by Annie Lyons
“Were you having a nap upstairs when I rang the doorbell? My granny often has a nap in the afternoons.”
“No. In actual fact, I was trying to choose an outfit.”
“Ooh, can I help? I know a lot about fashion.”
Eudora glances at Rose’s current ensemble—a pair of pink khaki shorts, a purple T-shirt emblazoned with the words “Be More Unicorn,” and a gold headscarf. Maybe Eudora is starting to get used to these affronts to fashion, or perhaps it’s just too hot to protest. “Very well,” she says.
“You always say that.”
“Say what?”
“Very well. When you don’t want to do something but decide to go along with it to be polite.”
“Very well,” repeats Eudora.
“You’re funny, Eudora,” says Rose, draining her drink before galloping up the stairs.
By the time Eudora reaches the door to her bedroom, Rose is standing with her arms folded, having reviewed and rejected her entire wardrobe. “There are too many browns and grays. You need something colorful,” she says, confirming Eudora’s suspicions. “Also, I was wondering what that is up there?” she asks, pointing to a large cardboard box marked “Eudora’s Treasures.”
“It’s nothing,” says Eudora, leaning forward to push the door closed.
“Meddlers for nosy parkers. Am I right?” says Rose proudly.
Eudora purses her lips. “Let’s return to your critique of my wardrobe.”
Rose frowns. “Does that mean you want me to be your style guru?”
“I prefer the term ‘fashion advisor.’”
“Very well,” says Rose, adopting a serious expression as she parrots Eudora. “I accept the challenge. When shall we go shopping?”
Eudora is determined to nip this ridiculous suggestion in the bud. “Is that entirely necessary, Rose?”
“Of course. You need a makeover and I am the woman for the job.” Rose is bouncing from foot to foot like a toddler in need of the toilet.
“I’m not sure it’s worth it for one evening out.”
Rose is agog. “An evening out! Is it a party?”
Eudora nods. “Stanley’s son’s fiftieth.”
Rose looks as if she’s about to burst. “Then you have to get a new outfit! It’s very important to make an effort and not let yourself go as you get older.”
Eudora’s lips twitch with amusement. “Is that so?”
Rose nods gravely. “It is.”
“Well then, I suppose I’d better try,” says Eudora, staggered that she is agreeing to this charade.
“Yesss! Wait here, I’ll go and ask Mum.”
Rose bounds off down the stairs, leaving Eudora wondering what has just happened. She isn’t used to having such a force of nature in her life. This little girl is like a grenade packed full of joie de vivre, and Eudora has no idea why she’s been chosen as a friend. Eudora is everything Rose isn’t: old, disillusioned, and able to keep her emotions in check. Yet it’s not unpleasant having the child around. She is infuriatingly persistent but unrelentingly kind. Eudora supposes Rose has singled her out because she misses her own grandmother. She has no doubt her enthusiasm will fizzle out once she starts school and meets people her own age. In the meantime, it’s probably no bad thing for Eudora to have a distraction from the business of dying. And it might be nice to have a new dress. She could wear it to her funeral. Now, there’s a thought.
Eudora makes her way downstairs, her mind set on making another cup of tea, as the first one has gone cold. The phone rings, and she diverts to the living room to answer it. Her heart beats a little faster as she registers the voice.
“Good afternoon, Miss Honeysett. This is Doctor Greta Liebermann calling from Klinik Lebenswahl.”
Eudora’s pulse quickens. “It’s good to hear from you.”
“It’s good to speak to you too. Petra has passed on your application to me, so I wanted to call in person. I will be the one who effectively guides you through the process, and of course I will ultimately make the decision as to whether we are able to proceed.”
“I see.”
“Do you have time for a conversation about your application?”
Eudora glances at the door, fearing that Rose will come flying through it at any moment. “Yes. Of course,” she says, wanting to sound as cooperative as possible.
“Good. First, let me introduce myself properly. My name is Greta Liebermann. Please call me Greta, and would it be all right if I call you Eudora?”
“Very well,” says Eudora.
“So, everything is up to date on your form in terms of medical conditions?”
“It is.”
“And have you had any more thoughts about your decision?”
Eudora bristles. “You mean have I changed my mind?”
“People often do.”
“Well, I haven’t.”
“Okay. And have you discussed your decision with anyone?”
“Good heavens, no. Why on earth would I do that?”
“You could say that it really is a matter of life and death and therefore important to talk it through.”
“Is this why you’ve called?”
“I want to make sure you understand the full implications of what this decision means.”
Eudora gives an exasperated sigh. “I have explained this to Petra. I am eighty-five years old and done with life. My body is deteriorating and I want to have a choice about how I die. I am not depressed or unhappy. I just want to have a say about what happens to me before it’s too late.”
“Eudora, believe me, I do understand. But you must also understand that I need to ask these questions. I must be certain that you are sure before I make any decision.”
Eudora inhales deeply. “I do understand. I’m sorry. I know you can’t make this decision lightly.”
“I can hear the determination in your voice, and I promise I will consider your application in full. I think what you say about having a choice in death as in life is very important. I cannot guarantee I will agree to it, but I will consult with my colleagues, consider everything you have told us, and contact you again for further discussions before I decide.”
“Thank you,” says Eudora. The doctor’s words give her unexpected hope. Finally someone is listening to her. Finally someone understands.
There’s a scrabbling sound in the hall as Rose returns. “Don’t worry, it’s not a burglar. It’s me, Rose,” she shouts. “I left the door on the latch like we used to in Cornwall, and then I was a bit worried that I shouldn’t have because there are all sorts of violent criminals in London; I saw it on the news.” She appears in the doorway. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were on the phone.”
Eudora stiffens. She doesn’t want to be having this conversation with Doctor Liebermann while Rose is in the room. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I have to go. I’ve got a visitor.”
“Yes, I heard her. But this is not your granddaughter, as you don’t have family?”
“No. It’s Rose. She’s my . . .” Eudora fumbles for the right word.
“Fashion advisor!” shouts Rose, giving Eudora a thumbs-up.
“. . . neighbor’s daughter,” finishes Eudora.
“I see,” says the doctor with a hint of amusement in her voice. “I will let you go, but can I just say one thing?”
“Very well.” Eudora rolls her eyes as Rose gives her a knowing look.
“Allow yourself to choose life while you are making the decision about your death. It’s important to live life to the full while you can.”
Eudora sniffs. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“Good. We will speak again soon. Goodbye, Eudora.”
“That sounded intense,” says Rose, wide-eyed, as Eudora replaces the handset.
“It was private business. Now, shall we have some of that cake?” says Eudora, keen to move things along.
Rose taps the side of her nose and winks. “Private business. Got it. Yes please to the cake. And Mum says we can go shoppi
ng whenever you like—we can be your fairy godmothers!” Rose is staring up at her hopefully. “You can just say ‘very well,’ if you like.”
The doctor’s “choose life” mantra echoes in Eudora’s mind. “Thank you, Rose. That would be lovely.”
“Yay! And now we can watch Pointless together while we eat our cake, if you like? My granny loves it.”
“What an utterly ridiculous name for a television show,” says Eudora.
“I know, but you’ll love Richard Osman. All the old ladies do.”
“I’m a very harsh critic.”
“I don’t know what that means, but okay,” says Rose. “Shall I cut the cake and pour myself another cor-dial while you make more tea?”
“That would be helpful, thank you,” says Eudora, leading the way to the kitchen.
Rose glances up from the haphazardly gigantic slices of cake she has cut for them. “Do you like your name?”
“I didn’t have much choice in the matter,” says Eudora.
“You could shorten it to Dora if you don’t like the long version.” Eudora is struck dumb by an emotional thunderbolt from the past. “Can I call you Dora? Like Dora the Explorer?”
“I would prefer it if you didn’t,” says Eudora in a shaky but firm voice.
“Why? It’s much friendlier.”
Eudora is surprised by the anger, which ignites immediately. “I don’t want you to call me that, Rose. Please desist with this. I don’t want to be called Dora. My name is Eudora!” She knows her fury is irrational, but she can’t help it. Her dear father’s face floats into her mind.
“Adorable Dora!” he cries. “My little peach!”
“Sorry,” says Rose in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry I made you sad.” Eudora is amazed by her intuition. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” says Eudora. “But thank you.”
Rose nods. “Case closed, m’lud.”
This child is astonishing, thinks Eudora.
“Come on, let’s distract ourselves by watching Pointless,” says Rose, balancing two plates of cake and her drink and leading them into the living room.
Eudora finds herself rather taken with both Richard Osman and the lemon drizzle cake as they watch television companionably. She enjoys identifying the missing words in certain categories and snorts with derision when a contestant suggests that John Steinbeck’s novel is called “The Grapes of France.”
“It’s The Grapes of Wrath, you silly woman,” she cries.
“You know a lot of stuff,” says Rose, impressed.
“I’ve been alive for a long time,” admits Eudora.
Rose finishes the cake, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Are you scared of dying?”
Despite becoming more accustomed to Rose’s direct approach to conversation, the question catches Eudora off guard. However, it doesn’t take her long to find the answer. “No,” she says. “Are you?”
Rose considers this for a moment. “I was until I watched Coco.”
“What’s that?”
“A film about the Day of the Dead, which is this really cool celebration they have in Mexico.” Eudora watches Rose’s face light up as she explains. “Basically, when you die, you hang out with all the other people from your family who have died, and then once a year the people who are still alive put up your picture and light candles and you go back to visit them.”
“That sounds rather nice.”
“I think so too. Mum says we can do it this year to remember Grandad. She thinks I’m a bit obsessed with death, but I think it’s important not to be scared, don’t you?”
Eudora stares at her. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“I’m glad you’re not scared because it would be easy to be frightened the nearer you get to death.”
“Thank you for reminding me.”
“Sorry. I’m talking too much again, aren’t I? Do you want me to go?”
Normally, Eudora would welcome the idea of having her house back to herself, but for some reason, she’s in no hurry today. “You can stay for a bit longer, if you’d like.”
“Thanks. Anyway, I hope you live long enough to come to my birthday party.”
Eudora swallows her amusement. “How long have I got?”
“It’s the twenty-second of October.”
“You’ll want all your new school friends there, not some fuddy-duddy like me.”
Rose is indignant. “I will want you there. And Stanley. And Montgomery, if we can persuade him. Please can you try to stay alive until then?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Their conversation is interrupted by a loud knock at the door. “Rose? Are you still in there?”
Rose pulls a face. “That’s Mum. I better go. Thanks for sharing the cake and for the chat. I really enjoyed it.”
“Me too,” says Eudora.
Rose skips down the hall to let her mother in. Eudora hears Maggie scolding her daughter before appearing at the living room door. “Eudora, I’m so sorry. I told Rose not to stay too long.”
Eudora holds up her hands. “It’s quite all right. I invited her to stay. Please don’t be cross with her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely sure.” Eudora notices that she looks weary. “How are you?”
Maggie runs a hand over her burgeoning belly. “Fine, thank you. A bit tired, but that’s babies for you.”
“I’m sure.”
Maggie smiles. “Right, come along you,” she says to Rose. “Have you said thank you?”
“Yes, Mum,” says Rose, rolling her eyes at Eudora. “When shall we go shopping then?”
“Oh yes,” says Maggie. “I understand we’re taking you for a makeover.”
“Apparently so.”
Maggie smiles. “How about this Saturday?”
“That would be fine, thank you. The party is in the evening, so it will force me to be decisive.”
“Fantastic. Shall we say ten o’clock?”
“Thank you,” says Eudora. “Oh, and, Rose?”
“Yes?” says Rose with shining eyes.
“What does ‘Be More Unicorn’ mean?” she asks, gesturing at her T-shirt.
“Well, Eudora. It’s all about being more sparkly and magical,” she says, flinging open her arms like a singer reaching the finale of a big number. “Does that make sense?”
Resistance is futile, Eudora. You should know this by now.
“It does, Rose. I understand perfectly. See you both on Saturday.”
1955
The Orchid Ballroom, South-East London
The dress was pale blue and had a chiffon bodice finished with an A-line skirt. Eudora found it in Allders during a Saturday afternoon shopping trip with her best friend, Sylvia, and she had spent a good while trying to decide whether she should fritter nearly a month’s wages on it.
“It’s like something Grace Kelly would wear,” said Sylvia with a dreamy look in her eyes.
“I’ll take it,” Eudora told the shop assistant.
As Eddie arrived to collect her the following Saturday, she made sure she was standing at the top of the stairs so she could sashay down toward him in the manner of a Hollywood film star. It didn’t help that the staircase was carpeted in beige Axminster rather than made from the smooth gray marble of L.A. mansions, but she did her best to remain elegant. Eddie’s face was a picture of admiration, and Eudora decided immediately that it had been worth every penny.
“Like the cat that got the cream,” as her mother might say.
Beatrice disapproved of Eddie. Eudora could tell. She was always civil, greeting him politely but without warmth, twitching her nose as if she’d detected a bad smell. Eudora chose to ignore it. Eddie was her escape. There was something about his mischievous south-east London charm and noisy self-confidence that gave her hope. In a home life almost devoid of fun and laughter, Eddie offered a joyful alternative. Encouraged by Sylvia, Eudora resolved that if she wasn’t having fun at the age of twenty-two, she may as
well give up.
“Seriously, Dor. You can’t stay stuck at home with your mum and Stella going hell for leather at each other forever. You’ll end up in the Bethlem.”
Eudora knew her friend was right. Beatrice and Stella’s loathing for each other had hardened into something as cold and solid as granite. Their communication was either cursory or like a lit fuse that threatened to ignite into conflict at any moment. As soon as Eudora walked through the door at night, her shoulders would tighten as the toxic atmosphere cloaked her.
Eddie was the antithesis of this world. She had met him at a dance one Saturday night, where she was playing gooseberry to Sylvia and her date, Ken. Eudora was usually happy to sit at the side and watch; the atmosphere alone was enough to serve as respite. She had noticed Eddie a few times and on first sight had shared her mother’s reservations. He was loud, brash, and a little too sure of himself. As a result, he was never short of doe-eyed females with whom to dance. On this particular night, Eudora was sitting in her usual position at the side of the room, nursing a glass of lemonade and tapping her foot in time to the music, when Eddie appeared before her.
“Of all the dance floors in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine,” he said, putting his foot up on the chair next to her and leaning forward with a smirk.
Eudora knew it was clichéd, but there was something about the way he had strode over and chosen her that made her laugh and blush. Taking this as an invitation, Eddie stuck out his hand.
“Eddie Spencer.”
“Eudora Honeysett,” she replied, longing for a more straightforward name.
“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” Eudora’s cheeks grew warm. “Smoke?” He offered her the packet.
“No, thank you. I don’t smoke,” she said, hoping this didn’t make her sound superior.
“I like a woman who knows her own mind,” said Eddie, tucking the packet back inside his pocket and flashing her a grin.
Eudora pressed her lips together, struggling to know what to say next. Luckily, Eddie was a dab hand. “How about we say it with music?” he asked, offering his arm. Eudora accepted, and as they danced, her body grew light with the possibility of how life could be.