by Annie Lyons
“I hope she shares my excellent taste in fashion then.”
Livvy takes in Rose’s leopard print leggings paired with a neon-orange T-shirt and smiles. “Well, as big sister you’ll have to teach her.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve already started a list of everything she needs to know. And I’ve made a big ‘Keep Out’ sign for my bedroom door too.”
“Very wise,” says Livvy.
“Didn’t you have a sister?” says Rose to Eudora. “Or am I being nosy again?”
Eudora stares at the ice cubes bobbing up and down in her drink. “You are being nosy, Rose, but it’s all right. I did have a sister. Once.”
“Oh,” says Rose. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you sad.”
“No. I don’t mind,” says Eudora. There’s something about the way that Stanley’s family wraps everything in love that puts her at ease. “She was called Stella. She was seven years younger than me.”
“Stella,” says Rose, trying it out. “I like that.”
“It means ‘star,’” says Stanley.
“It does,” says Eudora.
“Wow, you had seven years between you? I thought two was bad enough,” says Livvy.
“There’s ten years between Daisy and me,” says Rose, puffing out her chest. “So, did you get on or was she annoying?”
Eudora’s eyes soften at the memory. “I adored her when she was small. She was full of spirit and fun. A bit like you, Rose.”
“Aww, thanks, Eudora. And what happened? Did you stay besties when she grew up?”
Eudora’s body stiffens. She’d forgotten about Rose’s forensic quest for facts. A sentimental stroll down a lane of happy memories was one thing, but veering toward a dead end of bitter truths was wholly undesirable. Eudora clears her throat. “Not really. She moved away and we never really saw each other again.”
“Oh. That’s so sad. You must have missed her.”
“It was a long time ago.” She can see that Rose is poised, like a sniffer dog on the hunt for clues. She turns to Stanley’s daughter-in-law. “So, Helen, your clever daughter has been telling me that she wants to work in television and her sister hopes to train as a vet?”
“I don’t know where they get it from,” says Paul, joining their conversation. “It must be their mum’s influence,” he adds, winking at his wife.
Helen smiles. “They’re good girls,” she tells Eudora. “Always have been. I keep them close. We’ve had a few trials this week, haven’t we, Liv?”
Livvy nods slowly. “I broke up with my boyfriend. We’ve been together since we were fourteen.”
“Oh. That’s so sad,” says Rose.
“Terrible,” echoes Eudora, relieved that she is now distracted by another tale of heartbreak.
“I should have gone ’round and had a word,” says Paul. “No one cheats on my girls.”
“And I should have come with you,” says Stanley.
Livvy and Helen roll their eyes at each other. “But thankfully, they didn’t,” says Helen. “Instead we ate two tubs of Ben and Jerry’s and watched a whole season of Friends.”
“Well, I have no idea who Ben, Jerry, or these friends are, but it sounds as if you’ve got the best mother in the world,” says Eudora. She thinks of Beatrice. She couldn’t imagine anyone more different from Helen. “Trust me, you are extremely lucky.”
“I am,” says Livvy, putting an arm around her mum. “She told me I can do a lot better and I believe her.”
“And so you should,” says Eudora. “Any man who makes you feel less than you are isn’t worth a jot of your time.”
“I know. It’s just that we’d been together for ages and we were good mates, you know? I’m sad that our friendship had to end as well.”
“The truth is that sometimes even those you’re closest to can let you down. There’s nothing you can do about it. You’re a confident, intelligent young woman. I have no doubt that you will find a man who is worthy of you. And if you don’t, I suspect you’ll be magnificent regardless.”
“Thank you, Eudora,” says Livvy. “That’s a lovely thing to say.”
“Am I a confident, intelligent young woman?” asks Rose hopefully.
Eudora and Livvy exchange amused glances. “You’re one in a million, Rose,” says Eudora.
“Right. Who’s ready to sing?” They all look up to see Helen, carrying in a large rectangular cake. It’s decorated with the words “Happy Birthday Pops!” and a fondant icing model of Stanley wearing sunglasses, lying in a deck chair, with a handkerchief on his head. The twenty or so candle flames dip and waver in the breeze, but somehow Helen manages to keep them alight as they sing. Eudora looks around at these people, turning their smiling faces toward Stanley, like flowers in the sun. She envies their easy companionship, their pure, uncomplicated love for one another.
“Make a wish!” cries Rose as they finish singing, and Stanley blows out the candles. It takes him several attempts to extinguish all of them.
“Lucky we didn’t stick the right number of candles on there, Pops! We did try but we couldn’t get the fire insurance,” says Paul.
“Dad!” cries Ellie, rolling her eyes. “You tell that joke every year.”
“That’s because it’s such a good one,” says Paul, ruffling her hair.
Ellie holds up her hands. “Never. Touch. The Hair. Dad.”
Paul laughs.
“What? Do you mean you actually meant your hair to look like that?” says Livvy, arching a brow.
Ellie purses her lips. “What? Do you actually mean your face to look like that?”
“Girls,” says Helen, putting an arm around each of them. “Let’s not fight about nothing today, shall we?”
“JK, Mum, chill.”
“Yeah, Mum. We’re joking. Chill.”
Helen turns to Eudora and Rose. “Remember what I said about them being good girls? I take it all back.”
Ellie and Livvy link arms with their mother and plant fat kisses on her cheeks. “Oh, Mummy, you don’t mean it.”
Rose giggles. “I want Daisy and me to be just like them when we grow up.”
Eudora’s smile is tempered by a shiver of melancholy at the thought that she won’t be around to see this. “I hope you get your wish, Rose,” she says. “Now, shall we get you home? I expect your mother will be wondering where you are.”
Eudora waves Stanley off and lets herself in through the front door. It’s cool but gloomy in the hall compared with the dazzling brightness outside. She experiences a momentary sensation of dizziness, which she puts down to that afternoon’s exertions. It’s been enjoyable but exhausting.
“Tea and a sit-down is all I need,” she tells Montgomery, who greets her from the kitchen doorway with an impatient meow. “And yes, I’ll give you some food too. Don’t worry.”
The persistence with which he weaves himself around her ankles until she complies with his wishes is another stark reminder of why she is relieved she never had children. Demanding and needy. Two of the least attractive traits known to man. Of course, her mother was needy at times, but there was gratitude lurking not far behind. Even at the end of her life, Beatrice was always thanking Eudora for the smallest of kindnesses. It squeezes her heart to think of this now.
As she waits for the kettle to boil, Eudora notices a magpie in the garden filling the air with rasping chatter.
One for sorrow.
Another magpie hops onto the grass beside the other. “Two for joy,” she murmurs with relief.
Cat fed, tea made, Eudora settles in her chair, breathless and tired. I’m eighty-five, she tells herself. I’m not used to such busy social activities with all these people to talk to and the irrepressible Rose in tow. It’s hardly surprising I’m exhausted.
Eudora notices the answering machine flashing red with a message and presses “play.”
“Hallo, Eudora. This is Petra. I know you spoke to Doctor Liebermann and I wanted to know how you are. Please call me if you want to chat. A
nytime.”
Eudora sits back in her chair and takes a sip of tea.
How are you, Eudora? How are you feeling? Really.
Much as she rallies against these open discussions of feelings, she knows it’s important to answer them, that Petra and the doctor won’t help her unless she does. And yet, the truth is that she fears the answer. Which is why, for the time being, she resolves to remain silent. Silence is powerful. Silence neither agrees nor disagrees. It buys time and actually, that is what she wants at the moment. A little more time. A little more life.
It was a chance meeting that brought this notion more sharply into focus for Eudora. She was leaving the leisure center after a swim, wondering how on earth she would manage the walk home. Fatigue was a daily feature of her eighty-five-year-old life but for some reason, she was feeling particularly worn out today.
“Hello. It’s Eudora, isn’t it?” said a voice as soothing as treacle. Eudora turned, nonplussed, inhaling the warm spice of the woman’s perfume. “I’m Hannah. You came to one of my talks. With that little girl—Rose, was it?”
“You have an excellent memory,” said Eudora.
Hannah’s smile puts Eudora immediately at ease. “How are you?”
“Still above ground.”
Hannah laughed. “I remember that gallows humor. You were the only one brave enough to speak to me afterward. Most people seem to think I’m the grim reaper in disguise.”
“It’s a very good disguise,” said Eudora. “Actually, it was Rose who wanted to speak to you.”
Hannah nodded. “A lot of kids want to talk about death. They’re trying to figure out how it fits into the grand scheme of things, but lots of adults won’t talk about it. Too depressing.” She drew air quotes as she said this.
“Mmm,” said Eudora, keen to be on her way. “Well, it’s nice to see you again.”
Hannah glanced at Eudora’s stick. “Can I give you a lift somewhere? I only popped in to drop off some leaflets.”
“Oh, there’s really no need.”
“It’s no bother.”
“Very well,” said Eudora with some relief. “Thank you.”
“So I presume you heard about Jim?” said Hannah, once they were in the car and on their way.
“Jim?”
“Audrey’s husband from the group?”
“Oh, I’ve only been along once, but I did meet them both. Is everything all right?”
Hannah cleared her throat. “Jim died over the weekend. I had the privilege of being with him and Audrey at the end.”
“Oh. Poor Audrey.”
“Yes,” said Hannah. “She’d had a difficult few years, so I know she was glad his death was gentle and surrounded by love.”
“It’s the best you can hope for,” murmured Eudora.
“I believe so, yes.”
They drove in silence until Hannah turned onto Sidney Avenue and Eudora pointed out her house. She pulled into the space outside and switched off the ignition. Eudora unbuckled her belt. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think people should be able to choose how they die?”
Hannah fixed her with a gaze of pure kindness. “Within reason, yes. I think the first thing we need to do is talk about death. We need to reclaim the D word and have grown-up discussions to dispel the myth and do away with the fear.”
“But what if you’re not afraid?”
Hannah held her gaze. “Then you should embrace life for as long as possible—cherish and value it. I don’t know you very well, but I’ve seen you with Rose and can tell you have a special friendship. You’re one of the lucky ones. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes,” admitted Eudora. “I suppose I am.”
Eudora cradles the cup in her hand, inhaling the sweet aroma of tea, and takes a deep breath. She was listening to a program on the radio earlier about mindfulness. Normally, she would dismiss these ideas as hokum. However, the expert spoke with a quiet, measured authority, which reminded Eudora of the way Hannah conveyed her truths. She found it utterly compelling. She looks around the room, at the photographs of her parents on the telephone table, the fireplace, her books, the curtains, and the tall, elegant standard lamp that bathes everything in a warm apricot glow. She feels the gentle, comforting heat of the cup snug in her hand. She watches Montgomery saunter into the room, leap up onto the sofa, and turn 360 degrees twice before settling into a tidy parcel of steadily breathing fur. Eudora scans her body for pain and apart from her weariness and the usual aches, which are eased by her seated position, all is well. In this moment, at this time, all is well and that is enough for now.
Her inner peace is brought to a swift end by an urgent, persistent knocking on the front door, followed by a prolonged pressing of the doorbell. There’s only one person it could be.
“For heaven’s sake, Rose. What is it now?” she cries, having struggled down the hall to open the front door. “A trip to the moon? A nighttime raid on London Zoo?” Eudora stops in her tracks when she sees the little girl’s ashen face. “What is it, Rose?”
“It’s Mum. She needs you. The baby’s coming.”
1961
Sidney Avenue, South-East London
Eudora could remember almost every minute detail of that day. It had started in a very ordinary fashion, but whenever she looked back, she found she could recall even the most mundane aspects. She remembered what she’d had for breakfast (a boiled egg followed by Golden Shred on toast) and that she had bumped into Mrs. Cooper on the way to the bus stop, who told her that her youngest grandson, Anthony, had caught chicken pox, poor mite. It was as if the shock of what followed brought everything into sharp focus and replayed it forever. A film reel rolling over and over in her mind.
It was a Friday. Eudora had taken the day off to spend it with Sylvia and her new baby. She was looking forward to it. Ever since baby Philip arrived, she had felt a renewed sense of purpose. Eudora would probably never have children of her own, but she fully intended to cosset and spoil her best friend’s new son.
Eudora decided that the word “cherubic” could have been invented with Philip in mind. His wide-eyed gaze and pleasingly chubby thighs could melt the stoniest of hearts. Eudora was besotted with him on sight, and it was clear the feeling was mutual. The first time they met, he grabbed her finger and stared into her eyes as if reading her soul.
“I think he likes you, Dor,” said Sylvia. “And it’s a good thing too, seeing as we’d like you to be his godmother.”
Eudora stared at her and Ken in amazement and then back at Philip. “Are you sure?” she asked.
Ken and Sylvia exchanged indulgent smiles. “Of course,” said Sylvia. “Who else would we ask?”
Beatrice had been almost as delighted as Eudora and set about knitting a jacket for Philip’s christening. “I’ll edge it with lace. To make it extra special.” Eudora patted her shoulder. After the drama of Stella’s phone call, their world had returned to its usual quiet routine. Thankfully, Beatrice seemed to have forgotten about it altogether. Eudora was relieved. It was better that way.
She set off to Sylvia’s after breakfast, armed with a parcel of assorted scarves, hats, and mittens for the baby. Sylvia and Ken had recently moved out to the suburbs. Their house was a very pleasant 1930s semidetached with three bedrooms and a large garden.
“Room for Philip to kick a football with his dad,” said Sylvia, now the model of domesticity. She had recently acquired a twin-tub washer and was almost as clucky about it as she was about Philip. “It’s so handy with the nappies, Dor,” said Sylvia. “It’s changed my life.”
Eudora walked up the front path. It was early September and the leaves were turning, but Sylvia’s roses were in full bloom. She leaned over to inhale their scent and was rewarded with a perfume so sweet and fresh. It made her body lift with hope at this rare moment of uncomplicated joy.
“You’re here!” cried Sylvia, opening the front door. Philip sat alert and smiling in his mothe
r’s arms. He reached out his pudgy little hands as soon as he saw Eudora.
“Hello, my little man,” Eudora said, taking him from Sylvia and planting a kiss on his forehead. She had been fearful of what would happen once Sylvia got married and became a mother but realized now that there’d been nothing to worry about. If anything, she and Sylvia were closer than ever, almost like sisters.
As an only child with no mother and a father she rarely saw, Sylvia had come to think of Eudora—and by extension, Beatrice—as her surrogate family. “Come through,” she said, leading Eudora down the hall. “It’s a lovely day. Let’s have coffee in the sunroom.”
Eudora smiled. Sylvia liked to bestow grand names on the rooms in her house. She would talk about the “drawing room” and “master bedroom” with great enthusiasm. Eudora didn’t mind. Taking pride in one’s house was an admirable quality.
“So how have you been?” she asked as Sylvia brought in a tray holding a matching coffee set, including a sugar bowl and tongs, and started to serve. Philip sat facing Eudora on her lap. They had just enjoyed several rounds of pat-a-cake, which to her delight had provoked multiple gurgles of pure happiness from her godson.
“Yes. We’re all fine, really. Ken’s busy at work, but it’s the price you have to pay for the good life, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is. But you’re happy, aren’t you, Sylvia?” she asked, detecting a note of caution in her friend’s voice.
Sylvia pursed her lips. “I’m fine. Absolutely fine. How about you? How’s life at the bank?”
Eudora could tell that Sylvia was hiding something from her. “Yes, everything is good, thank you. I’ve just been given a small promotion.”
“Oh, but that’s wonderful,” cried Sylvia, placing Eudora’s coffee cup on a coaster. “You’ll be running the show soon.”
“I don’t know about that, but it is nice to get some recognition.”
“And how is your mother?”
“She’s fine. Sends her love and a whole host of knitted items for this young man too,” said Eudora, reaching out a hand to stroke his downy hair. She glanced up at Sylvia and noticed that she was crying. “Oh, Sylvia, whatever’s the matter?”