by Annie Lyons
“Well. Wasn’t that a wonderful party? I’m so pleased for Rose.”
“Me too,” says Eudora, trying to catch her breath.
“I’m glad you decided to stay, Eudora,” says Stanley, helping her inside the house.
Eudora is about to tell him that she is glad too when the world begins to distort and the floor comes up to meet her. The last thing she hears is Stanley’s voice calling to her, but it’s fading into the distance and she is simply too tired to answer.
2018
Elsewhere
The dream is a kiss of relief, inevitable, consoling, exactly as she imagined it would be. Her father is there of course, arms outstretched, ready to welcome her. He’s wearing his big coat with the buttons that look like chocolate. He lifts his hat and smiles. She catches the tang of his tobacco, the warmth of his embrace. Safe. You are safe now. Beatrice stands by his side, tea towel twisted between her hands. She is smiling, eyes creased with worry. Always the worry. The cares. But she looks happy, as if she’s finally where she is meant to be. Another figure steps out of the shadows. She is young, slight, carrying a baby. Stella. Oh, Stella. Her gaze is cool, one eyebrow raised, chin jutted upward with defiance. Ever headstrong and haughty. Frozen in time that way. She never had a chance to change. A lifetime of regret for what might have been. Sisters. Aunties. Friends. Who knows what might have been? Stella turns toward her and holds out the baby. Take her. My gift to you. I absolve you.
Eudora moves forward to accept. Reaches out her arms.
She pauses as she hears the sound. It’s faint at first. She leans in to listen. The sound becomes louder and louder until it’s all Eudora can hear. The unmistakable sound of Rose singing at the top of her lungs, belting out a heartfelt and utterly tone-deaf rendition of her favorite song. Eudora opens her eyes.
Chapter 21
Eudora can’t remember the journey in the ambulance, but Rose is keen to tell her that she almost died. When she wakes up in the hospital, Eudora is adamant that she needs to leave as soon as possible.
“It was a mild heart attack, Ms. Honeysett,” says the doctor, a bright young woman with eyes full of hope. “But you do have some underlying problems.”
“My valve,” says Eudora. “I’ve always known it was compromised.”
“Yes. We could operate.”
“No,” says Eudora. The doctor’s face crumples. “Please don’t be upset. I’m eighty-five. It’s the right time.”
Eudora hadn’t realized how much bureaucracy is involved in being permitted to die at home. She is harangued on an almost daily basis by all manner of nonmedical staff regarding her care arrangements. In the end, it is Sheila who saves the day. Eudora is delighted to learn that this woman is almost as bloody-minded as she. She liaises with the hospital, contacts Hannah the death doula, and organizes a rotation of people to care for Eudora when she arrives home.
“I organized it for Vic when he was dying,” Sheila tells Eudora, her chin set with determination. “Best decision I ever made.”
“Thank you, Sheila,” says Eudora. Sheila pats her hand.
Eudora stays in bed most of the time now. She had wanted to be downstairs in her chair with the radio beside her for company, but Ruth, the social worker, persuaded her that “one-level living” was the best way. She is now Eudora’s “allocated caseworker” and has been visiting as often as she can. Eudora knows she doesn’t need to drop in as often as she does but is grateful. Ruth arranged for her favorite furniture, radio, and television to be moved upstairs along with her photos. She was on the verge of organizing carers four times a day as well when Maggie intervened.
“We’ll look after Eudora,” she said.
Ruth looked unsure. “That’s a lot to take on. She needs someone with her nearly all the time.”
“I can hear you, you know,” said Eudora.
“Sorry, Eudora. I just need to make sure that you’re safe and properly cared for.”
“We’ll sort it, dear,” said Sheila. “I’ll draw up a rota with Maggie, Stanley, and Hannah. It will be fine.”
Ruth looked at Eudora, who shrugged and said, “I wouldn’t stand in the way of these determined women, if I were you. Now, shouldn’t you be getting home to that little boy of yours?”
Ruth smiled. “Very well. But call me if you need anything. I’ll pop in as often as I can.”
“Thank you, Ruth,” said Eudora.
They fall into an easy routine. Either Stanley or Sheila is there in the mornings. Eudora prefers Sheila’s tea but enjoys doing crosswords with Stanley.
“Eight across. Five letters. The clue is ‘fool.’”
“Idiot,” says Eudora.
“How rude,” says Stanley. “Actually, that’s not right. The first letter is ‘m.’”
“Moron,” says Eudora.
Stanley clutches his chest. “Ms. Honeysett! How can you be so cruel?”
Eudora laughs. There’s something about Stanley’s gentle humor that reminds her of her father. She couldn’t give in to it when they first met, couldn’t allow herself. Now it brings her nothing but comfort. “I never thanked you properly,” she says.
“For what?”
She fixes her gaze on the laughter lines at the corners of his eyes. “For saving me.”
Stanley puts down his pen and turns to face her. “That’s what friends are for. After all, you saved me when I was in the doldrums.”
Eudora reaches out to him. Stanley looks surprised but responds in kind. “Thank you, Stanley,” she says. “Truly.”
Stanley leans forward and kisses her hand. “It’s a pleasure and a privilege, Eudora.”
They hear the front door open. “It’s only us!” calls Maggie up the stairs.
“Eee!” confirms Daisy.
“Right,” says Stanley, giving Eudora’s hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. “I’d better take those pesky hounds for a walk.”
Eudora nods. “Later potater, as Rose is fond of saying.”
Stanley smiles. “Later potater,” he says, issuing a swift salute from the doorway before he leaves.
Moments later, Maggie appears with Daisy in her arms.
“Eee, eee, eee,” says Daisy, reaching out toward Eudora.
“Will you be okay with Daisy while I make your lunch?” asks Maggie.
“Of course,” says Eudora. “It’s the least I can do. Come here, madam,” she says, sitting Daisy on the bed beside her.
“What would you like for lunch today? Soup maybe?”
Eudora wrinkles her nose. Her appetite has been draining away from her like water disappearing down a plughole. “Just some toast and tea, please, Maggie.”
“Coming right up.”
Eudora turns back to Daisy. Aside from Rose, Daisy is the best at entertaining her. Eudora could watch her all day. She marvels at the way Daisy approaches the world in a state of constant astonishment—everything is a wonder to her. Right now she is staring at Eudora with the studied concentration of a mind reader.
“You needn’t look at me as if I’m going to expire at any moment,” Eudora tells her.
“Aaaaaa!” says Daisy, grabbing hold of her hands.
“Precisely,” says Eudora.
Eudora’s favorite time of day is around four o’clock when Rose appears. She flings open the door and shouts, “Eudora! Are you still alive?”
“Yes, thank you, Rose!” she replies.
Hannah was visiting one day when Rose made this particular entrance and she laughed for nearly ten minutes. “That is one of the most hilarious and refreshing things I have ever heard.”
“That’s Rose for you.”
Eudora often rediscovers her appetite when Rose is around. She always manages a slice of Sheila’s homemade cake while they spend time discussing Rose’s day or Eudora’s mortality.
“I want to show you something,” says Eudora as Rose enters the room one day, carefully carrying a mug of tea, which she places on the bedside table. “Can you reach my treasures box in the
wardrobe, please?”
“Of course. You know how much I love treasures,” says Rose, throwing open the doors and embarking on a thorough search. Eventually, she finds the cardboard box labeled “Eudora’s Treasures.” She blows off the dust and carries it to the bed. Eudora lifts the lid and stares inside. It’s all there. Photographs, tickets to dances, a postcard from Joss Bay. A whole life. Rose looks as if she’s about to explode with excitement.
“Dive in, Rose,” says Eudora. “Ask away.”
She tells her everything: about her father, her mother, Stella, Sam, Sylvia, and the baby who never was. Rose’s face reflects the joy and sadness as she listens. She holds up a photograph of Sam and Eudora taken at Broadstairs. “He’s very handsome and you look beautiful, Eudora.”
“Thank you, Rose.”
“I hope Daisy’s never as mean to me as Stella was to you.”
“It was a different time, Rose. I think you’ll be fine.”
“I love the sound of the dances you went to with Sylvia.”
“We had fun,” admits Eudora.
Rose looks at the scattered memories and fixes Eudora with her steady, honest gaze. “I know you had sad stuff with your dad and your sister, but you’ve had a good life.”
Eudora stares at Rose and smiles. “Yes,” she says. “On balance, I suppose I have.”
One day, Rose brings Tommy to visit. He’s a little shy at first, eyeing Eudora fearfully. “It’s all right, Tommy, you don’t need to be scared. Eudora is going to die but probably not today,” says Rose. “That’s right, isn’t it, Eudora?”
Eudora nods. “You’re quite safe, Tommy, and very welcome.”
Tommy seems to relax a little. “So we thought we’d watch The Greatest Showman with you,” says Rose. “Tommy’s never seen it and it’s pretty much the best film ever. I know all the words to all the songs.”
“Sounds as if we’re in for a treat, Tommy.”
Eudora is too weary to follow the plot of the film. Instead, she delights in gazing at the faces of the two children as they watch. At one stage, a woman with a beard performs a rousing song about being an unapologetic version of yourself. Rose leaps up and joins in, her face absorbed in the moment. It’s a Hollywood-glazed, but nonetheless powerful, sentiment of having confidence and self-belief. Eudora watches the little girl in awe and notices Tommy do the same. Rose seems transformed these days: assured and brave. Eudora is overwhelmed with pride. She knows that this child will always change other people’s worlds for the better. She feels melancholy that she won’t be here to see it but takes sheer delight in this truth.
As autumn blusters toward winter, Eudora watches the light on the ceiling change from the color of ripe wheat to a pale yellow. The year is fading and so is she. Every day she eats a little less and sleeps a little more. Hannah is a constant companion, observing, filling the space with kindness.
Stanley has volunteered for night shifts. Rob offered but Stanley refused. “You’ve got a family and work. I have time.”
He sleeps in what used to be Eudora’s old room under the rainbow-colored blanket that Beatrice crocheted in a different lifetime. “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages,” he tells her every morning as he brings in a cup of tea. He always taps lightly on the door before entering. Ever the gentleman.
As she reaches the end, Eudora is hardly ever on her own. Having spent aching chasms of time alone, she is grateful for the constant stream of district nurses, friends, and loved ones. Stanley’s granddaughters call ’round to read to her and Helen, their mum, brings casseroles, flowers, and good humor. Rob always pops in on his return from work. They usually talk about how wonderful Rose is. Eudora feels shored up and safe.
She starts to struggle with her breathing and is given oxygen. It helps but she is tired. She feels as if she’s being pulled backward. Away from all this. She doesn’t resist.
Rose appears later that day. Hannah and Stanley are downstairs waiting to intercept her. Eudora hears their muffled voices, calm, resigned. Rose hops up the stairs and taps on her door.
“Come in, Rose,” says Eudora.
Rose approaches her bed and sits down. She is carrying Osman in her arms. “I brought him to see you.”
“That’s kind. Hello, Osman,” says Eudora, her voice rasping with tiredness. She reaches out a frail hand, relishing the feel of his silky fur. Rose places him on the bed. He turns three times before curling into a perfect ball.
Rose looks at the breathing tubes and places a smooth hand over Eudora’s wrinkled one. “You’re dying, aren’t you?”
Eudora would laugh if she had the energy. “I think so.”
“What does it feel like?”
“At the moment I feel quite relaxed.”
“That sounds nice.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I suppose it’s worse for me.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, because you’ll be able to go and see your mum and dad and sister, wherever they are. And then you can come back for Day of the Dead and still see me. But I won’t be able to see you.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll know I’m here.”
“How? Are you going to haunt me?”
“I’ll try.”
“Cool.” There’s a pause. “Can I hug you now?”
“If you must.”
Rose climbs up beside Eudora on the bed. “Let’s just be quiet together, shall we?”
“Do you think you can manage that, Rose?”
“I’ll try for you, Eudora.”
“Good girl.”
Eudora watches the pale lemon sunlight cast a dappled shadow from the last straggly leaves gently blowing outside in the breeze. She feels Rose’s warmth, her small perfect form, her steady breathing, two breaths to her one.
Stanley peers around the door. “I just wondered if you needed anything?”
Eudora shakes her head. “No. Thank you. Come and sit if you’d like to.”
Stanley nods and brings the dressing-table chair over beside the bed. He smiles at them both before taking a seat. A faithful sentry. Osman has settled into a gently wheezing sleep.
Eudora closes her eyes, relishing the quiet. A long-forgotten, cherished sentence floats into her mind.
All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
She knows this is true now. She feels nothing but peace, along with the presence of an old man who shares his feelings a little too readily and a small girl with terrible dress sense.
She loves them. They love her.
All is well.
Acknowledgments
A huge thank-you to my agent, Laura Macdougall, who has been with Eudora and me from the start. She is a brilliant editor, incredible agent, and valued friend. Thanks also to the wider team at United Agents for your help in bringing this book to life.
Thank you to Emily Krump and the team at William Morrow in the US, who love Eudora and Rose almost as much as I do.
Thank you to Charlotte Ledger and the team at One More Chapter in the UK for your infectious enthusiasm and passion.
Love and gratitude to Team Laura (my UA fam), the London Writers, HQ authors past and present, and RNA friends for your wisdom and generous support.
Thanks to my Beckenham and Biggin Hill creative writing students—writing and running courses for you has taught me so much.
Thank you to the incredible bloggers and online community who read, review, and share the love for my books—your support means everything to me.
Thank you to Lisa Stevens and Kay Fox for sage advice about midwifery and veterinary issues respectively. Thank you to the lifecircle organization in Switzerland for information and guidance about voluntary assisted death.
All love and gratitude to Helen Abbott, Sarah Livingston, and Melissa Khan—my book soul mates, who always know when I need a message of encouragement or a good book recommendation.
Finally, and most important, thank you to Rich, Lil, and Alf for
love, support, and endless episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.
Book Recommendation
With the End in Mind: Dying, Death, and Wisdom in an Age of Denial by Kathryn Mannix was a huge source of inspiration to me while I was writing Eudora’s story. I recommend it wholeheartedly for its insight, compassion, and truth. It’s a stunning and important book, which I hope encourages people to talk more and fear less.
About the Author
After a career in bookselling and publishing, ANNIE LYONS published five books in the UK, including the bestselling Not Quite Perfect. When not working on her novels, she teaches creative writing. She lives in south-east London with her husband and two children.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
the brilliant life of eudora honeysett. Copyright © 2020 by Annie Lyons. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
first edition
Cover design and illustration by Sandra Chiu
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
Digital Edition SEPTEMBER 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-302608-7