjoyable, but I like it.
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Got interrupted reading this the first time. Jarring realization. Thanks for liking 'Interrupted'.
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Hey Mary, Thank you revisiting my completed story in its new form. I trust is was worth the wait… :)
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Yours are always worth the wait. I have had a trying week so it is all on me. I am way behind on reading the latest stories.
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I guess if you're used to handling and processing dead bodies you become a bit irreverent and blase about it. Death due to Covid, made the pressure in the morgues escalate. These guys are a scream. It offset the gruesomeness of your tale. The dead do sometimes revive. Do you know what dead ringers are? It's from the days when they couldn't check if the dead were definitively dead. So they'd tie a string onto a big toe and once the dead had been buried, this string was attached to a bell. If the bell rang you knew you'd buried a live one. ...
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Hey Kaitlyn, Thank you for reading my story and sharing the dead ringer detail. I’d heard about the bell tied to the toe, but you explained it most succinctly. It just goes to show how often mistaken pronouncements of death occur if the phenomenon has been absorbed into everyday parlance…. :)
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Oooh, such a creative one, Howard ! A body sent to a morgue that was actually alive. Great flow to this. Lovely work !
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Hey Alexis, Thank you for reading my story and sharing your reaction. I hope it wasn’t too spooky for your taste? It was certainly a bit macabre, but not gruesome and certainly no blood…. HH :)
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Not at all. I think I can handle the gruesome as long as it's balanced with heart. Hahahaha !
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So, was it her pacemaker or ...? Spooky. Life's so fragile. The word "merrymakers" appears twice in the same sentence. Though I'm sure there were many merrymakers, mentioning them once would suffice. :-) For the most part I'm speechless that you actually posted well ahead of Deadline and take full (okay a tiny bit) responsibility.
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Hi Trudy, ‘It’s a miracle to be sure :) I take the point about the double up however I was hoping for a bit of characterisation given it’s a dialogue quote… However, thank you for reading it; I hope it kinda worked?? HH
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My bad. I didn't read it right. Didn't see that the 2nd one is a verb. It works, of course. Will go get new specs, forthwith. :-) So, how much of the story is based on truth?
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Hi T, Strangely enough everything is based on fact, expect that Mrs Irwell survived, however she deteriorated over the course of 8 months until finally, she simply faded away… Now you see why I struggled with the denouement; it’s barely believable…. Maybe in a longer form it would hold up and offer a harrowing read, and an intriguing portrait of disintegration, but it requires a totally different approach. It’s definitely an idea I’d like to expand, as I have the material to make it work…. HH
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You should absolutely expand on it. The whole incident is a great example of the chaos that was Covid and the necessary distancing that undertakers have to have. When I took gross anatomy, we had to dissect a cadaver. After the first few sessions I had no problem with it, found it fascinating. Until I had to do the face. It physically hurt me to drag the scalpel over the poor man's nose and lips. You have to learn to not see them as bodies/persons anymore.
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Gross anatomy sounds fairly gruesome. I have to admit, I’d have a problem engaging with that discipline so my hat goes off to you if you can stomach that :)
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