by Annie Lyons
Chapter 4
The following day hangs hot and heavy. Eudora longs for a swim but can’t face the walk. She throws open the windows and back door to allow what precious breeze there is to waft through to the living room. She lingers a moment at the back door, blinking out at her parched lawn. There is more soil than grass. It’s baked and cracked like an overdone pie crust. Her next-door neighbor used to cut the lawn while he was doing his own. He was a little slapdash with his efforts, but she was grateful for his kindness. He also barely spoke, and she was grateful for that too. She has no idea who will cut it for her now that he and his family have moved. Eudora can just about manage to tend her flowerbeds, but even this is starting to prove a struggle. Hopefully these concerns will soon be a thing of the past.
After breakfast, Eudora resolves to make the best of being trapped at home and settles down to put her affairs in order. First, she considers whether to make a will. She’s not sure there’s any point. There’s no one to inherit her estate. In the absence of beneficiaries, the Crown will get everything. Eudora would like to hope they will spend it wisely, but she doubts it. She hasn’t trusted a single prime minister since Churchill, and as for her local politician, she wrote him off the day she attended one of his monthly meetings and he addressed her as “Eudora.” He hasn’t done anything about the uneven pavements on her street yet either. Montgomery sidles into the room and casually rubs his head against her ankles.
“That tickles!” exclaims Eudora. He does it again. Eudora reaches down to scratch his head. He nudges her hand in reply. “Someone’s in a good mood today,” she remarks, watching him take up position in an inviting patch of sunshine on the back of the sofa before falling asleep, his nose rested on folded velvet paws. On impulse, Eudora seizes her writing pad and pen.
She writes,
These are the final wishes of Eudora Honeysett. I am of sound mind and wish for the following to be adhered to after my death.
She taps her pen against her top lip before continuing.
I wish for my house and all its contents to be sold, and the proceeds, along with any money remaining in my bank accounts, to be used to help fund the NHS. I wish for my cat, Montgomery, to be given to Rose Trewidney, who lives next door to me.
Eudora glances at the concertina file containing all her financial documents on the shelf beside her chair. She ought to write something specific about these. Her thoughts are interrupted by the rumble of the garbage lorry pulling onto her street.
“Oh blast,” she says, remembering the bag of rubbish she’d left on the front step, ready to take to the bin. Eudora hauls herself to her feet, hurrying with some effort to the door. Hobbling down the path, she reaches the pavement in time to see the lorry pulling off.
“Blast!” she repeats with more venom. She hasn’t noticed Stanley talking to Rose, as his yelping dogs weave in and out of their legs. Stanley has seen her though. He hands the dogs’ leads to Rose and approaches with a smile.
“Do you want me to take that?” he asks, holding out his hand. Eudora looks around in surprise, drawing the bag out of reach as if fearful he’s trying to rob her. Stanley laughs and peers in the direction of the lorry. He plants his fingers in his mouth and issues a loud, confident whistle.
Eudora is appalled, while Rose stares at him in awe. “Please can you teach me how to do that?”
“’Course I can.”
One of the binmen glances in his direction. “You missed one!” calls Stanley. The man gives a thumbs-up and jogs back to fetch the bag.
“Sorry, Stan,” he says with a grin. “Thanks, darlin’,” he adds to Eudora, wresting it from her grasp. She can’t remember the last time anyone addressed her in such a fashion and is surprised to feel her cheeks grow hot.
“That was cool,” Rose tells him.
“Thank you,” says Eudora.
Stanley gives a gallant bow. His dogs are up to their usual tricks of barking and trying to trip up everyone in sight.
Resisting the urge to kick one of them, Eudora turns away.
“Do you both want to come to my house for tea?” asks Rose.
Eudora regards her for a moment. She doesn’t want to but is starting to realize that it’s difficult to refuse Rose.
“I would love to, but I think I should leave these menaces at home,” says Stanley, gesturing toward the dogs. “I’m sure you agree, Miss Honeysett?”
“I do,” admits Eudora.
“Why don’t you come ’round at about four o’clock then?” suggests Rose. “And we could use our surnames like you just did. So you can be Mr. Marcham and I’ll be Miss Trewidney. It’ll be like something out of olden times.” She hugs herself with delight.
“Very well, Miss Trewidney, Miss Honeysett. I shall look forward to the opportunity of taking tea with you both at four of the clock,” says Stanley with a deep bow.
Rose giggles. “This is going to be so much fun.”
Eudora is perturbed as she makes her way back inside her house. She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t need their company. She has managed perfectly well for many years without unnecessary acquaintances. She wants to be left alone to put her affairs in order and put an end to all this. Why can’t people leave her be?
However, Eudora Honeysett prides herself on never being impolite. Besides, it is just tea. She will show willing this time and extricate herself at the earliest available opportunity.
At precisely 3:58 p.m., she leaves her house and makes her way up Rose’s front path. “I knew you’d arrive on the dot,” says a voice behind her. She turns to see Stanley walking through the gate, carrying a delicate bunch of sweet peas and a cake tin.
“Of course. It’s bad manners to be late,” says Eudora, ringing the doorbell.
“Quite right too.”
Rose flings open the door. Eudora had been alarmed by her outfit from the day before, but this one is even more startling. She wears a purple T-shirt with the words “Girls Rule” written in rose-colored sequins, a pair of striped orange shorts, a fluorescent green feather boa, and a huge gold bow in her hair. “Good day, Miss Honeysett, Mr. Marcham!” she cries with a clumsy curtsy.
“Good day to you, Miss Trewidney!” replies Stanley, ushering Eudora in before him. “Ladies first.”
“Hello,” says Eudora, refusing to go along with their ridiculous charade.
Maggie appears in the hallway. “Hi there. Lovely to see you again, Eudora. And you must be Stanley.” They shake hands. Maggie’s chaotic hair is tied with a red-and-gold scarf and she is wearing a pair of paint-splattered denim dungarees over a white T-shirt. Eudora notices for the first time that she is pregnant. “Excuse my appearance,” she adds, patting her hair. “I’m busy decorating the nursery.”
“Ahh, so you’re going to have a new baby brother or sister,” says Stanley to Rose.
“Sister. She’s called Daisy,” reports Rose, sounding bored.
“We moved up from Cornwall because of my partner’s job,” explains Maggie. Eudora is momentarily confused by the word “partner” before remembering that it’s modern parlance for “other half.”
“Shall we take tea in the garden?” asks Rose.
“Sounds perfect,” says Stanley. “These are for you, by the way.” He hands over the flowers and cake tin. Eudora is embarrassed by her empty hands.
“Thank you,” says Rose. “Mmm, don’t these smell lovely, Mummy?”
She holds out the flowers for her mother, who inhales deeply. “Heavenly,” says Maggie.
Eudora catches the fragrance. It transports her momentarily toward a memory, which leaves her breathless with sadness. “Is the garden this way?” she asks, pointing her stick toward the back door, hoping that this will move things along.
“It is,” says Maggie. “Everything’s on the table. Rose and I made a jug of peach iced tea and a sponge cake.”
“I brought a sponge cake too!” says Stanley. “But then, as my Ada used to say, there’s no such thing as too much cake.”
There is if you don’t know when to stop, thinks Eudora.
“I’ll leave you in Rose’s capable hands then,” says Maggie.
“Miss Trewidney,” corrects Rose.
“Sorry—Miss Trewidney. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.” As she smiles, Eudora is struck by how beautiful she is. It’s the natural beauty of someone who is content within their own skin. Eudora envies and admires her for this.
Rose leads them into the garden. Someone has made a half-hearted attempt to cut the ailing lawn and there’s a sagging trampoline at the far end opposite the shed. The garden is surrounded by towering shrubs punctuated with the odd rose or lavender bush. They sit at the garden table underneath a green parasol. It’s still hot but there’s a pleasant breeze wafting through the leaves.
“Well, isn’t this lovely?” says Stanley.
“Mmm,” admits Eudora.
Rose pours brimming glasses of iced tea and cuts generous slabs of cake. “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” says Eudora.
“Thank you, Miss Trewidney,” echoes Stanley.
“So was Ada your wife?” asks Rose, taking a large bite of cake.
Stanley nods sorrowfully. “My angel. We were married for nearly sixty years, but my darling girl couldn’t hold on to celebrate that particular anniversary.”
“That’s sad,” says Rose. Eudora says nothing. She’s not a fan of the open discussion of feelings.
“It is but I feel lucky to have known her,” says Stanley. “We had the best life and a long one too. We met at school when we were younger than you,” he tells Rose.
“How old?” she asks, enthralled.
“Six,” says Stanley, smiling fondly.
“Six!” cries Rose. “So cute. And was it love at first sight?”
“Oh yes,” says Stanley. “Ada was the prettiest girl in the school, with huge blue eyes and blond ringlets. And she had this beautiful laugh, like a little bell ringing. I used to do everything I could to make her laugh. She said I was the class joker, but then everyone loves a joker, don’t they?”
Not necessarily, thinks Eudora. Her suspicions about Stanley Marcham are turning out to be true. He really did like the sound of his own voice.
“I think it’s romantic that you found your true love at age six,” declares Rose. “I can’t imagine that happening to me. Most of the boys I know are plonkers.”
Stanley laughs. “A lot of boys are plonkers.”
“What about you, Miss Honeysett?” asks Rose. “Have you ever been in love?” Eudora frowns. “Meddlers for nosy parkers?” suggests the little girl.
“Precisely.”
“Sorry,” says Rose. “Shall we talk about your cat then?”
“If you like.”
“How long have you had him?”
“Twelve years.” Eudora had bought him soon after her mother died in an attempt to dilute her grief. It didn’t work.
“Why did you call him Montgomery?”
“Let me guess. After the Field Marshal?” suggests Stanley.
“Not really,” says Eudora. He is right but Eudora’s not going to let him know it.
“Did you ever think about getting a dog?”
“No.”
“I reckon you’re either a cat or a dog person,” says Stanley.
Of course you do, thinks Eudora.
“My Ada loved dogs, whereas we always had cats growing up.”
“So you’re a cat person,” says Rose. “Like Eudora.”
Stanley nods. “But Ada had always wanted a dog, so I couldn’t say no. I’d have lassoed the moon if she’d asked.”
“It’s a Wonderful Life,” says Eudora.
“What’s a wonderful life?” asks Rose.
Stanley smiles. “That line. About lassoing the moon. It’s from a film called It’s a Wonderful Life, starring the great Jimmy Stewart.”
“And Donna Reed,” adds Eudora.
“She was a beauty,” says Stanley. “It’s a great film. You’d like it, Rose.”
Rose was gazing at them both, her elbows resting on the table. “I like listening to you two talk.” Eudora and Stanley exchange glances. “So what kind of dogs are Chas and Dave?”
“Cavalier King Charles spaniels,” says Stanley. “They call them that because their ears make them look a bit like King Charles I.”
“The second,” interrupts Eudora. Stanley stares at her. “They’re named after King Charles II—the restoration king.”
“I stand corrected,” says Stanley with a bow.
“You certainly do,” replies Eudora.
“How old are they?” asks Rose.
“Ten. We had other dogs before them, but I think these two were Ada’s favorites.” Stanley’s eyes mist. “They’re all I’ve got left of her now. Little blighters.”
Rose stands up and puts her arms around Stanley, squeezing him to her small frame. Eudora watches, appalled and intrigued. “You must miss her,” says Rose.
Stanley nods and, to her horror, Eudora realizes he’s crying.
“It’s okay, Stanley,” says Rose. “It’s good to cry sometimes. It always makes me feel better.”
Eudora is panicked at this public outpouring of grief. She reaches into her handbag, retrieving a clean handkerchief. It’s the only way she can think to make him stop. “Here,” she says, handing it over.
“Thank you,” says Stanley, smiling at her. “I’m sorry. I get a bit down sometimes. It comes over me all of a sudden. You must think I’m a silly old fool.”
Eudora welds her lips together.
“Not at all!” cries Rose. “You miss your wife and you’re sad. We all need to cry sometimes and we’re your friends, aren’t we?” Rose gazes at Eudora with dark brown eyes that draw you in and refuse to let go.
“Why don’t we have another piece of cake?” suggests Eudora. It’s the best she can do given the circumstances.
“That’s an excellent idea,” says Rose.
“Thank you,” says Stanley, his voice husky with sadness. “You’re both very kind.” Eudora nods and Stanley nudges her. “We’re like peas in a pod, aren’t we? Two old duffers together!”
“Speak for yourself,” says Eudora.
Stanley laughs. “Maybe you and I should trip the light fantastic one evening? Go for a meal? Or the flicks?” Eudora frowns. “Or a nightclub?” She looks horrified. “I’m joking!” He grins. “You’re a funny one, Miss Honeysett.”
She shoots him a sideward glance. “Takes one to know one, Mr. Marcham.”
“Touché,” he replies.
“It’s lovely to make new friends, isn’t it?” says Rose. “BFFs forever!”
“BFFs?” asks Eudora.
“Best friends forever!” cries Rose.
Eudora is weary. She isn’t used to such frivolity. “I think I shall go home now. Thank you both for a”—she searches for the right words—“pleasant afternoon.”
“Oh, thank you for coming. It was so much fun,” says Rose, following her down the hall. As Eudora is about to leave, Rose wraps her arms around her middle. Eudora freezes at the rare experience of human warmth. It’s an awkward sensation but unexpectedly comforting too. “I’ll see you soon,” Rose tells her.
Once home, Eudora deadlocks the door on the world and puts the chain across. She is exhausted and confused. She wasn’t lying when she said it had been a pleasant afternoon. She finds Stanley irritating but Rose is a force of nature. However, Eudora doesn’t have time for this. She has a death to plan and can’t allow the distraction of human kindness to stand in her way.
1948
Sidney Avenue, South-East London
Eudora bought the sweet-pea seeds on a whim. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Something to cheer her mother and occupy Stella. Her father used to grow sweet peas. Eudora recalled vases on every surface when she was small, filled with delicate pastel clouds of perfume. She thought it would be a happy memory, a comfort, like looking at his photograph or listening to one of his
favorite songs. But if Eudora had realized the trouble they would cause, she would have left the seed packet in the shop.
Moving back to their family home at the end of the war had made Eudora feel as if she were losing her father all over again. Everything reminded her of his absence—the tang of tobacco, his dressing gown hanging on the back of the bedroom door. She watched her mother move around the house, wearing widowhood like a cloak. The expression on Beatrice’s shrunken face was that of a woman who couldn’t quite comprehend that this was her life now. Eudora understood that she needed to take action before the grief swallowed them all whole. She had only been thirteen at the time, but it was as if her childhood had accelerated into adulthood without notice or permission.
Eudora knew her father’s words to her in the air-raid shelter had never been more salient. It was her duty to look after her mother and sister, and now that he wasn’t around, to protect them too.
She encouraged her mother to accept a job at the primary school, which Stella attended. Beatrice seemed to enjoy the work, and it meant Eudora could go to her own secondary modern school safe in the knowledge that her mother wasn’t sitting at home, dwelling on her loss. Eudora always made sure she was there to collect Stella after school and did a lion’s share of the chores. She realized that if she took some of the stress out of her mother’s daily life, they were more likely to avoid an argument.
These conflicts always involved her younger sister. Much to Eudora’s regret, Stella had failed to grow out of her defiant phase. If anything, she was wilder, having developed an almost feral streak during carefree years spent in the countryside. She was forever in trouble at school, receiving the slipper for her efforts on countless occasions. Eudora tried to reason with her, but Stella would merely shrug and insist she had no idea why she did the things she did. Beatrice had no patience with her at all. The shame she harbored at having such a willful child and the ever-present burden of widowhood only served to fuel her anger toward the brazen girl. Eudora lived her life on tenterhooks, a reluctant go-between in whichever battle raged next.