When I was 27, I lost my nan and grandad within three weeks. It was horrendous, but I clearly remember how much they looked like themselves when I went to view them at the funeral home. At the time I worked at a bank in London, but I had also completed a beautician’s course as it was something I had always wanted to pursue. My sister-in-law encouraged me to go down to the funeral home to look behind the scenes and see if I could do the makeup. I took a day off work and went to the mortuary and into the room where my nan had been. There was another body in there and, for a moment, I wondered if I could do it. But I soon got over the wobble, and not long after decided to train as a mortician.

As I had already studied to be a beautician, the training didn’t take long. I learned techniques specific to applying makeup to bodies, such as how to use primers to cover discoloration, how to insert eye caps – which hold eyelids in place – and how to work with the heavier makeup products required for the job. I started working freelance, going to the funeral directors when they needed me.

In my 20s and early 30s, I didn’t tell people what I did because I thought they would think I was a freak. But after I had children and got a little older, I realised that I’m proud of what I do. People always say they don’t know how I do it, but there are jobs I know I couldn’t do.

I can cut, wash, dye, blow-dry and tong hair. I paint nails. I’ve even been asked to put fake tan on a body

I’ve been doing hair and makeup on dead people for more than 25 years. I can look at someone and know whether they died of liver cancer, for example, because of the colour of their skin. I always ask their families for a photograph, so I have a guide to how the person looked when they were alive. Sometimes, you’ll be given a picture from the 1970s and you think, Oh my God, the body in front of me doesn’t look like that at all. The time it takes to do the makeup depends on the person and the state of the body: some will take 20 minutes, but I’ve had cases where I’ve worked for 10 hours over two days.

Family members usually choose the outfit, hairstyle and makeup for their loved one. The hardest part is dressing a body, especially when you’re on your own. Sometimes I end up having to run around one side to get an arm into a jumper, then run back to get the other arm in. There’s a knack to it – over two decades, I’ve picked up a lot of tips. It’s also tricky when you’re given clothing or a wig that is too small. You sometimes end up cutting the back of a jumper, say, and fixing it so that the family would never know. I was once asked to put skinny jeans on a body, and needed help to do it.

I can cut, wash, dye, blow-dry and tong hair. I paint nails. I’ve even been asked to put fake tan on a body. I once had a lady who was well known in the East End. She had died in her 80s, and her family wanted to give her a deep tan, bright red lipstick and red nails – that’s how they remembered her. They were really pleased with the result.

I give my all to help the families. I know how it feels to lose someone. For this job you need to be compassionate, caring and unafraid.

Sometimes it does affect you emotionally, though. I find it hard when they are young. Years ago, my daughter’s friend, who was 15, was hit by a car and I ended up doing her hair and makeup. One week, I had a 28-year-old and a 33-year-old: I had to put one of them in her wedding dress. I treat them like I would a living person, talking them through what I’m doing.

Home life is busy, as I have two adult daughters and a lot of animals – horses, dogs, chickens, geese and ducks – to look after, so that keeps me grounded when work gets tough. It also helps that my husband is a funeral director, so he understands the trade and I can speak openly with him. We met through work.

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Over the past few years, I’ve had a few people close to me die or be diagnosed with cancer, so I do fear death more than I ever have. But I love my job and would do it 24 hours a day if I physically could.

As told to Amy Sedghi

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