Turtle Diary

51 William G

The Coroner’s Court was a tall tight box with the lid always on it. Whatever was said in that room would not expand much laterally, would not move forward or back. It would stand and grow tall until its head touched the ceiling in the clear grey light.

The room seemed fully as tall as it was long. The dark green ceiling must have been at least twenty-five feet from the floor, deeply bevelled, with handsome white beams and braces. The walls were pale lemony green, there were tall windows, proper courtroom furniture: witness box, judge’s bench, jury box. Just below the bench were red leather settees and a table with a red leather top for PRESS. Another such table for COUNSEL. A little plain narrow writing-stand for POLICE at the front of the spectators’ pews. Ten Bibles in the jury box, two more by the witness box. There was a poor box by the door.

Three knocks. ‘Rise, please, to Her Majesty’s Coroner,’ said the Coroner’s Officer. We rose as the Coroner came in. ‘Oyez, oyez, oyez,’ said the Coroner’s Officer as the Coroner passed to the bench, ‘all manner of persons who have anything to do at this court before the Queen’s Coroner touching upon the death of Flora Angelica Neap draw near and give your attendance. Pray be seated.’

We sat down. Behind the Coroner the royal arms said DIEU ET MON DROIT. I counted the people in the room: the Coroner, the Coroner’s Officer, the Police Pathologist and the constable who’d come to the house, a lady from the ticket agency where Miss Neap had worked, a lady from the funeral directors, Mrs Inchcliff, Mr Sandor and me. Nine altogether. I wondered how long it had been since Miss Neap had had nine people pay attention to her all at once.

A frightening thought had been growing in me. I’d always assumed that I was the central character in my own story but now it occurred to me that I might in fact be only a minor character in someone else’s. Miss Neap’s perhaps. And I didn’t even know the story. Draw near and give your attendance. Yes, we were doing that now. No one had done it when she was alive.

The constable testified that he had come to the house at a quarter to eight on Sunday evening and found the deceased lying on the couch where we’d put her. The pathologist testified that death had been from asphyxia due to hanging and had occurred between three and four that morning.

The lady from the ticket agency testified that Miss Neap had seemed in good spirits when she last saw her on Saturday and that she’d said she might go home at the weekend, she wasn’t sure.

The lady from the funeral directors testified that Miss Neap had been last month to pay for her cremation, had said that she lived alone and it was something she wanted to take care of. Lived alone. I think Mrs Inchcliff, Mr Sandor and I all felt our faces go red at that.

Mrs Inchcliff, Mr Sandor and I swore in turn that we would speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth but there was little more to be said than that Miss Neap had lodged at the house for ten years, that we had last seen her alive on Saturday evening looking much as usual and had found her dead on Sunday evening with the note, the Postal Savings book, the receipt and the funeral directors’ card. Those were shown in evidence. The empty jury box seemed to fill up with blank-faced phantoms shaking their heads: Not the whole truth. But it was all we knew and all we could say. It stood there like a blind dumb thing and grew tall until its head touched the ceiling. The Coroner returned a verdict that Miss Neap had taken her own life and the court was adjourned.

The funeral directors were only a few minutes’ walk down the street from the Coroner’s Court. I wonder if Miss Neap had at some time taken the same walk. The lady who’d been at the inquest was a Mrs Mortimer. She was a handsome brown-haired woman who looked more like a theatrical wardrobe-mistress than a funeral director, she looked jolly and as if she ought to be in and out of actresses’ dressing-rooms with pins in her mouth. Here was the place, a few urns and vases in the window. Inside was a plain little reception room.

‘Everything’s in order,’ said Mrs Mortimer. ‘She’s having the “Ely”, which is a standard cremation coffin with good class fittings. It’ll be covered in purple dommett with a pink lining and she’ll be wearing a pink robe. Plate of inscription on the lid with her name, age, date of death. It isn’t right to send her off without a service, poor lady, and alone.’

‘It’s what she wanted,’ I said. Sandor nodded emphatically.

‘Do it how she wanted,’ he said.

‘That at least,’ said Mrs Inchcliff.

‘There’s just one more thing,’ said Mrs Mortimer. ‘I hate to mention it but our prices went up last week. The “Ely” is now £121.50 instead of £109.50. The rest of it’s the same: £7.00 for sanitizing and robing, £13.00 for the crematorium which includes the minister but I don’t think I can get a rebate even if there’s no service, 50p gratuity for the chappie at the crem. That comes to £142.00 instead of £130.00, so there’s £12.00 owing.’

I wrote a cheque for the additional £12.00 for the ‘Ely’. So many things have names: wedding cakes, babies’ prams, cars and coffins.

‘Thank you,’ said Mrs Mortimer. ‘We’ll have the body brought over from the mortuary. Cremation will be on Tuesday and she’ll be here at the chapel of rest until then. In her instructions she said no viewing and no flowers please.’

No viewing, no flowers, no funeral service and no one at the cremation. Well, funerals are for the living. For good or ill one sees the dead removed from the scene and the departure is final. Miss Neap having been cheated of companionship while living wished to remain an undeparted presence when dead. Fair enough.

Miss Neap had died on Sunday, this was Thursday. That made four days running Sandor’d left the bath and cooker clean.