by Annie Lyons
“Coming right up.”
Rose pops an olive into her mouth. “Man, these are good. Try one, Eudora.”
“Very well.” She chooses a fat green olive and is amazed. It’s like nothing she’s ever eaten before—salty, creamy, and absolutely delicious. “That’s very pleasant,” she says, placing the stone on the saucer under the olive bowl. Once Rose has her lemonade, Stanley picks up his glass for a toast.
“I would like to thank you for making my birthday so special—I am honored to be here with you both tonight. Cheers.”
“Cheers!” they chorus, raising their glasses in reply. Eudora takes a sip. The fresh, crisp fizz is unexpectedly welcome.
“I’ve made you something, Stanley,” says Rose, handing him an A4 envelope.
“What do we have here then?” asks Stanley, pulling out the card. He breaks into a huge grin when he sees the picture. “Is that you, me, and Eudora?”
Rose nods with glee.
“It’s wonderful, Rose. Look, Eudora—it’s us on the merry-go-round.”
Eudora takes the card and can’t help but chuckle. It’s a warts-and-all appraisal of the three of them. Both her and Stanley’s faces are as wrinkled as old paper bags, while Rose’s eyes are comically huge. They look wildly happy.
“I copied it from a photo Daddy took,” says Rose, her voice laced with pride. “It took ages.”
“I bet,” says Eudora. “You’re a very lucky man,” she tells Stanley.
“Don’t worry, Eudora,” says Rose. “I’ll do the same for you on your birthday, and it will be a different picture because we will have had lots more adventures by then.”
A shiver of regret courses through Eudora’s mind as she considers the possibility that she may not be around to experience any of this. She brushes away the thought and reaches into her bag. “I’ve got something for you too, Stanley.”
“Oh. Thank you, Eudora,” he says.
Eudora hands him a parcel wrapped in plain brown paper. “Sorry I didn’t have fancier wrapping.”
Stanley holds the parcel, turning it in his hands. “This is very kind, Eudora. I’m touched.”
“O-pen it! O-pen it!” chants Rose.
Stanley smiles. He tears at the paper like a little boy who’s just discovered his bulging stocking on Christmas morning and pulls out a book. He chuckles when he sees the title. “Crosswords! That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.” Stanley leaps up and plants a kiss on Eudora’s cheek.
Rose looks as if she’s about to explode with delight, while Eudora is momentarily stunned into silence before her words tumble forth. “Well, I thought it might be useful. You’re always saying you need to keep your noggin ticking over.”
“Noggin!” says Rose. “I love that word.”
“I’ve written a message inside, so give them a try and see how you get on. I’m happy to help if you get stuck.”
Stanley opens the front cover and reads. “To Stanley, keep your pencil sharp and your brain sharper. All the best on your birthday, Eudora.” He rests a hand on his heart.
“That’s lovely, Eudora,” says Rose, hugging herself.
“It’s only a little something,” says Eudora.
“It means the world to me,” says Stanley. “Really. I feel very lucky to have met you both and to be able to share my birthday celebrations with you. To make new friends at my age, well, it’s quite a thing. I have to tell you that when Ada died I never thought I’d be happy again. Don’t get me wrong, my family are wonderful, but they’ve got their own lives and friends. But you two have given me new hope. And I can’t thank you enough.” Stanley’s eyes are brimming with tears.
Eudora used to find his outpourings distasteful, but his words strike a chord tonight. She wants him to stop crying, but not for her. She doesn’t like to see him upset. She wants this funny little man to be happy. It’s the very least he deserves. “No tears tonight, Stanley,” she says. “Ada wouldn’t want that. She’d want you to enjoy your birthday.” She raises her glass. “Here’s to Ada. And to you, Stanley. Happy birthday!”
Stanley sniffs back his tears and clinks glasses with them. “Thank you, Eudora—for keeping me on the straight and narrow.”
“It appears to be my job now,” she says with a knowing smile.
“Excellent speech, Eudora,” says Rose.
“Are you ready to order?” asks the waiter.
“I’ll have the Quattro Stagioni, thank you,” says Stanley.
“Same for me,” says Eudora, closing her menu and glancing at Stanley. “But if I don’t like it, I shall blame you.”
“I reckon I’m safe.”
“Sal-sicc-ia pizza for me, please,” says Rose, reading carefully from the menu. She gazes up at the waiter with hopeful eyes. “Did I say that right?”
“Perfetto!” says the waiter, beaming at her.
Later that evening, Eudora scrapes the last morsel of tiramisu from her bowl and wipes her mouth with a napkin. She can’t remember a time when she enjoyed a meal more. She glances over at Rose, whose face is covered in chocolate, having just licked her bowl.
A waitress appears. “How was everything?”
“Wonderful. Thank you,” says Stanley.
She smiles and starts to clear their plates. “Thank you,” says Rose as she picks up her bowl.
“Your granddaughter has beautiful manners,” she says to Eudora and Stanley. “She’s a credit to you.”
“Thank you,” says Eudora, avoiding Stanley’s gaze.
“So we’re adopting Rose now, are we?” asks Stanley as the waitress disappears.
“For one night only,” she says, grasped by an unexpected split-second wish that life had dealt her a different hand—a life of small sticky faces and hand-drawn birthday cards.
“I’m happy to pretend to be your granddaughter anytime,” says Rose, patting Eudora on the shoulder.
“Thank you, Rose. I appreciate that,” says Eudora, shifting in her chair. “Now, I think we should get the bill. And I don’t want any arguments. I’m paying.”
“Thank you, Eudora,” says Rose.
“I know never to argue with a determined woman, so thank you from me too,” says Stanley.
“My pleasure,” says Eudora.
“Although I must say that if I’d known you were paying, I would have had the steak,” says Stanley, winking at Rose. She giggles.
“Foolish man,” says Eudora.
“Oh, and before I forget,” says Stanley, “Paul’s invited you both to the family barbecue on Saturday.”
Rose adopts a serious expression. “Will there be sausages?”
Stanley nods. “And burgers.”
“Then I’m in.”
“Eudora?”
Eudora has never been to a barbecue in her life and, up until this evening, would have happily gone to her grave without ever attending one. But she hadn’t eaten pizza until this evening either and that has turned out rather well. “Thank you. That will be very—”
“Pleasant!” chorus Stanley and Rose. Eudora stares at them in amazement.
“You always say that when you like something more than you want to let on,” says Rose, high-fiving Stanley.
“Do I indeed?” says Eudora, her lips pursing into a smile. “For your information I was going to say that it will be very enjoyable.”
“Fibber!” says Stanley. “I’m glad you can come though. The family all enjoyed meeting you at Paul’s do.”
“Oh. Well, that’s lovely,” says Eudora, folding her napkin carefully and placing it on the table, realizing to her surprise that she is rather looking forward to it. “Now then, I promised your mother we’d have you home by ten o’clock, so chop-chop!”
As she falls asleep later that night, a sense of calm descends over Eudora. It might be the food or the prosecco, but she finds herself playing the same thought over in her head as she drifts off to sleep.
Life is precious and as long as we have a reason to continue, we should follow that path.
1961
The bootees were the most darling thing Eudora had ever seen. She cupped them in her palm, running a gentle finger over the soft white wool and satin ribbons. They were perfect. She laid them on the table next to the matching matinee jacket and bonnet. It was the third set her mother had knitted this month.
“You’ve got to have one in each size,” said Beatrice with a satisfied smile. “Babies grow so fast.”
Eudora patted her mother’s shoulder, pleased she had found happiness in her knit-one-purl-one industry. The click-clack of her knitting needles while she listened to the Light Programme every evening was a reassuring sound for Eudora. It signified that Beatrice was as content as she could be.
Eudora dreaded returning from work to a silent house, whose only noise was the heavy ticking of her father’s Enfield clock. Inevitably, she would find her mother sitting in a gloomy kitchen, staring without seeing. A cup of stone-cold tea by her side was a positive sign that she had at least brewed a pot following her return from the school. It meant that Eudora would be able to rouse her into an evening routine. But no tea, silence, and darkness were the holy trinity of desperation for Eudora; a signal that there was a long night ahead.
So she was delighted that the news of a baby had inspired Beatrice into a frenzy of activity. Eudora didn’t even mind that the baby wasn’t hers. She had given up hope that she would marry and have children now and was delighted for Sylvia. Motherhood mattered to her friend. It was the thing she longed for most.
“Oh, Dor, I can’t wait for the baby to come,” she cried, patting her rounded middle and linking her arm through Eudora’s as she led her into the nursery. Eudora took in the sparkling new crib and the neat piles of folded nappies and was relieved that it was Sylvia instead of her about to embark on this journey.
“I’m so happy for you,” she said.
Sylvia gripped her friend by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “It’s not too late for you, you know. I’m sure your prince charming is just over the next hill.”
“I’m happy as I am. Really.”
Sylvia cocked her head to one side, her face folding into a look of deep sympathy. “You’re very brave, Dora. I don’t know how you do it.”
What choice do I have? thought Eudora as she walked home later that afternoon. And besides, I am happy. Or at least, I’m not unhappy.
This was true. She still enjoyed her job and, thankfully, Patrick Nicholson had been sacked after an indiscretion with one of the partners’ wives. Dipping his nib in the company ink was how one of the younger, coarser secretaries had put it. It meant that her role at work was safer, and as a more senior secretary, she was afforded greater respect and a modicum more money. What’s more, her life at home with Beatrice had improved with her mother’s new phase of contentment. She scarcely ever gave a thought to Stella. Out of sight, out of mind. It was better that way.
So really, Eudora couldn’t complain. She had enough money to go to the cinema when she wanted and lived a comfortable existence. At one stage she might have liked a husband and a family, but you couldn’t mourn what you’d never had. This was enough for her. There were plenty worse off, not least all the poor souls who had perished during the war so that she might enjoy her freedom. No. She had no right to grumble at all.
She opened the front door to the deafening quiet, broken only by the clock’s ticking.
“Mum? Are you here?” she called, hoping that perhaps Beatrice had stepped out for a moment. There was a tiny yelp of affirmation from the kitchen. Eudora’s heart quickened as she rushed forward. “What’s wrong, Mum? What’s happened?”
Beatrice was sitting in her usual position, a tea towel clutched in one hand, her handkerchief in the other. She looked small and scared, like a child who needed its mother. Eudora reached out a hand, touching her on the shoulder. “Mum? Tell me what’s wrong,” she said softly.
“Stella,” said Beatrice, uttering the name with a mixture of anguish and despair. “She telephoned.”
“Oh,” said Eudora. “What did she want?”
“She wouldn’t tell me,” cried Beatrice. “Her own mother and she wouldn’t speak to me. She said she wanted to talk to you and that she would phone again.”
Eudora sighed. “Did she sound okay?”
Beatrice shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know!”
Her sobs intensified. Eudora pulled her close. “Shhh, Mum. It’s okay. You don’t need to upset yourself.”
“But I’ve failed,” said Beatrice through hiccupping sobs. “Failed as a mother.”
“No, you haven’t,” said Eudora. “Stella made her own choices. It’s not your fault.”
Beatrice nodded, wanting to believe her daughter. “Why does she hate me so much, Dora?”
“She doesn’t hate you. She’s just lost her way. Now come along, let’s have a nice cup of tea. That will make us feel a bit better, won’t it? And I can tell you all about Sylvia. She loved the jacket set, by the way.”
“Did she?” asked Beatrice, brightening.
Eudora nodded. “She really did. She said she’s going to write to thank you.”
“Well, I know it must be hard for her having lost her own mother. I wasn’t sure if she’d have anyone else to knit things for the baby.”
“That’s kind of you.” Eudora was a little envious that her best friend was on the receiving end of Beatrice’s maternal empathy. She couldn’t recall ever being rewarded in such a way herself. She set about filling the kettle and placing it on the stove as the telephone began to ring.
“Oh,” wailed Beatrice, clutching her handkerchief to her throat.
“It’s all right,” said Eudora. “I’ll deal with whoever it is.” She strode down the hall, her mind racing. She picked up the receiver with a trembling hand and tried to inject her voice with more courage than she felt. “Edenham 7359.”
“Dora. It’s Stella. Please don’t hang up.”
Eudora hesitated. Even after all this time, after the betrayal that had set hard in her brain like concrete, she found it hard to refuse. “I told you never to call here again.”
“I know but I’m in trouble and I want to come home.”
Eudora’s laugh was bitter. “Really.”
“Please, Dora. Just hear me out.”
“Well, come along then. What is it now? Has Eddie abandoned you?”
“No, but I am pregnant.”
“Congratulations.”
“Dora, please. This isn’t easy for me.”
It was as if a dam had burst. Eudora’s words flowed fast and savage. “Oh, and you think this is easy for me, do you? To be abandoned, to be betrayed, to be left behind. By the one person you should always be able to trust. You think this has been a stroll in the park for me, do you?”
Stella’s voice was small and hollow. She sounded different to Eudora, older but diminished too. “No. And I know you won’t believe me, but the thing I regret most is hurting you, Dora. You were always so kind to me.”
“Well, that’s a turn up, because the thing I regret most, Stella, is ever being kind to you.”
There’s a pause. “I’m scared, Dora.” Eudora said nothing, so Stella continued. “It’s Eddie. He’s drinking too much and he’s, well, he’s not very nice to be around. I’m frightened for the baby. I need somewhere to go. You’re the only person I can ask, Dora. Please. I’m begging you. If not for me then for the child.”
Eudora thought about her conversation with her mother, about her life now, relatively calm and peaceful, about the hurt she’d worked so hard to banish. It had taken a long time but she’d managed it.
“Dora? Please help me. Please?”
Eudora glimpsed the photograph of her father in full uniform staring out at her from its position on the telephone table, his face unusually grave apart from the customary softness around his eyes.
So, will you look after Mummy and the baby for me? Please?
His words rippled back to h
er from the past, tangling their way into her brain.
I said I would, but I didn’t realize you meant forever. I thought you’d come back. I didn’t know I’d have to do it alone.
“Dora?” pleaded Stella.
Eudora closed her eyes. “Where are you?”
“I’m—” There was a click-whirr as the line went dead.
“Stella? Stella?” Eudora pressed the receiver button repeatedly in a vain attempt to bring her sister back. She held it against her forehead for a moment, trying to breathe away the relief and regret that snaked around her brain. The clock struck six o’clock. “Time for tea,” she murmured, avoiding the gentle gaze of her father as she replaced the receiver in its cradle and made her way back to the kitchen.
Chapter 13
“Who’s for another sausage then?” asks Paul, holding up a plate.
“Me please!” cries Rose, darting her hand into the air like a school pupil trying to get the teacher’s attention.
“You’ll pop if you eat any more,” warns Eudora.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” says Rose, sweeping two sausages onto her plate. “Thank you, Paul.”
“You’re welcome. Eudora?”
“No, thank you,” she says. “I am replete.”
Rose laughs. “Don’t you just love the way Eudora talks? ‘Replete.’ So funny. What does that mean?”
“Sated,” says Eudora with a wry smile.
Paul and Rose exchange nonplussed glances. “Full,” says Stanley. “It was the answer to a clue in one of those crosswords the other day. I had to look it up.”
“Bravo, Stanley,” says Eudora, applauding him.
He gives a modest curtsy and Rose laughs. “This is so much fun. Much better than being at home with boring Mummy.”
“Now then, Rose. You mustn’t be so hard on your mother. She’s very tired,” says Eudora.
“Yes. Because of the stupid baby.”
“Don’t worry, Rose. I didn’t like my sister when she was born either,” says Stanley’s granddaughter Livvy, taking a place in the chair next to Eudora. “But it’s actually quite handy when you get older and you need to borrow clothes.”