by Annie Lyons
“Petra.”
“Thank you, Petra. So, will you send me the forms?”
“Of course. I am thinking that you are not able to travel to us so we will be conducting this process by telephone?”
“Will that be a problem?”
“It shouldn’t be, but you will need to provide various forms and have detailed conversations with Doctor Liebermann. Do you know about the costs?”
“I can pay.”
“That’s fine. Forgive me for asking. So, if you would be kind enough to give me a few details, please.”
Eudora does as she asks. “And can you tell me how long it takes?” She doesn’t feel that she needs to add the obvious words, to die.
“It depends. But I would say between three and four months from when you sign. You can change your mind at any time of course.”
I won’t, thinks Eudora, feeling relieved that she’ll be gone by Christmas—the loneliest, unhappiest time of the year.
“I will be your contact for the whole process,” Petra tells her. “Please call me at any time with questions or concerns. I am here to help.”
“Thank you, Petra.” Eudora hopes the woman can hear how grateful and relieved she is, how much this means to her. She hangs up a short while later with a mixture of euphoria and exhaustion. The die is cast. Eudora hobbles to the kitchen. Standing before the almost blank calendar, she counts forward four months and writes one word in a shaky, spidery script.
Freedom.
Eudora smiles. She is in control for the first time in years. She won’t be defeated by old age; she will defy it, cast it aside like an unwanted skin. The end will be on her terms and her terms alone.
She is roused from her reverie by a knock at the door. At first she fears it’s that hateful young man returning to terrorize her, but the knock is gentler and more considered. She takes a while to reach the door, leaving the chain on as she answers. She peers with a frown into the face of a little girl who wears a blank expression but who, on seeing Eudora, changes it to a frown, mirroring the old woman’s.
“Yes?” demands Eudora.
Another face appears above the child’s—a nervously smiling woman with unkempt hair whom Eudora eyes with disdain.
“Sorry to bother you,” says the woman a little too loudly.
The child’s frown deepens. “Mum. Why are you shouting?”
Eudora raises an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” says the woman to the child. “Sorry,” she repeats to Eudora. “We just wanted to introduce ourselves. We’re your new neighbors.”
“Oh,” says Eudora.
“Why have you got this chain on your door? Is it broken?” asks the little girl.
“It’s to keep out unwanted intruders,” replies Eudora with meaning.
“We’re not intruders, so you can open it properly, if you like.”
Eudora does not like, but she is never rude. She unhooks the chain.
“That’s better,” says the little girl. “I’m Rose Trewidney, by the way.”
Eudora regards Rose Trewidney for a moment. She is dressed in a cherry-red T-shirt calamitously teamed with a purple ra-ra skirt.
“And I’m Maggie,” adds her mother. “We’ve moved up from Cornwall today. It’s been quite a journey, but we’ve made it. It seems like a lovely neighborhood, rather fewer beaches than Cornwall of course.”
Maggie laughs, although Eudora has no idea why. She remains silent as this woman fills the air with words. She is aware of the little girl gazing up at her.
Eventually, Maggie runs out of words. “So anyway, we just wanted to say hi.”
“Will that removals lorry be there long?” demands Eudora, nodding in its direction.
Maggie glances over her shoulder. “Oh, erm, hopefully not. Is it in your way?”
“It is parked over the space in front of my house.”
“Right, well, I’m very sorry about that.”
“What’s your cat called?” asks Rose, ignoring the tension building above her head.
“Montgomery,” says Eudora irritably.
“Aww, Montgomery. Here, Montgomery,” says Rose, kneeling down, making kissing noises to entice him.
“He’s not very friendly,” warns Eudora.
The cat makes a beeline for Rose and, to Eudora’s amazement, not only allows her to stroke him but starts to purr when she makes the potentially life-threatening move to pick him up.
“Aww, you’re a lovely boy, aren’t you? We used to have a cat but he got run over.”
Eudora stares as Rose hugs the cat tightly while firing a series of questions at her. She finds herself with no choice but to answer.
“What’s your name?”
“Eudora.”
“And how old are you?”
“Eighty-five.”
“I’m ten. Do you live here alone?”
“Yes.”
“And do you have any children?”
“No.”
“That must be lonely.”
Eudora frowns. “It isn’t.”
“Do you like the Queen?”
“Of course.”
“Me too.”
Her mother interjects. “Rose, I think we’ve taken up quite enough of Eudora’s time,” she says. She mouths an apology to the old woman. “Come on. Let’s go and sort out your room.”
“Oh. Okay,” says Rose. She kisses the cat on his head and plonks him on the floor before following her mother back down the path.
“Bye, Eudora. Bye, Montgomery. See you soon.”
Eudora closes her front door and stands there for a moment, wondering what on earth has just happened. A sound emits from her mouth—a strange, foreign sound—quiet and wholly unexpected. The cat stares up at her in surprise as he hears his owner chuckle for the first time in his living memory before he skulks away in search of food.
1940
Sidney Avenue, South-East London
Stella Honeysett announced her arrival to the world with a scream as piercing as the siren’s wail that forced her laboring mother into the Anderson shelter, which Albert had built before he left.
“To keep my angels safe,” he told Eudora as she helped him cover its corrugated-iron structure with tarpaulin. Then she watched while he shoveled great spadefuls of earth on top.
“Snug as a bug,” he said, standing back to admire their handiwork. He glanced down at Eudora with a smile. “Now, will you help me replant my poor old marrow on top? I had to dig him up to make way for your new nighttime home.”
“Of course, Daddy.”
“Good girl. And then we can make it nice and cozy inside for you and Mummy.”
“And the new baby,” said Eudora, adopting what she hoped was a responsible expression.
Albert leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “I can see that I’m leaving Mummy and your new brother or sister in good hands.”
Eudora beamed up at him like a flower turning its head toward the sun. Although she didn’t want her father to leave, Eudora knew that he was doing his duty and that she, in turn, must do hers. She was sure that if she did exactly as her father asked, God and Mr. Churchill would send him back to them unharmed.
“Someone’s gone up in the world,” came an accusing voice from over the fence.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Crabb,” said Albert, propping his shovel against the new shelter and approaching their neighbor. “You and Mrs. Crabb are more than welcome to use our shelter if London’s bombed—there’s enough room for six people.”
Mr. Crabb looked appalled. “Adolf Hitler is not going to chase me from my bed.”
Eudora’s eyes grew wide as an image of their terrifying enemy chasing Mr. Crabb around his bedroom flooded her imagination.
“We didn’t let Fritz beat us last time, and we’re damn well not going to let them beat us this time!”
Eudora gasped. Albert placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Well, you’re both welcome if you change your minds. Now, if you’ll excuse us,” he said, leading
his daughter away.
Mr. Crabb was still muttering about “the bastard Boche.” Eudora clung tighter to her father’s hand. She sometimes woke to hear their neighbor crying out in the dead of night. It was a chilling sound, not of anger but more like an animal, trapped and desperate. The first time she heard it, she ran from her room and bumped straight into her father on the landing.
He had knelt down, pulling her trembling body close. “It’s all right, my darling Dora. It’s all right. Mr. Crabb can’t help it. He lost his son during the war, you see, and he’s having a nightmare. That’s all. It’s a terrible nightmare. Do you understand?”
Eudora didn’t but nodded her head rapidly to pretend that she did. Any shared confidence with her father was treasure to Eudora, a precious gem to be cushioned in her heart forever. She always tried to be kind whenever she saw Mr. Crabb, but there was something about his wild gaze and unpredictable nature that terrified her.
Eudora helped her father drag an old rectangle of carpet into the shelter and held pieces of wire mesh across wooden frames while he nailed them together to craft makeshift beds. Albert placed roll-up mattresses on top of the bed frames and stood back satisfied.
“Shall we try them for size, Dora?” he asked, his eyes sparkling as he lit a candle and placed it inside a flowerpot.
“Okay, Daddy,” said Eudora, wriggling into the tiny space. “It’s very cozy.” She giggled.
Albert took his place on the other side and smiled at her. “See? I told you. Snug as bugs,” he said, reaching out across the divide. She placed her small hand in his and wished, as she always did with her father, that they could stay like this forever.
Life hadn’t changed that much since the start of the war. She had to carry her gas mask with her at all times and listen out for the air-raid sirens but apart from that, they carried on as before. Her father would listen to the news on the wireless every evening. Eudora would sit by his feet and try to do the same. She didn’t understand much of what was being said, but she heard her father reassuring her mother that they were safe in London. This was enough for Eudora. Her father would never lie to them. As long as he declared them to be safe, all would be well.
“What on earth are you two still doing out here?” Beatrice Honeysett’s sharp words brought a swift end to Eudora’s reverie as her mother frowned down into the shelter.
Albert let go of his daughter’s hand and jumped up. “Come and see what Dora and I have made,” he said with a gallant bow.
“How on earth am I going to get down there?” demanded Beatrice, running a hand over her burgeoning belly.
“I’ll help you, Mummy,” said Eudora, her heart leaping as Albert shot her a wink.
Beatrice huffed and puffed her way into the shelter and sat heavily on one of the homemade beds. “It’s a bit dark and cramped,” she said.
Albert took a seat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “I think madam will find it rather cozy in time,” he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.
“Oh, get away with you, Albert Honeysett,” scolded Beatrice, but she was smiling. She took another look around. “You’ve worked very hard.”
“I helped Daddy make the beds,” said Eudora. “And we planted his marrow on top of the shelter.”
Beatrice looked from her husband to her daughter and back again. “You two. What a pair you are.”
Albert held out his arms to Eudora, pulling them both into a tight embrace. “My precious girls,” he said.
“Well, let’s just hope this baby doesn’t decide to make an appearance during an air raid,” said Beatrice.
Albert had been gone a month and London was barely a week into the Blitz when Beatrice went into labor. Eudora was relieved that Mrs. Crabb had decided to take up the offer to share their shelter during the now nightly air raids. She found her mother’s keening to be altogether more terrifying than Hitler’s bombs and was grateful for their neighbor’s presence.
Eudora held her breath and squeezed her mother’s hand as their next-door neighbor took charge of the situation. Mrs. Crabb was rake-thin and smelled of peppermints. She was a trained librarian but still seemed to know exactly what to do as Beatrice brought new life into the world in the same moment that many other lives were being snuffed out by the enemy.
Eudora fixed her eyes on the wavering candle flame and prayed. The clamor of the bombs seemed to intensify, and then there was silence. Eudora exhaled before being knocked sideways by a huge explosion, which shook the shelter with a violence that was truly terrifying. Her heart drummed ten-to-the-dozen as lumps of metal clattered against the sides and she glimpsed what looked like a sky on fire through the tiny gap in the shelter. Eudora longed to cry but knew she mustn’t. Her father would want her to be brave. Her mother’s eyes were wide with pain and fear, seemingly oblivious to the horror outside. Eudora screwed her eyes tightly shut and prayed for a miracle, for her father to save them. And then, through the damp darkness, she heard a small voice.
“Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile.”
Eudora blinked in astonishment at the sound of Mrs. Crabb singing before realizing that her mother had gone quiet, her face set and determined, eyes tightly shut as she pushed with all her might. The siren screamed out the all clear, and Stella joined in, emerging bloody and furious into a chaotic, fractured world. Mrs. Crabb wrapped her in a blanket before handing her to Beatrice.
“Promise me you’ll get these girls out of London,” she said, her voice heavy with a mother’s loss. “Promise me.”
Pale and exhausted, Beatrice stared up at her and nodded. “I promise.”
They emerged hours later to find that Mrs. Crabb’s house had suffered a direct hit; the front wall was all that remained, like the opening to a doll’s house. They found Mr. Crabb at the end of the garden, still in his bed, blown clean from the house. Mrs. Crabb went to live with her sister in Devon, and although Eudora was sad about Mr. Crabb, she got the feeling he would be satisfied that Hitler hadn’t succeeded in expelling him from his bed.
Chapter 3
A sense of restless anticipation descends over Eudora during the following week. Her heart soars whenever she hears the post drop onto the mat and dives as she discovers nothing but junk mail. Her one consolation is hope; hope for a smooth process bringing an ending to life on her terms.
My death. My way.
The mere thought of this makes day-to-day life more endurable.
One morning, she is following her customary routine of dressing, eating breakfast while tuned in to the Today program, and leaving the house by ten o’clock. The day is breezy but warm. Eudora pauses on the doorstep, permitting herself a moment to feel the sun on her face before setting off along the road. She spots Stanley Marcham farther along the street, walking his infernally yapping dogs and is glad for once that the ravages of old age prevent her from catching up with him.
Eudora is lost in thought as she reaches the leisure center and perturbed to find that her usual locker and changing cubicle are both occupied. Irritated, she casts around for another before hearing someone call her name. She is so unused to hearing it spoken out loud these days that if it weren’t for the unusual nature of her moniker, she would have assumed the person to be addressing someone else.
“Eudora!” call two voices in unison.
Eudora turns to see Maggie, grinning like a lunatic, with Rose standing beside her.
“Hello,” says Eudora, her heart sinking at the inevitable exchange.
“I thought it was you,” says Maggie brightly.
Eudora wonders at the obviousness of this statement. “And so it is.” She notices that Rose is wearing large green goggles, giving her the appearance of a boggle-eyed frog.
“Do you swim here regularly?” asks Maggie.
“Every day if possible,” replies Eudora.
“Wow. That’s amazing. I wish I could get my mum to go swimming.”
“Granny likes to sit and watch the world go by
,” says Rose.
“Mmm. I’ve told her she needs to move more. You’ve got to use it or lose it, right?” says Maggie to Eudora.
Eudora has no idea what she’s talking about so opts for a peremptory nod. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”
“Can I come ’round to see your cat again, please?” asks Rose.
“Rose, you can’t just invite yourself ’round to people’s houses,” says Maggie, embarrassed.
“Why not? How else do you get to see them?”
Maggie looks to Eudora for help, but the old woman remains silent.
Rose seizes the opportunity. “So can I come? A bit later? I’ve got a present for you.”
Eudora regards the little girl for a moment. There’s something about her tenacious character that she admires. Eudora also senses that Rose won’t take no for an answer and, although she habitually avoids human company, can’t see the harm of letting the child visit her recalcitrant feline.
“Very well. Two o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“Yes, ma’am!” cries Rose with a salute.
Eudora’s lips twitch before she disappears into the changing room with a shake of her head. Rose and Maggie are splashing about in the shallow end when she emerges into the bleached light of the main pool. Eudora ignores them and walks toward the swimming lanes. Sinking into the shallow end, she relishes the soft weightlessness of the water on her skin. After a few lengths, Eudora rests for a moment. She notices Rose and her mother laughing together. The little girl is standing on the side while Maggie waits in the pool, arms outstretched, encouraging her to jump. She sees joy mirrored in their faces as Rose leaps and Maggie catches her. Eudora takes a deep breath and dives under the water to drown it out.
Her post-swim weariness seems to slide away as she arrives home later to find a large, thick envelope with a Swiss postmark sitting on the mat. Eudora can’t wait a moment longer. She drops her swimming bag in the hall before carrying the envelope into the living room. Once again, she uses her father’s letter opener, pulling the sheaf of documents onto her lap. There is a note attached, written in a looping European hand:
Dear Ms. Honeysett,