The woman laid out in the coffin in front of us wasn’t Mum

The receptionist with brown lipstick showed my son and me into a faultless waiting room, whose centrepiece was a big colour photograph of out-of-focus lavender florets.

A couplet written underneath said:

I’m the colourful leaves when autumn comes around
And the pure white snow that blankets the ground.

Had we made an appointment, she asked. We understood that it wasn’t necessary, we said, and that we could view the body ‘at any time within normal business hours’. She wrestled with her thoughts for a moment, then said she would have to get a man to come over from Torquay to help lift her out of the fridge. ‘Can we help?’ I said. ‘No. No,’ she said. ‘Health and safety, you understand.’ We understood, we said.

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While we waited for the man from Torquay, what about a nice cup of coffee, she said.