by Annie Lyons
Beatrice had behaved in an almost maternal fashion in the weeks and months following Stella’s departure. She baked cakes for her daughter, placed a consoling hand on her shoulder, and made endless cups of tea.
“Tea and sympathy,” she would say every time she placed the cup and saucer carefully in front of her daughter before busying herself with some other task. She never actually delivered the sympathy, never tried to impart sage words or offer advice. It didn’t surprise Eudora. To be honest, she would have been rather horrified if her mother had attempted to share any wisdom. The only words Eudora ever heard her utter were about Eddie on the day it happened.
“I always knew he was a bad apple,” she said before shaking her head and returning to her sentry position in the kitchen. Eudora watched her go with a sense of loneliness so sharp and overwhelming that she had to tell herself to keep breathing.
Eudora finished her ice cream, wiping her fingers on a handkerchief. She noticed a familiar figure walking in their direction and her heart leapt. Sam Buchanan. The boy she’d rejected out of loyalty to her sister. The boy, now a man, who could have been the one . . . or if not the one, an encounter that gave her the courage to keep searching. He was a distance away but there was no mistaking his confident gait and muscular frame. Sam Buchanan. Strolling toward her in the sunshine, arm in arm with a pretty young wife, carrying a small boy on his shoulders as a little girl with yellow ribbons in her hair skipped in front of them. A perfect family of four.
Eudora hurried to her feet. “I think you’re right, Mum, the wind’s got up. Let’s go home, shall we?”
They were preparing dinner later that evening when the telephone rang. Pork chops, tinned potatoes (“Let’s have a night off the peeling, shall we, Dora?”), and mixed veg, followed by birthday cake.
“I’ll go,” said Eudora, trailing down the hall. “Edenham 7359?”
There was a pause on the line before a voice answered. “Dora.”
Eudora said nothing. She had been waiting for this call for a long time, had practiced in her head all the things she might say, but words failed her. All she could hear was her heart pumping in her head and her sister’s breathing.
“Dora. Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Listen. I know you probably hate me, but I had to call today to wish you a happy birthday. I think about you all the time. I miss you. Do you think about me?”
Stella sounded much younger than her nineteen years. Eudora might have felt sympathy if it weren’t for the plaintive, needy tone, which brought to mind all the reasons Eudora despised her.
“NEVER call here again,” she said before replacing the handset and walking slowly back to the kitchen.
“Who was that?” asked her mother.
“Interference on the line,” said Eudora. “It was no one.”
Beatrice put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Are you having a good birthday?” she asked.
Eudora stared into her eyes and saw her mother’s desperation. “It’s been lovely, thanks, Mum,” she lied, tipping the tinned potatoes into a pan and carrying them to the stove.
Chapter 12
Eudora is out shopping the next day when she sees the sunflowers. There’s something about their huge yellow blooms that reminds her of Rose. She thinks Maggie will appreciate this too. Eudora also spots a bag of “Unicorn Foamies” in the sweets aisle and places them in her basket, along with the flowers and a handful of other items.
Eudora walks back from the shops in the sunshine, enjoying the sensation of warmth on her face, relieved that summer’s relentless heat has tempered into something more palatable. She quickens her step, eager to reach Rose’s house and deliver her gifts. Eudora has barely set foot on the garden path when the door flings open.
“Eudora!” cries Rose, standing on the doorstep wearing an unusually conservative white blouse on her top half and bright pink knickers on her bottom half. “Are you coming in?”
“If you’re not busy,” says Eudora, casting a questioning glance at Rose’s ensemble.
“Mum is making me try on my school uniform, which is obviously incredibly boring, so no, we’re not busy at all. I’m glad you’re back. I saw you leave about an hour ago and was starting to get worried.”
Eudora steps over the threshold. “Just for my own information, Rose, do you spend most of your time checking my movements?”
Rose seesaws her head from side to side as she considers this. “Not just you. I look out for Stanley too. And Daddy obviously. Although he’s not usually home until approximately 7:13 p.m.”
“Approximately?”
Rose nods. “His train gets in at seven-oh-five and it takes him eight minutes to walk up the road.”
“And woe betide him if he’s a minute late,” says Maggie, appearing in the hallway. “How are you, Eudora?”
“A little concerned that my every move is being monitored by the secret police,” she says. “But apart from that, I am quite well. How are you today?”
“Tired and uncomfortable but hopefully it won’t be for much longer. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”
“Tea. Please.”
“Come through,” says Maggie, leading them to the kitchen.
“These are for you,” says Eudora, offering her the flowers. “As a belated thank-you for the trip to the seaside.”
“Oh, you didn’t need to do that,” says Maggie, accepting them. Eudora always wonders why people say this. Of course no one needs to do anything. She is caught off guard by Maggie leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Eudora.”
The scent of strawberries that she catches from Maggie is comforting. “And these are for you, Rose.” She offers the sweets, bracing herself for the inevitable hug.
Rose doesn’t disappoint. “Unicorn foamies! Thank you, Eudora. You’re the best,” she says, wrapping her arms around her middle.
Eudora catches sight of Maggie pausing to catch her breath as she fills the kettle. “Rose, why don’t you help me make the tea so that your mother can sit down?”
“Good plan,” says Rose. “That way I can make it for you every time I come over to your house too.”
Eudora isn’t sure if this is a threat or a promise. “Very well. Fill the kettle, please, and fetch the teapot,” she says, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
Maggie heaves herself into the chair opposite and pulls a face. “Sorry, Eudora. We don’t own a teapot.”
Eudora winces. “No wonder civilization is on its knees. Very well. What do you have?”
“Erm, mugs and tea bags?”
Eudora narrows her eyes. “What kind of tea?”
“Yorkshire?”
“Thank heavens for small mercies.”
Rose laughs. “Don’t you just love the way Eudora talks, Mummy?”
Maggie smiles. “I do.”
“Now then, Rose. Place a tea bag in each mug and pour on the boiling water the second it boils. This is very important.”
“Aye aye, captain,” says Rose. She follows Eudora’s instructions with care. “Now what?”
“We allow it to steep for about three minutes, which means we leave the tea bag in the water to help the flavor develop.”
“Steep. I like that word.” Rose begins to fidget. “Is it time yet? Has it steeped?”
Eudora fixes her with a stern look. “You’re not very patient, are you, Rose?”
Maggie clears her throat in agreement.
“I just don’t like waiting,” says Rose, jigging from foot to foot.
“How about you go and put on the bottom half of your uniform to show me and then I’ll tell you a secret.”
Rose’s eyes widen. “I love secrets!”
“I thought you might,” says Eudora, watching her skip back to the living room.
“How did you know to do that?” asks Maggie, impressed.
“I haven’t always been this old. I can just about remember what it was like to be young.”
&
nbsp; Maggie laughs. “It sounds as if you had an interesting trip to the group. Rose is now committed to becoming a death doula.”
“It was interesting, but I hope you didn’t mind her being there. I hadn’t realized that talk was taking place. You might not have wanted her to sit through a presentation on death.”
Maggie smiles. “We’ve never shied away from talking to Rose about death or any other tricky topics. She had to face it when Dad died, and I’ve also had several miscarriages.”
Eudora’s shoulders stiffen. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she says, forcing herself to meet Maggie’s eye.
“Thank you, Eudora,” she says, her expression twisted with sorrow. “I find the best way to deal with these things is to talk.” Eudora clears her throat. “But I know that’s not for everyone,” she adds kindly.
Eudora holds her gaze for a moment longer. “You look exhausted, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Maggie sighs. “Life is tiring, Rose is full-on, and being pregnant doesn’t help. I haven’t been sleeping that well either.”
“It must be uncomfortable,” says Eudora.
“Yes, but it’s not only that. I’m also worried about my mum. We moved here because of Rob’s work and as a fresh start for Rose, but she’s struggling without us. I miss her too.”
“Could she move nearer?”
Maggie shakes her head. “There’s no way she’ll leave Cornwall. She’s got good friends around her but life’s been hard since Dad died.”
“How long were they married?”
“Over fifty years. Everybody deals with grief in different ways. It’s an entirely personal thing, but I think it molds you into something better if you let it. It’s certainly made me think about what kind of person I want to be.”
Eudora leans forward, her interest piqued. “And what kind of person do you want to be?”
Maggie fixes her with a clear blue gaze as wide-open as the ocean. “When Dad died, everyone was so kind. People who I hadn’t heard from or barely knew got in touch to tell me how sad they were or how much he was loved. There’s great comfort in kindness. I value it above almost everything else these days. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do,” admits Eudora.
Maggie continues. “I always used to think it was silly when people said life was short, but I completely get that now. We’re here for such a limited time. The least we can do is try to be kind to the people around us. Humans seem to forget that so easily.”
Eudora is swept along by her words, as if a great truth has unexpectedly landed at her feet. “If only more people shared this sentiment.”
“Oh, but I think they do,” says Maggie. “We only hear or notice the negative stuff. There is definitely more good than bad in the world.”
Eudora stares at her, longing to believe this but knowing from her own experience that it simply isn’t true. “It’s a noble belief.”
“I’m ba-ack and ready to hear the se-cret!” cries Rose, skipping into the kitchen. She is now wearing her complete school uniform but in true Rose fashion has adapted the outfit. Her blue-and-white-striped tie is a bandanna, her collar is undone, and her blouse is tied in the middle, revealing a good half-inch of belly.
“Right. Let’s sort the tea and then we can turn our attentions to your sartorial issues,” says Eudora.
“Does that mean you’ll tell me the secret?”
“Only if your tea passes muster.”
Rose takes the rest of the task very seriously and it’s not long before they are drinking tea and eating the unicorn sweets. Eudora then teaches Rose to tie an acceptable Full Windsor before persuading her to wear her uniform as it was intended. She gives an approving nod. “You look very smart. The reason I wanted you to dress properly is because you’re going to the primary school I attended when I was your age.”
“Really?” says Maggie, impressed.
“Oh. Is that the big secret then?” says Rose, folding her arms.
“I thought you’d be pleased to be going to the same school as Eudora,” says her mother.
“I am.” Rose’s face clouds. “It’s just that I’m not sure if I want to go.”
Eudora studies her expression. She detests the modern penchant for sharing every last worry, but she notices the frowns creasing Rose’s usually carefree face and doesn’t like it. “What’s the matter, Rose?”
Rose shoots her a sideways glance. “What if the girls at this school are as mean as the ones from my last school?” she says quietly.
“I’m sure they won’t be . . .” begins Maggie in soothing tones.
“Then you come to me and I will help you deal with them,” interjects Eudora with a vehemence that surprises even her. Maggie smiles.
“Really?” says Rose. “How?”
Eudora purses her lips. “I have my methods. I may well trip them up with my walking stick.”
Rose’s face brightens. “You’d do that for me?”
Eudora looks into her eyes. “I am very old and have no truck with bullies. I am therefore excellent at dealing with them and fully prepared to teach you everything I know.”
“A bit like when Mum says she’s ‘got my back’?” asks Rose, her expression lifting with hope. Maggie reaches out, pulling her daughter into a tight hug.
“If you like,” says Eudora, touched by their easy affection. The world may indulge itself with grotesque oversharing these days, but it also knows when to fold the disheartened into its arms.
“Well, I’ve got your back too. And Stanley’s.”
“Thank you, Rose.”
“Did you know it’s Stanley’s birthday tomorrow?”
“I didn’t.”
“And are you free tomorrow night?” asks Rose, flashing a conspiratorial grin at Maggie.
“What are you two up to?” asks Eudora.
“Nothing,” chorus Rose and Maggie with glee.
Eudora folds her arms. “Out with it.”
Maggie smiles. “Stanley told me that he always went with Ada to that pizza place on the high street on his birthday, and I know he’s not seeing his family until the weekend, so Rose and I thought . . .”
“That you and I should go with Stanley to help him celebrate his birthday!” cries Rose triumphantly.
“Pizza?” says Eudora in horror, recalling with a shudder the countless takeaway leaflets bearing images of greasy, oozing cheese on top of something professing to be bread.
“This isn’t any old pizza, Eudora. It’s all freshly made, and their olives are to die for. I think you’ll like it,” says Maggie.
“Pleeease?” says Rose. “For Stanley?”
Eudora stares at them both for a moment before throwing up her hands in defeat. “Oh, very well. Let’s just hope they make an acceptable salad.”
The Numero Uno pizzeria, nestled between a nail bar and a betting shop on the high street, turns out to be something of a revelation to Eudora. She has lost count of the number of times she has passed its unassuming red-canopied frontage, and yet, once inside, it is as if Eudora has been transported to the Mediterranean. The walls are decorated with murals depicting views of the Italian landscape—the Amalfi Coast, the villages of Puglia, St. Mark’s Square in Venice—and the low-beam ceilings are hung with lanterns and garlands of foliage that look to Eudora as if they might be fashioned from olive and bay leaves.
“Ooh, I love it in here; it’s so cozy and welcoming,” says Rose, echoing Eudora’s thoughts.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome, Mister Stanley,” cries a short, round man with a smart mustache, hurrying forward to shake hands with him. “I reserve my very best table for you and your guests.”
“Thank you, Francesco,” says Stanley. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too, my friend. We still miss your beautiful Ada, but we know she is eating grissini in heaven, no?” Stanley nods sadly and Francesco pats him on the back. “And who are these beautiful ladies?”
Rose beams at him. “I’m Rose. And this is Eudora. We�
��ve come to help celebrate Stanley’s birthday with him.”
Francesco claps a hand to his forehead. “But of course, it’s Mister Stanley’s birthday. Thank you for reminding me, Miss Rose. Gino!”
A cheerful-looking man with dark curly hair looks up from where he’s mixing a cocktail at the bar. “Yes, boss?”
“A bottle of prosecco and some of our special olives on the house for my friends here, please.”
“Coming right up, boss.”
Francesco bows to their table. “I wish you a wonderful evening, and if you need anything at all, please ask.”
“I like that man,” says Rose, watching him go. “You’re like a celebrity in here, Stanley.”
“Ada and I always came here for high days and holidays. She was the real celebrity. I can remember her singing ‘That’s Amore’ with Francesco up there,” he says, gesturing to the mezzanine. “I just watched her and thought, How did I get so lucky?” He brushes away a tear.
“Here, have a menu,” says Eudora.
“Thank you, Eudora. So, what do you think of the place?” asks Stanley, his eyes glittering with hope.
“It has a very pleasant atmosphere,” says Eudora, perusing the menu. “I think I might choose the salade Niçoise.”
“You should try their pizza—the Quattro Stagioni is really something,” says Stanley.
Eudora frowns. “I’m not really one for pizza.”
“This isn’t any ordinary pizza though. It’s all fresh ingredients.” Eudora watches as a waitress brings out a large pizza on a wooden board and places it on the table next to them. It’s certainly not what Eudora imagined. The smell of garlic and herbs is intoxicating.
“I love all pizza, even ham and pineapple. Although Dad says it’s the food of the devil.”
“Your father is a wise man, Rose,” says Eudora.
“Aww, he likes you too, Eudora.”
The waiter appears with their drinks and olives. He opens the prosecco with a loud, satisfying pop and pours a glass each for Eudora and Stanley. “Would you like a drink?” he asks Rose.
“Could I have lemonade, please?”