Jenny walked away from the door of 13 Sciennes Road shaking her head. Archie opened the gate for her and they went to the hearse. Before opening it, Jenny spoke to him across the roof.
‘I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that amateur embalmers are weird.’
Archie laughed and Jenny tried to remember the last time she’d seen him laugh.
‘Hey,’ he said.
Jenny smiled. ‘I said “amateur”, you’re a pro.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’
Jenny nodded at the ground-floor flat they’d just come from. ‘Was his work really that good?’
Archie nodded. ‘He’s amateur in the sense he’s not doing it for a living, but his work was exemplary.’
They’d just visited Lawrence Strong, a fastidious man in his late fifties, neatly trimmed beard, shined shoes, polyester shirt and a back room full of embalmed animals arranged in savage tableaux. Jenny gasped when they went in and she spotted a large snake with its fangs sunk into a raccoon. Then a cat puncturing the neck of a blue tit, then two small sausage dogs at each other’s throats as if they were pit bulls in a fighting ring.
Lawrence looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and seemed pleased to show off his creations, which all looked incredibly realistic. What the fuck kind of hobby was this?
Archie had surveyed the work as they delivered their cover story, looking for spare fluids for Skelf work. Jenny wasn’t convinced Lawrence bought it, but it didn’t matter. Archie made it clear that the work was impeccable, definitely not the same embalmer as the feet.
She turned now to see Lawrence’s curtain twitching. She was glad they had the hearse, it lent truth to their story.
They got in and Jenny started driving to the final name on the list, Debbie Chapel on East Mayfield.
‘It’s odd that they all live on the Southside,’ she said.
‘You think that means something?’
‘I don’t know. Cluny Gardens, Sciennes Road, East Mayfield. They could walk to each other’s houses.’
‘Or meet in a local pub.’
‘And talk about the weird shit they make.’
‘I was thinking more swapping tips.’
‘Like where to get a large snake to embalm, something like that.’
Archie shook his head. ‘All I know is, both Lawrence and Queenie do great work. I’d happily be embalmed by them any day.’
Jenny threw him a glance. ‘You mean when you’re dead, right?’
They were at East Mayfield in no time, number six in the middle of an unassuming terrace. These embalmers weren’t ashamed folk doing something dirty away from prying eyes, they were skilled hobbyists and Jenny had to remind herself of that.
She parked in a permit holders’ space and they got out.
‘Let’s see what Debbie Chapel has been up to.’
She rang the doorbell, Archie by her side. She considered him while they waited. She’d never thought of him as anything other than a friend. She suddenly wondered about his sex life, if he had one. He never spoke about his personal life. She hoped he was happy. He’d suffered last year when his mum died of cancer. She knew that loss, that emptiness. It wasn’t about getting over it, it was about learning to adapt so that it didn’t hurt too much. Get used to the grief and pain and carry them with you.
She smiled at Archie and he smiled back with a puzzled look. She wanted to hug him but the door opened and there was Debbie Chapel. Jenny was surprised – she was young, in her twenties, black ponytail with purple streaks, choker necklace, black leggings and cardigan, gloomy makeup.
She reminded Jenny of the Goth girls who sometimes turned up as death groupies at the funeral home. They hadn’t advertised a job in years, but every time they did a smattering of emo girls applied, thinking death was a cool lifestyle choice. It usually meant they weren’t at all suitable for the work and Dorothy politely weeded them out.
Archie started on the spiel about where they were from, needing embalming fluids. Debbie’s eyes lit up when she realised Archie was an embalmer, and she invited them inside to see her stuff. Jenny supposed it was the same in any profession, wanting the approval of your peers.
Debbie walked up the stairs and Archie followed, Jenny at the back. This was a nice area to live, terraced house, how does a woman in her twenties afford it? The décor was gloomy but not crazily so, it wasn’t Dracula’s lair or anything, cobwebs in the corners, a coffin in the bedroom. Just grey walls, moody black-and-white photos on the wall of bare trees stark against a turbulent skyline.
‘This is where I work,’ Debbie said, walking into a room at the front of the house. This would normally be a master bedroom but she’d converted it to a workshop, an array of embalming equipment and corpse manipulation tools. And a long wall of display shelves that stopped Jenny in her tracks.
There were around twenty animals, nothing bigger than a small dog, but they all had wings. There was a cat similar to Schrödinger with a beautiful spread of ginger feathers sprouting from his back. Alongside was a tiny mouse with brown wings arranged as if it was fleeing the cat. A winged squirrel, bushy tail fluffed up between the span, then a few other mammals Jenny wasn’t sure about, gerbil, guinea pig, maybe a stoat or ferret. It was fucking weird, but they were all beautifully done. Jenny was starting to learn about good and bad embalming techniques and to her eye they looked professional. They were arranged with an artistic eye, the expressions on the animals’ faces were somehow beatific as if they’d found serenity in death.
‘Meet my angels,’ Debbie said proudly.
Archie headed for a badger whose wings echoed the black-and-white markings on its body.
‘They all died naturally,’ Debbie said, though no one had asked. ‘I have certificates where I need them.’
There was something mesmerising about the animals, as if they’d found the secret of the universe and been granted wings as a result. Jenny shook her head as she walked to a fox with a large wingspan like an eagle.
‘I make the wings myself,’ Debbie said. ‘But I use real feathers for believability.’
Believability.
Jenny watched Archie turn the badger over in his hands, run his fingers through its fur, check under its belly, the joins where the wings were attached. He sucked his teeth.
‘This is beautiful,’ he said, looking at Debbie.
Debbie blushed under the makeup. ‘Thank you so much.’
Archie gave Jenny a look. ‘Very professional.’
She got it, they were done here. Yet there was something about this flock of animals that was strangely alluring. She ran a finger along the fox’s fur, down its back into the feathers. She looked at the others, all with wings that suited their bodies, all with happy faces, their lives were over but now it was time to rise up to heaven and take a seat at God’s side.
Holy shit, Jenny thought, I really need to get out of here.