by Annie Lyons
She was intrigued by the idea of spending a whole day with Rose and her parents. Eudora didn’t claim to understand the vagaries of modern family relationships but could see that the world had moved on in this respect. There was an egalitarianism to Rob’s relationship with Maggie that was alien to Eudora but which she secretly applauded. However, it was the ease of Rob’s relationship with his daughter that she found both cheering and familiar. It was like a timeless version of the bond she had enjoyed with her own father. It made Eudora feel unexpectedly safe.
“So who’s for ice cream?” asks Rob.
“Me, me, me!” cries Rose, bouncing up and down in front of her father with her hand in the air.
Rob looks past her to Eudora and Stanley, maintaining a poker-straight expression. “No one? Eudora? Stanley? Can I tempt you to an ice cream because at the moment I’ve got no takers?”
“Daddee, stop it!” cries Rose.
“You’re such a tease, Robert,” says Maggie.
“Ooh, Robert,” he says. “She called me ‘Robert.’ I’m in trouble now. If only there was some way of making it up to you all.”
“You could buy us ice cream,” says Eudora, surprising herself by being drawn into their jesting.
“What a good idea,” says Rob. “Thank you, Eudora. Come along then. Ice cream for everyone except Rose, who would probably just like a carrot or something.”
Rose replies by jumping on his back. Rob hitches her higher and gallops off toward the ice-cream kiosk.
“You’re very lucky,” says Eudora to Maggie as they follow after. She glances at Stanley. “You too. You have wonderful families.”
“You’re welcome to be part of ours anytime you like,” says Maggie.
“Thank you” is all Eudora can think to say.
Maggie steals a glance at her. “Do you have any blood relatives anywhere, Eudora?”
Eudora would usually refuse to be cross-examined in this way, but there’s something about Maggie that draws out the sad truth. “No. My father died in the war and my mother died thirteen years ago.”
“No siblings?” asks Maggie, running a hand over her belly.
Eudora hesitates before answering. “I had a sister.”
Maggie hears her emphasis on the past tense. “I’m so sorry.”
They reach the kiosk in time to see Rose receive her ice cream. “What is that?” cries her mother. “It looks incredible.”
Rose takes a lick, rewarding them with a victorious sauce-covered smile. “It’s vanilla toffee chocolate ice cream with nuts, sauce, and sprinkles.”
“What can I get you, Eudora?” asks Rob.
“Well, Rose hasn’t let me down when it comes to fashion, so perhaps I should trust her taste in ice cream too,” says Eudora.
“That’s a vanilla toffee chocolate ice cream with nuts, sauce, and sprinkles, Daddy,” says Rose, puffing out her chest with pride.
“Thank you,” says Eudora.
Rob grins. “Coming right up.”
They carry their ice creams to benches overlooking the sea. Rose is sandwiched between Maggie and Stanley on one bench, while Eudora finds herself sitting next to Rob on another. She stares out at the cloudless hyacinth-blue sky, toward the pale sand where children are building sandcastles and skipping in and out of the water with squealing delight. Eudora remembers this beach and that sacred day when she’d dared to dream. Another life. A different world. She blinks away the memory.
“Your daughter has exceptional taste in ice cream,” she tells Rob. “So how are you settling in to London life? It must be quite a change from Cornwall.”
“You can say that again.” He inhales deeply. “It’s good to take a day to come here. We miss the sea, and I can’t say I enjoy commuting into London, particularly in this heat.” He glances at Eudora. “Have you always lived on Sidney Avenue?”
She nods. “Apart from when I was evacuated during the war.”
“You must have seen a lot of people come and go.”
“That’s something of an understatement. You’re probably the tenth or eleventh family to live next door to me.”
“But we’re the best, right?” says Rob, his eyes glittering with amusement.
Eudora finds his easy humor hard to resist. “That’s still under review.”
He laughs. “Very good. Then we shall do our best to win your heart. Although—and I know I’m biased here—I can’t believe Rose hasn’t already wheedled her way into your affections.”
“She’s certainly wheedled her way into my life,” says Eudora. “She’s quite a character. And we get along rather well, I think.”
“Just a bit. All I get when I come home from work is Guess what Eudora told me today, Daddy, and Eudora said the funniest thing this morning.”
Eudora is astonished. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I expect that will change when she starts school and makes friends her own age.”
Rob stares out to sea. “The thing is, Rose has always struggled to make friends. She was bullied at her last school.”
“Oh,” says Eudora. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“The school tried to sort it out but there’s only so much you can do. It was one of the reasons we decided to come here and make a new start.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, I for one am glad that the two of you are friends. I can already see how it’s boosted her confidence.” They look over to the other bench. Rose is on her feet entertaining Maggie and Stanley with a funky chicken dance. Rob laughs. “Okay, so she’s a little eccentric at times.”
“I think you’ll find the most interesting people are,” says Eudora.
Rob smiles. “See? I knew you got her. Thank you.”
“What on earth for?”
“Your kindness. Maggie and I value it a great deal.”
Their conversation is interrupted as Rose drags her father off to look through the telescope that points out to sea. Eudora watches them, reflecting on Rob’s comments. It hadn’t occurred to her that she was playing a significant role in Rose’s life. It unnerves her slightly but pleases her too. She hasn’t been needed by another human being since her mother died, and now it would seem she is being drawn into the lives of two individuals. Eudora isn’t sure how this has happened but finds the whole notion a great deal less irksome than she expected. She realizes this adds a certain level of complication to her future plans but consoles herself that she is merely passing the time, rather like doing a crossword puzzle while waiting to see the doctor.
They arrive home late that evening after deciding to stay for a fish-and-chips supper so they can avoid the early evening traffic. Rose spends the journey drawing, and as they part company later she presents Stanley and Eudora with a piece of original artwork each.
“This is Stanley fighting off that seagull when it tried to steal his chips.”
“The blighter,” says Stanley.
“And this is Eudora and me, eating cake and watching Pointless together while Monty sleeps on the sofa. See? I’ve even drawn Richard Osman on the telly.”
“It’s a very good likeness,” says Eudora.
“It’s for you to put up in your kitchen,” explains Rose. “To make it a bit more colorful.”
“Thank you.”
Eudora searches in the back of the cupboard among miscellaneous “just in case” pieces of string and redundant keys. “Aha!” she cries, retrieving an ancient packet of Blu Tack, which, according to the yellowing price label, had been purchased for 75p from a now-defunct high-street chain. Eudora sticks Rose’s picture onto the cupboard next to her “Adorable Kittens” calendar. It had been the only one left in the post office when she purchased it earlier in the year. Although it wouldn’t have been her first choice, she has to admit that August’s blue-eyed, soft gray kitten, who gazes out at her from a flowerpot, is rather charming.
“Look, Monty,” she says as the cat saunters into the kitchen. “Rose drew a picture of us.” The cat l
ooks up at her with a bored expression before turning his attention to the biscuits she has just poured out for him. Eudora stands back, satisfied with her handiwork. She lifts the pages of the calendar, noticing the word “Freedom,” which she had written barely a month before. She is about to make some tea when the telephone starts to ring. Eudora hobbles into the living room to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Eudora? This is Petra.”
Eudora’s heartbeat quickens. “Hello, Petra. I was wondering when you might call.”
“How are you, Eudora?”
“I am quite well, thank you. I’m keen to know how my application is progressing. Do you have any news for me?”
“I don’t, I’m afraid. I know you spoke to Doctor Liebermann last week and I’m telephoning to see how things are. I tried to call yesterday but you were not at home.”
“I went out for the day.” The words spill from Eudora’s mouth before she has time to stop them.
“Did you go somewhere nice?”
Eudora is genetically programmed never to lie. “I went to the seaside with some friends.”
“Oh, how lovely.”
“Yes. It was very pleasant but very tiring.”
“Hopefully it was worth the tiredness?”
Eudora remembers Rose’s declaration as they parted company last night that it had been the “Best. Day. Ever.” She dismisses the thought with a shake of her head. “It was an enjoyable day, but it hasn’t changed my mind about my application. I still want to go ahead.”
“I understand,” says Petra. “Well, I know Doctor Liebermann is considering your application very carefully, so it shouldn’t be too long before you hear.”
“I see,” says Eudora.
More waiting and hoping, Eudora. But then you’ve had a lifetime of both so what’s a few more weeks?
“I must say that I am glad you’re making the most of life, Eudora.”
“It’s better than sitting around waiting to die, isn’t it?”
“You’re absolutely right. You’re a remarkable woman, Eudora. Don’t forget that.”
Remarkable, my foot, thinks Eudora as she replaces the telephone in its cradle. I am merely being realistic about life and death. Surely that’s the most sensible thing in the world.
She struggles to a standing position, irritated by her uncooperative joints, and shuffles to the kitchen, her mind on a restorative cup of tea. As she spots Rose’s picture on the cupboard again, she reaches for a pen and turns the calendar pages. She stares at the word “Freedom” for a while before adding a question mark beside it and giving a satisfied nod. It was important to be realistic about these things.
Christmas 1958
The Orchid Ballroom, South-East London
Sylvia had suggested the pre-Christmas outing to a Saturday-night dance. Eudora had tried to protest, but you couldn’t reason with Sylvia once she’d gotten a bee in her bonnet.
“You need to get out of the house on the weekends, meet someone new, forget about . . . you know . . . what happened.”
Eudora had forbidden her friends from mentioning Eddie and Stella by name. She wanted to blot them out, forget they had ever existed. It didn’t work but she had to try.
Patrick Nicholson was one of the senior managers at the bank where Eudora worked, acceding to his position largely due to the fact that his father was on the board of directors. He was handsome with a whiff of Gregory Peck about him and had immaculate dress sense. Eudora didn’t find him remotely attractive even though she knew most of the secretaries would give their eyeteeth to court him. So when he asked if she would like to go dancing sometime, she faced the weight of expectation from both Sylvia and the secretarial pool. She decided to give in, suggesting he join them at the Orchid Ballroom.
“He is such a dish,” exclaimed Sylvia as they waited to check their coats. “And so courteous. The way he helped you out of the car . . . Good heavens, Eudora, if Kenny hadn’t just proposed, I would be insanely jealous.”
“He’s certainly very charming,” said Eudora, looking around at the familiar surroundings of the ballroom and wondering why she had agreed to come. She kept expecting to see Eddie. The very thought made her queasy with sadness.
The evening began well enough. Despite his outwardly debonair appearance, Patrick wasn’t the most elegant dancer, but as he led Eudora in a passable fox-trot, she began to enjoy herself a little. Everyone was in a festive mood. The ballroom was festooned with crepe-paper streamers, honeycomb bells, and baubles. Eudora started to wonder if Patrick could be the answer to her problems. Maybe she was foolish to reject him out of hand; maybe she did deserve to be happy. Perhaps it was time to stop wallowing in self-pity.
As she excused herself to the powder room, Patrick kissed her hand in a way that gave Eudora fresh hope. However, while she was in the cubicle, she overheard two women discussing him.
“Did you see that guy who looks like Gregory Peck?”
“Did I? He keeps giving me the eye.”
“Doris! You’re shameless,” her friend said, laughing.
“Yes, but can you blame him? Did you see the girl he’s with? Talk about an ice queen. He probably just wants someone to have fun with.”
Eudora closed her eyes and waited until their laughter died down and they had left the powder room. She emerged moments later, washed her hands, and went to find Patrick.
“Ahh, here she is!” he cried as she met him by the bar. “I thought you’d gotten lost. Can I get you a drink?”
Eudora wasn’t a drinker. She could see that Patrick was already quite drunk, but the powder-room women’s comments were echoing in her ears. “I’ll have a Babycham, thank you,” she said with as much sophistication as she could muster.
“Your wish is my command,” said Patrick with a satisfied smirk.
Eudora took in her surroundings. Sylvia and Kenny were floating elegantly around the dance floor like a Hollywood couple. She swallowed down her envy as Patrick returned with their drinks.
“Babycham for the lady,” he said, handing it to her. “Cheers!” He knocked his pint glass against hers, slopping some of his beer onto the floor.
“Cheers,” said Eudora, forcing a smile. She noticed a gaggle of women standing nearby who were eyeing them with jealousy. “Shall we find somewhere to sit?”
“As the lady wishes,” said Patrick with a clumsy bow.
Eudora led them to a table in the corner, realizing to her horror that it was a little darker than she had anticipated. She sipped her drink, wincing at its claggy sweetness. Patrick pulled his chair closer, putting an arm around her shoulders. Eudora remained perfectly still, keeping her eyes fixed on the dance floor. She felt Patrick move closer, his breath hot and stale on her cheek.
“You’re a remarkable woman, Eudora,” he whispered, leaning toward her so she was hit with an overpowering aroma of expensive aftershave and cheap beer.
She picked up her glass, forcing herself to drink, trying to ignore the fact that Patrick had placed a hand on her knee. She kept drinking, downing every last drop and then holding up her glass with a flourish. She planned to ask him to fetch her another so she could move to a different, less-secluded table, but Patrick had other ideas. As soon as she placed the glass on the table, he lurched forward and pressed his lips to hers, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Eudora was caught off guard. Her immediate reaction was to shove him as hard as she could. Patrick fell backward onto the floor, much to the amusement of nearby partygoers.
“’Ere mate, I don’t think she likes you!” shouted one man.
“Yeah, better luck next time,” called another.
Humiliated, Patrick stumbled to his feet, glaring at Eudora. “Why did you do that? What’s the matter with you?” he shouted.
“I’m sorry, Patrick. This was all a mistake. I should never have asked you here,” said Eudora, as a tidal wave of panic rose up inside her.
“Oh, I see, you’re one of those girls, are you?” he said, his charm now
replaced with spite.
Eudora blanched as people turned to stare. “Please don’t make a scene.”
Patrick shrugged. “Why? Don’t you want people to know what a tease you are? Leading men on, then giving them the cold shoulder.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.” Patrick’s icy stare chilled Eudora as he added his final insult. “Prick tease.”
Eudora was horrified. She pushed her way through the sniggering crowds, fetched her coat, and fled into the night.
She hoped Patrick might forget the events of this ill-advised evening, but she knew it was in vain when she returned to work on Monday to be greeted with whispers and nudges from her fellow secretaries. Eudora did her best to ignore it, telling herself that today’s news was tomorrow’s fish-and-chips paper.
However, as she was on her way to the bathroom, she overheard Patrick talking to the manager of the female staff.
“I don’t like to speak out of turn, but what is wrong with Eudora?” he asked.
The woman sighed. “I’m not one to gossip, Mr. Nicholson, but I heard that her fiancé ran off with her sister,” she said in less than sympathetic tones.
“Oh dear. How unfortunate. Well, it doesn’t excuse her shameful behavior, but I suppose at least we have an explanation for it.”
“Would you like me to speak to her, sir?”
“No. Thank you, Rosemary. However, might I suggest that you make a note of it on her personnel records? She’s clearly unstable. We need to keep that in mind for the sake of our customers.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. I feel sorry for her, to be honest. Poor Eudora Honeysett will no doubt die an old maid.”
Eudora heard the sound of Rosemary gathering her papers, ready to leave his office, and she rushed to the lavatory. Blinking back tears as she bolted the door behind her, she realized two things: first, she would have to leave her beloved job, and second, Patrick Nicholson’s prognosis of her future life was almost certainly correct.