Jon McGregor - Even the Dogs

And Mike says Eh keep up now I got some other place to be. And we follow him back down the hill. Past the Parkside flats and under the motorway bridge to the canal, across the lockgates and along the towpath and over a brick wall and up to a flat above a boarded-up shop. And we see Steve. Laid out on the mattress in his tidy, whitewashed room. His bare feet pointing to the ceiling. His boots placed neatly side by side, and his socks laid out to dry. One arm folded over his chest, the other arm hanging off the side of the mattress, his once filthy hand licked clean. H lying on the floor with his head on his front paws, waiting.

And we see Ant. Stretched out on the floor nearby, his works arranged carefully on a square of black cloth between them. His body stiffening and slackening again even while we watch. The flies already arriving to lay their eggs, in his mouth, in his eyes, in the weeping needle holes up and down his arms.

And Mike strides off again, turning to beckon us on and muttering Will you come on now then will you, and we follow him further along the canal, past the arches, up to the train station and the bus station and the multi-storey carpark where we clatter down the concrete stairs to the basement. Did you think there would be answers. Did you think there would be reasons given. We hurry along the rippled concrete floor, past the glass-walled booth where the staff take their breaks and watch the cctv, down to the far end and the goods lift and the heavy-wheeled bins. Did you think anyone would know all these things or be able to explain. And Mike stands there and waits and then we see Ben. Curled up on the floor like he’s just gone to sleep. Like he’s tried to put himself in the recovery position but not quite managed. A puddle of sick beside his stone-cold face. The empty pin flung away. This is all just a coincidence, is it. All these. In this short little span of time. Come looking for reasons if you want but there’s nothing to it. This was always going to happen some time and it don’t mean nothing now.

And we keep walking through the empty streets, and we get to another whitewashed room where no guests are allowed, with the long white curtains blowing in across the bed and a carrier bag of shopping on the floor. We stand in the kitchen area at one end of the room, and we see another bag of shopping on the worktop. Toast crumbs spread across a board. A postcard and a magazine. A cold cup of tea, the surface bubbling with mould while we watch. And we see Heather and we turn away. The rot set in and the awful smell of death. Kneeling stiff by the side of the bed, her face sinking into the mattress. Her hands, black with blood, hanging heavy by her sides. That’s everyone then, is it. That’s all of us accounted for.

And Mike says Eh now then la I’ll be off. I got some things I need to do. I got a bus to catch. And we turn and watch, and we see Mike, still talking into his phone, his long coat flapping around his knees, striding out into the middle of the road. We see the bus coming, slowing but not stopping and Mike turning with his arms outstretched going I feel much better now thanks. The look on the driver’s face. We see an ambulance, and a police car, and a hospital bed. We see Mike going Eh now pal will you come and look at this, will you come and see the things I’ve seen. Got a bus to catch. Couldn’t even get that right.

They wash him again, and comb his hair, and slide him on to a long metal trolley. They cover his body with a thin cotton shroud, tying it at the neck and the wrists, and they wrap him in a long white sheet. They wheel him back into the other room, and put him away behind one of the heavy steel doors. They sign more forms. The technician’s assistant takes the trolley of bagged and packaged samples — slices of Robert’s brain, heart, liver, kidney and lungs, the clippings of his hair and nails, vials of his blackened blood — and pushes it out along the corridor to a table by a hatch in the wall, to be collected and sent on to the labs. And then they all disrobe, peeling off their gloves and sleeve protectors and aprons and scrubbing their hands for a long time at the deep stainless-steel sinks. They go to the shower rooms next door, and we hear the pound of steaming water, shouted conversations, the flap of clean white towels. And while the others are still getting dressed, the doctor comes out into his office and begins to write up his notes. We look over his shoulder, but we have trouble reading his writing, and trouble understanding what we can read. He looks up through the window at the comments on the whiteboard, and carries on filling in forms. We look through the window at the empty steel table, clean again now, with its coiled hose and drainage channels and silenced extraction fans. The doctor stops writing, and puts away the file, and goes upstairs to join the others for lunch.

We wait, days and weeks in that lifeless room with Robert behind the heavy steel door. The reports come back from the labs, and we stand over the doctor while he fills out the blanks in his reports. We should go now. There should be something more we can do. We hear more footsteps in the long corridor outside. Keys, voices, the door being unlocked. They open the steel door and slide Robert out on to another trolley, folding back the white cloth so that only his face can be seen. They wheel him into another room. We go with them. The lights are turned low. There are thick curtains, and comfortable chairs against one wall, and a box of tissues beside the chairs. They lay a heavy embroidered cloth across his body. It hangs down and touches the floor. What is this. They step outside, and step back in, and we see Laura, and a policeman, the younger policeman from the flat. They stand at the far side of the room, talking. And Laura comes forward, and we move aside to let them pass. Is she ready for this. She sees him and she stops and she moves closer and she looks and she nods and says something. She says something to the policeman and he thanks her and steps back. We all step away. We leave Laura there beside him. She looks at his cold blank face. She glances along the length of his body. She reaches out her hands, and they hover above him. She says something. She lifts a hand and holds it in the air and she says something. One of the men standing by the door glances at the policeman and gestures with his eyes. The policeman moves forward and touches her arm and she turns away. And then they’re gone, the door closing behind them with a quiet click. And Robert lies alone on the trolley, the room echoing with the small movements of her hands, her staggered breaths, the whisper of her voice saying Yes, that’s him.

They carry his body to the edge of town and throw him into the fire.

What do we do now.

We go with them and we stay with Robert and when someone fetches the doctor’s report we follow to see where they go. And we come to an empty room. Push our way in and sit at the back. What is this place. Long and narrow. Rows of soft blue chairs. A raised platform at the other end of the room with a panelled desk and a heavy carved chair and some coat of arms like a lion and unicorn. A table on one side with a tape machine and a pad of paper. A large wilting spider plant and some spare chairs in the corner. Another table in front of the platform with another pad of paper and a box of tissues. One tissue sticking out ready. A clock on the wall behind us. We shift on our seats. Someone comes in through a door at one side with a jug of water and some plastic beakers and a stack of papers. She arranges the jug and the beakers on the table with the tape machine and she lays the papers out across the panelled desk. Light pours in through the arched windows down one side of the room. Striped by the slanting blinds. Buses rattle past along the main road outside. We hear voices and the door opens and the same woman comes back with the policeman who first found Robert. She shows him where to sit and she leaves. He looks around. He holds a notebook in his lap and crosses his legs. The door opens again and the woman comes in with Laura and shows her where to sit. And she says All rise for the coroner, will the court please rise.