by Annie Lyons
There is a polite smattering of applause, which doesn’t surprise Eudora. People are loath to hear the truth, particularly when it’s so final.
“I want to go and talk to Hannah,” says Rose. “Will you come with me?”
“Erm, I’m not sure. Maybe Stanley could . . .”
“Stanley’s talking to that lady,” says Rose. Eudora turns to where she is pointing. Stanley is deep in conversation with a woman of about the same age as him. She is wearing a fire-engine-red jacket, which contrasts strikingly with her snowy-white hair.
Eudora curses the fact that he is doing exactly what she wanted him to. “Very well.” She follows Rose over to where Sue and Hannah are chatting. Hannah looks around and smiles with a warmth that’s hard to resist. “Can I ask you a question, please?” asks Rose.
“Of course,” says Hannah.
“Why don’t people want to talk about death?”
Hannah glances at Eudora before answering. “I suppose it’s mostly because they’re afraid.”
“Of dying?”
“Precisely.”
“I was frightened of swimming in the sea, so Dad and I talked it all through and I stopped being frightened. I think talking about the stuff that scares you is very important.”
Hannah nods. “I couldn’t agree with you more. I suppose people are scared of death because it feels so final.”
“But it’s not because the people who’ve died come back on the Day of the Dead. At least that’s what I think.”
“You’re wise, Rose. Keep holding on to those beliefs and keep talking too.”
“Don’t worry, Hannah. I like to talk. Don’t I, Eudora?”
“Indeed,” says Eudora. “In fact, sometimes I worry that you’re going to run out of breath or words.”
Rose laughs. “You’re so funny. Luckily, I never do. So, Hannah, do you have any advice for my friend Eudora, because, you know, death is a bit nearer for her.”
Hannah suppresses a laugh. “Is there anything you would like to know, Eudora?”
“Apart from how to stop Rose from constantly reminding me of my own mortality?” says Eudora.
“I get the feeling she has your best interests at heart,” says Hannah. “Would you consider completing a living will? That way you can let people know what your wishes might be if the situation changes.”
“You should definitely do that,” says Rose.
“I suppose it can’t hurt,” says Eudora, accepting the form from Hannah.
“It’s pretty straightforward. You just need to get it witnessed by your GP.”
“Very well. And thank you for your talk today. It was very interesting and you’re right. People should talk more about death.”
“Thank you, Eudora. Here, take one of my cards in case you ever need me.”
Eudora looks into her dark brown eyes as she takes the card and sees nothing but kindness. She could imagine that Hannah would be a great source of reassurance in your final moments.
“I think I’d make an excellent death doula,” says Rose as they leave the group.
“It would certainly be a chatty end for your clients,” says Eudora.
“I don’t like silence.”
“I’ve noticed that.”
“I’m happy to be your death doula when the time comes, Eudora.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Hello, ladies. Did you enjoy that?” asks Stanley, meeting them in the entrance hall.
“It was very . . . interesting,” says Eudora.
“I enjoyed the badge-making, the biscuits, and the death chat,” says Rose. “How about you?”
“I liked getting out and meeting new people. I met a lovely lady called Sheila, who lost her husband at around the same time as I lost Ada.”
“Sounds like a positive experience all ’round,” says Eudora.
“Thanks for coming!” calls Sue as they head for the door. “Do come along on September the twelfth—Chris the Crooner will be entertaining us with songs across the decades; he’s very popular.”
“Can’t wait,” says Stanley.
“I think I might have a doctor’s appointment that day,” fibs Eudora. Stanley looks disappointed. “But you should go,” she tells him. “I’m sure Sheila will look after you.”
Back at home later that afternoon, Eudora takes out the living will form that Hannah gave her. Her eyes dart back and forth as she reads, searching for something it simply doesn’t offer. It’s all about refusing treatment when it’s too late, when she can’t make decisions for herself. What about those people who are tired and ache from old age and too much life? Where’s the option for them to be allowed to go gently and with dignity? Eudora throws the form to one side and closes her eyes. A good death. It sounded simple and yet felt as plausible as a trip to the moon.
Eudora wakes with a start to the sound of the telephone, knocking her half-empty teacup all over the discarded form as she struggles to answer it.
“Blast!” she says, trying to mop up the spillage with her handkerchief as she picks up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Eudora?”
Eudora drops her makeshift wiping-up cloth as she registers the accent. “This is she.”
“Hallo again, Eudora. This is Greta Liebermann from Klinik Lebenswahl. Is this a good time?”
Eudora sinks into the nearest chair. “Yes, it’s fine,” she says, watching the spilt tea soak into her once pristine handkerchief embroidered with an E. It had been a present from her mother.
“Good. So I have been considering your application in conjunction with my colleagues as I told you I would, and I would like to have a further discussion with you about it.”
Eudora’s mouth is dry. She curses spilling her last drop of tea. “I see.”
Greta continues. “I have reviewed your form, in which you have given me all your medical information. Is this still correct?”
“It is,” says Eudora with as much authority as she can muster.
“Good. And I have spoken with Petra, who has explained your situation to me.”
A germ of hope takes root in Eudora’s mind. She knew Petra wouldn’t let her down. “Then you understand.”
“I do,” says the doctor. “But as I mentioned before, we must have proper, rigorous discussions before any decision is made.”
“I’m not sure what else I can tell you aside from what you already know.”
“Well, let me ask you some more questions. Aside from the conditions you have listed, are you suffering from any other illnesses?”
“No, but I would have thought that old age and its associated indignities and ailments would be sufficient. People certainly don’t hesitate to alleviate an animal’s suffering in this regard.”
“True, but humans have a choice and a voice. We must be sure that an individual is of sound mind before we proceed.”
“I can assure you that I am.”
“And you live alone and have no family?”
Eudora knows what she is getting at and is ready. “Yes, but I am not depressed. I am merely done with life.”
“How do you know you are not depressed?”
Eudora sighs. “I live as active a life as I can. I try to swim or at least leave the house every day. I eat well and sleep reasonably. But I am old and I want to exercise my right to choose how I die.”
“Eudora, believe me, I understand what you are asking and the reasons. You are not the first person to request this, but you have to understand that we need to be sure you are making the right decision.”
“I will sign any document you require.”
“I am glad you have said that because I would like you to complete a living will.”
Eudora glances at the ruined, tea-stained form sitting on the side table. “Very well. Do you have a copy you can send me, please?”
“Naturally. I will send it today.”
“Thank you. Anything else?”
“Yes. I will need up-to-date medical forms from your doctor, bu
t I advise that you don’t tell them what they are for.”
“I understand.”
“Only when I have all this information will I be able to properly make a decision.”
“So you’re not rejecting my application?”
“No, but I’m not promising I will approve it. I can hear your determination and understand your conviction, but I would not be a responsible member of the medical profession if I did not request these documents. I also need to ask you to continue to think seriously about what you are proposing. If you have any doubts or reasons to change your mind, then you should. Life is precious and as long as we have a reason to continue, we should follow that path.”
Montgomery wanders into the living room and jumps onto Eudora’s lap, nuzzling his head against her chin like a positive affirmation of the doctor’s words. “I will,” says Eudora. “And I’ll fill out the form and collate the documents too.”
“Good. Thank you. Promise me you will phone Petra or myself when you need to talk.”
“I will,” lies Eudora. “Thank you, doctor—Greta.”
“You are welcome. Goodbye, Eudora.”
Eudora’s hands are trembling as she places the phone back in its cradle. It’s as if a coin has been flipped. It’s constantly spinning, and Eudora has no idea which way it will land. Heads, you’re granted the thing you’ve wanted for so long. Tails, you stay and live out your days as you are. Montgomery is still nudging her hand in a surprising display of affection.
“Would you miss me then, Monty? Or would you simply go and bother Rose?” The cat replies by butting her chin with his cold, wet nose. “I appreciate your sentiment,” she tells him, scratching the top of his head. He leans in to her touch, moving his neck from side to side. “But what if I stay here? It’s still just you and me in this house. You’re not exactly going to phone an ambulance if I need one, are you?” The cat sits up and stares at her unblinking. “Not that I’d want you to.” Eudora glances at the smiling photograph of her with her parents. She’d do anything to go back to that time of pure, uncomplicated happiness. “Everything’s a moment. Nothing lasts forever,” she murmurs. Montgomery is tired of Eudora’s introspection and nips at her hand to tell her so. “Ow! Get off, you fractious feline!” she cries, shooing him away. Eudora can’t predict how the coin will land but is determined to do all she can to ensure she has some influence over the matter. She picks up the telephone to make an appointment with the doctor.
1959
Sidney Avenue, South-East London
“Happy birthday, Dora dear.”
“Thank you, Mum,” said Eudora, leaning down to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Shall I make some tea?”
“No. You have a seat. I’ll make it. I thought we could have a nice breakfast together. Boiled eggs and soldiers, followed by toast and marmalade. I bought some Rose’s Lemon and Lime especially. Your favorite.”
“Thank you,” repeated Eudora, taking a seat at the kitchen table and wondering why she felt so weary. Weary to her twenty-six-year-old bones. She glanced at the small pile of cards on the table. “Are these for me?”
Beatrice nodded. “Why don’t you open them while I make breakfast? I’ll give you mine afterward.”
“Thank you.”
“Here, use your father’s letter opener.” Beatrice handed over the miniature silver sword. Eudora stared at it for a moment and longed for a time machine to take her back to that afternoon in Piccadilly, to the exact second when it was her and Albert in the tea shop before the air-raid siren wailed. Before life went sour. “Come on, Dolly Daydream!” cried Beatrice. “Aren’t you going to open your cards?”
“Sorry,” said Eudora, slicing through the first envelope and pulling out a card. “Love from Auntie Doris and Hazel.”
Beatrice sniffed. “Birthdays and Christmas. They’re the only times they get in touch. It’s shameful.”
Eudora didn’t reply. They were her father’s siblings, who had never got on with Beatrice and had scarcely been in touch since Albert died. Eudora can’t remember why they fell out. She was fairly certain her mother had forgotten too. Eudora often fantasized about contacting these mythical relatives. It would be nice to have another family member aside from her mother, maybe a couple of cousins near to her own age. They could go on day trips to Clacton or holidays to Eastbourne like Sylvia did with hers.
Eudora opened the next card. Speak of the devil.
Sorry I can’t come out with you on your birthday, Dor—we’re having lunch with Ken’s parents to talk about the wedding—not long now! Let’s go to the flicks just the two of us soon, my treat.
Eudora placed the card to one side, her chest tightening. She missed Sylvia and knew it was only going to get worse. Marriage, babies, a house to run. They would be Sylvia’s priorities from now on. And what did Eudora have? A job working in the bank, where her cards were marked, and life at home with Beatrice.
Eudora felt an immediate pang of guilt. She loved her mother and wanted to protect her. It was still her duty after all these years, and besides, who else did Beatrice have? Her own parents were long gone, and she was an only child. It was all down to Eudora. She would have to make the best of it. Besides, life wasn’t all bad. Her mother was grateful for every kindness Eudora showed. She would cup her daughter’s cheeks and stare into her eyes.
“You’re the best daughter in the world, Dora. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
Beatrice was humming as she moved around the kitchen preparing breakfast. Eudora took a moment to relish her mother’s happy mood. It wasn’t always like this. “The eggs will be ready in two minutes.”
“Lovely,” said Eudora.
The eggs weren’t lovely. They were almost hard-boiled. And the tea was stewed. But the marmalade saved the day.
“I’m so sorry, Dora,” said Beatrice, tears forming in her eyes. “I’ve ruined your birthday breakfast.”
“No, you haven’t,” exclaimed Eudora, reaching out a comforting hand. “The toast is delicious!” She laughed.
Her mother gave a weak smile. “Darling Dora. You always see the best in everything. Here, open your present.”
Eudora accepted the soft, fat parcel as big as a newborn baby, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. She opened it, uncovering a sage-colored hand-knitted cardigan with large brown buttons. “I made it for you,” said Beatrice. “I hope it fits okay.”
Eudora tried and failed to dismiss the overriding thought as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. I am twenty-six years old, living at home with my mother, who is still knitting cardigans for me. “It’s lovely. Thank you, Mum,” she said in a tight voice.
“And now, what are your plans for today?”
“I was thinking of taking a stroll in the park. It’s such a lovely day. We could go together.”
Beatrice blinked rapidly as the shutters of her mind descended. Apart from her job at the school, she rarely left the house. The back garden was her only exception to this rule. Beatrice drew a hand to her throat. “I thought there was rain forecasted later,” she said.
“No. I don’t think so,” said Eudora, unable to suppress her indignation. It was her birthday for heaven’s sake. Couldn’t her mother make an effort today of all days? Eudora’s mind swam with a vision of her slamming her fists on the table, unleashing a Pandora’s box of long-suppressed fury as she demanded to be treated like a daughter for once. Eudora tossed the idea back and forth in her mind before swallowing her annoyance. Yet again. She would never behave like this because it reminded her of Stella. Eudora prided herself on being the antithesis of everything Stella was. No. She would always be better than her traitorous sister. It was her only consolation.
“So will you come to the park with me, please?” asked Eudora. “I’ll treat you to an ice cream.” She flashed her mother an encouraging smile. Keep smiling. Keep moving. Keep calm and carry on.
“Oh, very well. How can I say no to my daughter on her birthday? And I’ll buy the ice creams tod
ay.”
The park was the jewel in the crown of this corner of south-east London. Its circular walk took you on a pleasant, but not too taxing stroll around a large lake populated by a noisy ensemble of ducks and swans. The green space that surrounded the lake was punctuated with oak and chestnut trees looking as pretty as brides on their wedding days. The herbaceous borders were a riot of midsummer color—blue, yellow, orange, and pink all mingled to stunning effect.
Eudora and Beatrice walked arm in arm in the July sunshine. They bought ice creams and sat on a bench overlooking the lake. Eudora closed her eyes, relishing the warmth of the sun on her face, tempered by a gentle summer breeze.
“This is lovely,” she murmured.
“It’s a little chilly in the wind,” said Beatrice.
Eudora’s shoulders stiffened an inch as she did her best to breathe away the irritation. Her mother couldn’t help finding fault with everything. Life had dealt her a raw deal. She wasn’t the only woman to be widowed in her thirties in 1944 but that didn’t make it any easier. And of course the situation with Stella hadn’t helped. They’d both borne the brunt of her wild behavior, and then there was the “episode” as they referred to it now. The details were never discussed, and Eddie and Stella were certainly never mentioned by name. Eudora had wondered if her sister might get in touch at least to let them know she was safe. She didn’t and in truth, it was a relief. No news was good news surely. It meant that Eudora was able to get on with her life as best she could.
Of course she thought about her sister. You didn’t merely switch off sibling love like a light. However, Eudora found that whenever Stella came to mind, her thoughts quickly turned white-hot with anger, and the love that had flowed easily through her veins before became dark and viscous with hatred. There would be no forgiveness this time.