by Annie Lyons
Sue rests a hand on her arm. “Come and sit down, Eudora. You seem upset.”
Eudora is horrified. Stanley’s and Sheila’s demonstrative outbursts must be contagious. She takes a deep breath. “I am not upset. I just need to get home to feed my cat.” Sue studies her face for the truth. “Please,” says Eudora with a trace of desperation.
“Are you sure you won’t wait for Stanley? I could fetch him.”
“No,” says Eudora with a little more force than she intends. “Thank you. I don’t want to bother him. If you could just direct me to the nearest bus stop, I would be most grateful.”
Sue chews her lip for a second before answering. “All right. But at least let me put you in a cab. There’s usually a few waiting outside.”
“Thank you,” says Eudora. “That’s very kind.”
Eudora is relieved to return to the silent haven of home. The noise and clamor of the morning have exhausted her. She decides not to ruminate on what caused her to flee with such urgency but is sure that she made the right decision.
With a certain amount of effort, she manages to make some lunch and feed Montgomery. “Why am I so tired?” she asks the cat as she mashes his food with a fork. “It’s as if I’m wading through treacle.”
Montgomery jumps so that his front paws are resting on the work surface beside her and nuzzles her hand with his wet nose. “I know you’re merely impatient for your food, but I appreciate the interest,” she tells him, placing his bowl on the floor. He glances at her for a second before tucking in.
Eudora jumps as the doorbell pierces the silence. It’s followed by a loud knocking and Stanley’s worried voice calling to her. “Eudora? Are you in there?”
Eudora considers pretending that she’s not, but the fear in Stanley’s voice pricks her conscience. “Yes, of course I’m here. Where else would I be?” she says, shuffling down the corridor. As she opens the door, she spots Sheila sitting in Stanley’s car, peering toward them with concern.
“Why did you run off like that?” asks Stanley. “You had me worried.”
Eudora folds her arms. “I’m sorry but I needed to get home.”
Stanley scrutinizes her face. “Why?”
“That’s really none of your business.”
He frowns. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing is the matter. I’d merely had enough of the group and wanted to leave. You were otherwise occupied,” she says with a fleeting glance toward Sheila. “So I decided to leave you to it.”
“Without telling me?”
Eudora sees the hurt in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have told you but, as I said, you were busy. I told Sue I was leaving and assumed she would mention it.”
“I see,” says Stanley, looking at the floor. “Well, I was going to suggest that the three of us go for lunch, but if you’re busy . . .”
“I am. Thank you for the invitation. You go. Sorry for worrying you unnecessarily.” She nods at Sheila, who smiles in return.
Stanley fixes Eudora with a look. “You’re a funny one, Eudora Honeysett.”
“Takes one to know one, Stanley Marcham.”
“I’ll phone you later.”
“As you wish. Goodbye,” says Eudora, closing the door on his bewildered face. She can’t offer him a further explanation because she has none. All Eudora knows is that she wants to shut the door on the world and be left alone for a while. She’s too tired for all this nonsense.
The following week, Rose starts school and summons Eudora to meet her at the school gates with Stanley after the first day.
“In case I need you to trip up someone with your stick or something.”
“Is that likely?”
“It depends how friendly the other children are.”
“Very well.”
Eudora arrives at the school with plenty of time to spare. She looks around at the parents gathering in the playground—a noisy, cheerful community of different nationalities and ages. She is impressed to notice that she’s not the only octogenarian and watches as a tiny child, brightly daubed painting in hand, zigzags his way across the playground into the waiting arms of her contemporary. To his credit, the elderly man manages to scoop up the giggling boy and spin him around before planting the child on the ground and kissing the top of his hot little head.
“Eudora!” cries Rose, waving from the other side of the playground as if her life depends on it. Eudora is pleased to see that she is arm in arm with another girl.
She gives them a polite wave as Stanley appears by her side. “Made it,” he says, hand on his chest as he tries to catch his breath.
Eudora looks pointedly at her watch. “I think you’ll find that you are two minutes late.”
“Sorry. Sheila and I went to the garden center this morning and we lost track of time.”
“I see,” says Eudora, avoiding his gaze.
“Eudora! Stanley! You came!” cries Rose, rushing over, dragging her new friend with her.
The girl stares from Eudora to Stanley and back to Rose. “These are your best friends?” she says.
“Yes!” cries Rose, oblivious to the girl’s disdain. “Eudora, Stanley—this is Jada.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jada,” says Stanley with a gallant bow. Jada pulls a who-is-this-weirdo face.
“Hello, Jada,” says Eudora, fixing her with a look.
“’Lo,” says Jada, sounding bored.
“See you tomorrow, Rose,” says a boy of the same age with messy hair and a lopsided smile as he runs past.
“Bye, Tommy,” says Rose.
“He’s such a loser,” mutters Jada. “Okay, Rosie-Posie, I gotta go. See you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Okay, Jada,” says Rose, pulling her new friend into an awkward hug. “See you then.”
She slopes off, reminding Eudora of a big cat on the prowl for fresh prey. “Isn’t she lovely?” says Rose. “She’s already told me that I can be her best friend. I don’t know why I was so worried about school. Everyone is really nice.”
“As long as you’re happy, Rose,” says Stanley, widening his eyes at Eudora. “Now, who’s for a milkshake and a doughnut?”
“Me please!” cries Rose, darting her hand into the air.
They walk to the café on the main road, an unusual band of three. Stanley ushers them through the door and fetches the drinks while Eudora and Rose seat themselves at a table by the window. The cream-colored plastic chairs, whiff of stale chip fat, and tinny background music aren’t to Eudora’s usual taste, but the tea Stanley brings is an acceptable color and Rose declares the doughnut to be “epic.”
“So,” says Stanley. “Tell us everything.”
“Well,” says Rose, wiping sugar from her mouth with the back of her hand. “My teacher is called Mrs. Lovely.”
“Really?”
“No. That was a joke. That’s the name of a character in a book I like. My teacher is called Mrs. Simpson and she is strict but kind.”
“She sounds like a good woman,” says Eudora.
Rose nods. “She’s a bit like you, Eudora. The kids in my class seem really nice but Jada is my favorite.”
Eudora catches Stanley’s eye. “Is she kind, Rose?”
Rose shrugs. “Yeah. She likes to tease but it’s just bants.”
“Bants?”
“Banter,” says Stanley with authority.
“As long as she’s not laughing at other people’s expense,” says Eudora.
Rose shakes her head. “She’s been lovely to me, letting me be part of her group.”
Eudora fixes her with a look. “Just make sure you’re doing what you want to do, not what someone else wants you to do.”
Rose gives an earnest nod. “’Kay, got it. Thanks, Eudora.”
“Hello, Rose,” says a voice. They look up to see the boy from the playground waving from another table.
“Oh, hi, Tommy,” says Rose. Tommy smiles before turning back to the phone he’s holding.
“He seems friendl
y,” says Stanley.
Rose leans in to whisper. “Yeah, but Jada says he’s a prick, whatever that is.”
Stanley suppresses a chuckle. Eudora glares at him. “I don’t think you should be using that language, Rose. And neither should Jada.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry,” says Rose.
“And, what’s more, you need to make up your own mind about people. He seems like a pleasant boy,” says Eudora.
Rose nods. “Okay. I’ll try.” She jumps up. “I just need to go to the toilet. Back in a sec.”
“Goodness,” says Eudora after she’s gone. “What do you make of that?”
“I’m not sure about Jada,” admits Stanley.
“Mmm. Do you think we should tell Maggie?”
Stanley shakes his head. “She’s got enough on her plate. Let’s keep an eye out.”
“Agreed.”
“Eudora?”
“Yes?”
“I wanted to ask you if you were all right after the other day. You seemed a bit . . .”
“What?” demands Eudora.
“Jealous?”
Eudora snorts with laughter. “Jealous? Of whom?”
Stanley fiddles with his teaspoon. “Well, Sheila, I suppose.”
Eudora shifts in her seat. “Why on earth would I be jealous of Sheila? You’re not my husband.”
“No, I know, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Well. You were acting strangely at the group, then you rushed off and you’ve been a bit off ever since.”
Eudora sits up straighter in her chair. “For your information, I didn’t enjoy the group and wanted to leave. I don’t think I am being ‘off,’ as you call it. I’m here today, aren’t I?”
“I suppose. It’s just that . . .”
Eudora folds her arms. “What?”
Stanley stares at the cup in front of him. “I was wondering about asking Sheila out for dinner and wanted to know what you thought.”
Eudora hesitates before answering. “It’s really none of my business what you do, Stanley.”
“Oh. Okay. I just thought you might have an opinion. As my friend.”
Eudora brushes an invisible crumb off the table. “No. Not really. If you want to spend time with Sheila, it’s entirely up to you.”
Stanley nods uncertainly. “So you wouldn’t think badly of me? I mean, I don’t have any romantic intentions. She’s just a nice lady who likes the same things as me.”
Eudora holds her hands up to silence him. “Please. You don’t need to explain yourself.”
Stanley looks hurt. “But I value your opinion, Eudora.”
She clears her throat. “As I said, it is none of my business what you do. You must make up your own mind. I am not about to tell you how to live your life.”
Stanley scowls as Rose reappears, oblivious to the tension between them. “I’ve thought about what you said and decided that I’m going to be friends with everyone.”
“Good idea, Rose,” says Stanley, giving Eudora a pointed look. “Best not to put all your eggs in one basket. Friends can be fickle sometimes. Shall we go?”
1977
Sidney Avenue, South-East London
Sylvia’s letter had said that they would arrive at noon, but Eudora was ready for her visitors by 10:30 a.m. She wanted everything to be perfect. She had no idea what Philip might like to eat so she had prepared a variety of dishes for lunch, some of which reminded her of the early years of her friendship with Sylvia. She stood back to admire the spread. Eudora was using her mother’s special table linen, china, and cutlery—the best of everything for her best friend.
She had even decorated the mantelpiece with some of the flags and banners left over from the Jubilee street party last month. Beatrice had been reluctant, but Eudora insisted that they decorate the front of the house and go along to the party for a while. Their family had given the neighborhood enough cause to tittle-tattle over the years. Eudora wasn’t about to add fuel to the fire by staying away.
She rearranged one of the flags, nodding with satisfaction. Excitement and nerves mingled in the pit of her stomach. Sylvia’s monthly letters were always laced with affection, but sixteen years was a long time. Still, Eudora nurtured the belief that theirs was a strong friendship that could endure the test of time and distance.
“Someone’s been busy,” said Beatrice, standing in the doorway. Eudora smiled and put an arm around her mother’s shoulders. Beatrice had never been what you might call a sturdy woman, but she seemed frail as a bird to Eudora now. She felt her mother’s shoulder bone digging into her arm and pulled the shawl snugly around her.
“How are you feeling today, Mum?”
Beatrice shivered. “Chilly. Should we put the heating on?”
“It’s the middle of summer. I don’t think we need it. Why don’t you sit out in the garden for a bit and I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea.”
Beatrice looked unsure. “All right. What time is Sylvia getting here?”
“Noon. We’ve got plenty of time. I just wanted everything to be ready.”
Beatrice leaned in to her daughter. “You’re a good girl, Dora, doing all this. I should have got out my knitting pins and made something special for Sylvia’s baby.”
Eudora was used to her mother’s memory lapses. They were an unfortunate side effect of the shock treatment she had received following that terrible day. It was as if time had stood still for Beatrice. Looking around at the same four walls every day, Eudora understood this feeling sometimes.
“It’s all right, Mum. I’ve got a present for Philip. Now, come on, let’s make that tea and find some biscuits.”
The doorbell rang shortly after twelve. Eudora checked her appearance once more in the hall mirror before hurrying forward to answer it. She knew the woman standing with arms outstretched was Sylvia, but it felt as if her friend had arrived from another era. She wore a bright orange sundress with a flared princess skirt and huge sunglasses, like something Sophia Loren might choose. Eudora smoothed her own navy blue pinafore before pulling her friend into a tight embrace.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, an unexpected swell of emotion rising inside her.
“It’s good to see you too, Dor,” said Sylvia. As she moved forward, Eudora caught sight of Philip, now nearly a foot taller than his mother and striking in his resemblance to her. He stared at his godmother shyly from behind a curtain of dark hair. Eudora was swept back to the time when she first looked into those soft hazelnut eyes. He had smiled easily back then but she was a stranger to him now.
“Philip,” she said, holding out a hand. He glanced at his mother, who nodded encouragement, before accepting. Eudora longed to hug him but opted for a gentle handshake instead. “I suppose it would be foolish to comment on how much you’ve grown, seeing as the last time I saw you, you were a baby in arms!” Sylvia put out a hand and squeezed her friend’s shoulder. Eudora smiled. “Oh, but where are my manners? Keeping you waiting in the hall. Come in, come in. Mum will be so pleased to see you. Lunch is ready and waiting.”
“Thank you, Dora,” said Sylvia.
“You sound so different,” said Eudora as she led them to the dining room. “You’ve definitely picked up an accent.”
“Have I?” asked Sylvia in surprise. Eudora could tell she was pleased by this comment. “You should hear Phil talk.” She turned to her son. “Actually, Phil, have you even said hello to your godmother?”
Philip looked at his feet. “Hello,” he said. “It’s good to meet you.”
Eudora stared at Sylvia. “My goodness! I’d forgotten that Philip grew up there. You’re a proper Canadian boy.” She turned to her mother, who was already seated at the table, napkin tucked under her chin in readiness. “Mum, you remember Sylvia, and this is Philip—all grown up now.”
Beatrice squinted at them both as if trying to clear the fog from her mind. “Ah, Sylvia, of course. How are you, dear?”
Sylvia leaned down to kiss her. “It’s good to
see you again, Mrs. Honeysett. Say hello, Phil.”
“Hello,” said Philip with an awkward wave.
“Isn’t this lovely?” said Eudora. “Shall we take a seat and have some food? What can I get you to drink? I expect you might like a nice cup of tea, Sylvia. What would you like, Philip?”
“Do you have any soda?” asked Philip.
Eudora looked flummoxed.
“It’s okay, Dora. Water is fine for both of us,” said Sylvia. “I hardly drink tea these days. We Canadians are fueled by coffee.”
We Canadians.
Eudora swallowed down her disappointment. “Oh. Of course. That’s absolutely fine. Take a seat. I’ll fetch you both a glass.”
She returned to find the three of them sitting in uncomfortable silence, Sylvia wearing a fixed bright smile, while Beatrice eyed these strangers in her midst with suspicion and Philip looked as if he’d be more than happy for the ground to swallow him whole.
“Here we are. Please do help yourselves. I made Quiche Lorraine and Coronation Chicken for old times’ sake, and Black Forest Gateau for dessert.”
“Goodness. You needn’t have gone to all this effort,” said Sylvia, with a faintly critical edge to her voice.
“I wanted to. I thought as you weren’t here for the Jubilee celebrations, we could have our own feast in honor of the Queen.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” said Sylvia, helping herself to a minuscule portion of chicken.
“And, I’ve got you a little present, Philip,” said Eudora, handing over a parcel. “I hope it fits.”
“Thanks,” said Philip, opening it up and pulling out a commemorative Jubilee T-shirt.
“Oh, that’s very kind, Dora,” said Sylvia, patting her friend’s arm in a bid to cover her son’s bewilderment.
Eudora gave a breezy smile. “And now you must tell us all about life in Canada. We’re dying to hear, aren’t we, Mum?”
“Is there any salad cream?” asked Beatrice through a mouthful of quiche.
After lunch, Sylvia persuaded Philip to take Beatrice for a walk around the garden. Eudora was grateful to have a little time with her old friend. It was clear from their forced lunchtime conversation that they had lost touch. Eudora hoped they could reconnect a little without Philip and her mother in the room.