- -
- 100%
- +
‘What on earth are you two still doing out here?’ Beatrice Honeysett’s sharp words brought a swift end to Eudora’s reverie as her mother frowned down into the shelter.
Albert let go of his daughter’s hand and jumped up. ‘Come and see what Dora and I have made,’ he said with a gallant bow.
‘How on earth am I going to get down there?’ demanded Beatrice, running a hand over her burgeoning belly.
‘I’ll help you, Mummy,’ said Eudora, her heart leaping as Albert shot her a wink.
Beatrice huffed and puffed her way into the shelter and sat heavily on one of the homemade beds. ‘It’s a bit dark and cramped,’ she said.
Albert took a seat beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. ‘I think madam will find it rather cosy in time,’ he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.
‘Oh, get away with you, Albert Honeysett,’ scolded Beatrice, but she was smiling. She took another look around. ‘You’ve worked very hard.’
‘I helped Daddy make the beds,’ said Eudora. ‘And we planted his marrow on top of the shelter.’
Beatrice looked from her husband to her daughter and back again. ‘You two. What a pair you are.’
Albert held out his arms to Eudora, pulling them both into a tight embrace. ‘My precious girls,’ he said.
‘Well, let’s just hope this baby doesn’t decide to make an appearance during an air raid,’ said Beatrice.
* * *
Albert had been gone a month and London was barely a week into the Blitz when Beatrice went into labour. Eudora was relieved that Mrs Crabb had decided to take up the offer to share their shelter during the now nightly air raids. She found her mother’s keening to be altogether more terrifying than Hitler’s bombs and was grateful for their neighbour’s presence. Eudora held her breath and squeezed her mother’s hand as their next-door neighbour took charge of the situation. Mrs Crabb was rake-thin and smelt of peppermints. She was a trained librarian but still seemed to know exactly what to do as Beatrice brought new life into the world in the same moment that many other lives were being snuffed out by the enemy. Eudora fixed her eyes on the wavering candle flame and prayed. The clamour of the bombs seemed to intensify and then there was silence. Eudora exhaled before being knocked sideways by a huge explosion, which shook the shelter with a violence that was truly terrifying. Her heart drummed ten-to-the-dozen as lumps of metal clattered against the sides and she glimpsed what looked like a sky on fire through the tiny gap in the shelter. Eudora longed to cry but knew she mustn’t. Her father would want her to be brave. Her mother’s eyes were wide with pain and fear, seemingly oblivious to the horror outside. Eudora screwed her eyes tightly shut and prayed for a miracle, for her father to save them. And then, through the damp darkness, she heard a small voice.
‘Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag and smile, smile, smile.’
Eudora blinked in astonishment at the sound of Mrs Crabb singing before realising that her mother had gone quiet, her face set and determined, eyes tightly shut as she pushed with all her might. The siren screamed out the all clear and Stella joined in, emerging, bloody and furious, into a chaotic, fractured world. Mrs Crabb wrapped her in a blanket before handing her to Beatrice.
‘Promise me you’ll get these girls out of London,’ she said, her voice heavy with a mother’s loss. ‘Promise me.’
Pale and exhausted, Beatrice stared up at her and nodded. ‘I promise.’
They emerged hours later to find that Mrs Crabb’s house had suffered a direct hit; the front wall was all that remained, like the opening to a doll’s house. They found Mr Crabb at the end of the garden, still in his bed, blown clean from the house. Mrs Crabb went to live with her sister in Devon and although Eudora was sad about Mr Crabb, she got the feeling he would be satisfied that Hitler hadn’t succeeded in expelling him from his bed.
Chapter 3
A sense of restless anticipation descends over Eudora during the following week. Her heart soars whenever she hears the post drop onto the mat and dives as she discovers nothing but junk mail. Her one consolation is hope; hope for a smooth process bringing an ending to life on her terms.
My death. My way.
The mere thought of this makes day-to-day life more endurable.
One morning, she is following her customary routine of dressing, eating breakfast whilst tuned in to the Today programme, and leaving the house by ten o’clock. The day is breezy but warm. Eudora pauses on the doorstep, permitting herself a moment to feel the sun on her face before setting off along the road. She spots Stanley Marcham further along the street, walking his infernally yapping dogs and is glad for once that the ravages of old age prevent her from catching up with him.
Eudora is lost in thought as she reaches the leisure centre and perturbed to find that her usual locker and changing cubicle are both occupied. Irritated, she casts around for another before hearing someone call her name. She is so unused to hearing it spoken out loud these days, that if it weren’t for the unusual nature of her moniker, she would have assumed the person to be addressing someone else.
‘Eudora!’ call two voices in unison.
Eudora turns to see Maggie, grinning like a lunatic, with Rose standing beside her.
‘Hello,’ says Eudora, her heart sinking at the inevitable exchange.
‘I thought it was you,’ says Maggie brightly.
Eudora wonders at the obviousness of this statement. ‘And so it is.’ She notices that Rose is wearing large green goggles, giving her the appearance of a boggle-eyed frog.
‘Do you swim here regularly?’ asks Maggie.
‘Every day if possible,’ replies Eudora.
‘Wow. That’s amazing. I wish I could get my mum to go swimming.’
‘Granny likes to sit and watch the world go by,’ says Rose.
‘Mmm. I’ve told her she needs to move more. You’ve got to use it or lose it, right?’ says Maggie to Eudora.
Eudora has no idea what she’s talking about so opts for a peremptory nod. ‘If you’ll excuse me …’
‘Can I come round to see your cat again, please?’ asks Rose.
‘Rose, you can’t just invite yourself round to people’s houses,’ says Maggie, embarrassed.
‘Why not? How else do you get to see them?’ Maggie looks to Eudora for help but the old woman remains silent. Rose seizes the opportunity. ‘So can I come? A bit later? I’ve got a present for you.’
Eudora regards the little girl for a moment. There’s something about her tenacious character that she admires. Eudora also senses that Rose won’t take no for an answer and, although she habitually avoids human company, can’t see the harm of letting the child visit her recalcitrant feline.
‘Very well. Two o’clock. Don’t be late.’
‘Yes, ma’am!’ cries Rose with a salute.
Eudora’s lips twitch before she disappears into the changing room with a shake of her head. Rose and Maggie are splashing about in the shallow end when she emerges into the bleached light of the main pool. Eudora ignores them and walks towards the swimming lanes. Sinking into the shallow end, she relishes the soft weightlessness of water on her skin. After a few lengths, Eudora rests for a moment. She notices Rose and her mother laughing together. The little girl is standing on the side whilst Maggie waits in the pool, arms outstretched, encouraging her to jump. She sees joy mirrored in their faces as Rose leaps and Maggie catches her. Eudora takes a deep breath and dives under the water to drown it out.
Her post-swim weariness seems to slide away as she arrives home later to find a large, thick envelope with a Swiss postmark sitting on the mat. Eudora can’t wait a moment longer. She drops her swimming bag in the hall before carrying the envelope into the living room. Once again, she uses her father’s letter opener, pulling the sheaf of documents onto her lap. There is a note attached, written in a looping European hand:
Dear Ms Honeysett,
It was a pleasure to talk to you today. I enclose the forms as requested. Please call me if you want to discuss any of this or just to talk. I know what a big decision it is and am here if you need me.
Kind regards,
Petra
There is something about these words which touches Eudora. She is not used to thoughtful people. She presses a hand over Petra’s writing before turning to the forms. There is a lot of information required. She isn’t surprised but tires quickly as she begins to work her way through them.
Come along, Eudora. He who hesitates is lost. You’ve made the decision. Keep going.
It takes her a couple of hours to complete everything. She puts the forms into an envelope and seals it.
Eudora sits back in her chair, a sense of satisfaction spreading through her body like an embrace. She considers making herself a sandwich but as her eyelids grow heavy, decides to take a moment to rest. It’s been a busy morning. All this living and dying takes it out of you.
* * *
She wakes with a start.
‘Yoo-hoo!’ calls Rose through the letterbox.
Yoo-hoo indeed, mutters Eudora, hauling herself to her feet. As she opens the door, Eudora fights the urge to shield her eyes from the alarming clash of Rose’s outfit – purple, yellow, orange and green all mingled to startling effect.
‘I’m experimenting with fashion,’ explains Rose, registering her surprised expression. ‘And we made you these.’ She holds out a plate of honey-coloured biscuits.
‘You’d better come in,’ says Eudora.
‘Okay.’ Rose follows Eudora to the living room. ‘These are a delicacy where I come from,’ she says, placing the plate on the little side table. ‘They’re Cornish fairings – ginger biscuits really.’
‘Thank you,’ says Eudora.
‘Shall we have a drink? That’s what I usually do with my granny.’
‘If you like.’ Eudora hopes Rose isn’t trying to recruit her as a surrogate grandmother. She’ll be sorely disappointed if she is.
‘Shall I get the drinks?’
‘Can you make tea?’
‘No.’
‘What can you make then?’
‘Squash. I’m excellent at squash.’
‘I may have some fruit cordial in the cupboard.’
‘I’ll find it,’ says Rose, skipping off towards the kitchen. ‘Do you want one?’
‘People usually say, “would you like one” to be polite.’
‘Oh. Okay. So do you?’
‘What?’
‘Want one?’
Eudora fears this is going to be one of the longer afternoons of her life. ‘Very well.’
Rose nods and disappears out of the room. Eudora can hear cupboards being opened and closed and wishes she were sprightlier so she could at least keep an eye on her. Rose starts to sing to herself. It’s strange to hear this sound in the usual quiet of her house, but not unpleasant. She appears moments later carrying two bone china mugs filled to the brim with cloudy lemon liquid. Rose smiles as she hands one to Eudora, who frowns at the drink but takes it all the same.
‘Cheers!’ says Rose, clinking her mug against Eudora’s. ‘Biscuit?’ She offers the plate.
‘Thank you,’ says Eudora, taking one. The drink is tooth-numbingly sweet. Eudora winces as she takes a sip and places it on the table. She nibbles the biscuit. It’s also sweet but in a warm, comforting way that reminds Eudora of the ginger cake her mother used to make. ‘These are delicious,’ she admits.
‘I know,’ says Rose. She drains her drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Who’s that for?’ she asks, gesturing at Eudora’s precious envelope.
‘Meddlers for nosey parkers,’ says Eudora.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It’s something my mother used to say. It means, “none of your business”.’
‘Fair enough,’ says Rose. ‘Mum says I’m very nosey but I just like to know what’s going on.’
‘I suppose that’s fair enough too,’ says Eudora.
‘Can I ask another question? You can say no if it’s too nosey.’
‘Very well.’
‘Is that you in the photograph?’ Rose points at the framed picture on the side table.
‘Yes. That’s me in the middle.’
‘And is that your dad?’
‘It is. And my mother.’
Rose peers at the photograph for a long time. ‘I love old pictures. They make me want to go back and see what it was like.’
‘Why?’ asks Eudora, intrigued. She didn’t think people cared about the past anymore.
‘Because I love history. I love all the stories about the war and what it was like. It’s much more interesting than life now. Do you ever wish you could go back?’
Eudora gazes at the photograph. ‘All the time.’ She is aware of something brushing against her ankles and looks down in surprise to see the cat, nuzzling his way around their legs.
‘Aww, Montgomery, there you are,’ says Rose, scooping him into her arms and rubbing her chin against the top of his head. Eudora watches in amazement as the cat nudges her in reply. ‘What shall we do now?’ asks Rose.
‘I actually need to go out to the post office,’ says Eudora, eyeing the envelope.
‘Great. Let’s do that.’
‘Are you sure your mother will allow it?’ asks Eudora, hoping this will deter her.
‘Good point. I’ll go and check. You get ready. I’ll meet you outside.’
Eudora is ruffled but for some reason does as she is told. There is no sign of Rose as she leaves the house, so Eudora decides to seize the opportunity. Her mother has probably forbidden it and, besides, Eudora would prefer to make this trip alone.
She is only a few yards along the street when she hears Rose calling. ‘Eudora! Wait up – I’m coming!’
Eudora knows pretending not to hear is futile. She pauses to wait for the little girl to catch up. They walk along in silence, Rose hopscotching from paving stone to paving stone.
‘When I was a little girl, my father used to tell me to avoid the cracks in the pavement otherwise the bears would get me,’ says Eudora.
‘That’s funny,’ says Rose.
They reach the post office to find a small queue with Stanley Marcham holding court at the front. He is laughing at something the man behind the counter has said. Eudora isn’t surprised. She had him down as a joker as soon as she saw him. As he turns to leave, Eudora pretends to be interested in a display of Jiffy bags. Stanley spots them, nonetheless.
‘Hello there,’ he says.
‘Mmm,’ replies Eudora.
‘Hello there,’ echoes Rose.
‘Is this your granddaughter then?’ he asks, eyes sparkling at Rose.
‘Good heavens, no,’ says Eudora.
‘We’re friends,’ declares Rose.
Eudora is astonished. ‘Are we?’
‘Aren’t we?’ asks Rose.
‘Of course you are. And how lucky you are too,’ says Stanley.
‘I’m Rose, by the way,’ she says, holding out her hand.
Stanley takes it with a smile. ‘And I’m Stanley. Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Rose.’
Rose giggles. Eudora has reached the front of the queue. ‘Excuse me,’ she says, moving forwards to the counter, irritated by their easy chatter.
‘Bye, Stanley,’ calls Rose over her shoulder before turning back to Eudora. ‘He was nice.’
‘Mmm. Airmail to Switzerland, please,’ Eudora tells the man. She notices he doesn’t joke with her. In fact, she can’t ever remember having had a conversation with him.
‘Have you ever tried these?’ asks Rose, plucking a bag of sweets from the display in front of the counter.
Eudora squints at the packet. ‘Haribo Cherries. No, I haven’t.’
‘You should. They’re really nice.’
The man sticks a stamp and an airmail sticker to the envelope, placing it in the large grey sack behind him. ‘Anything else?’
No. Just this date with destiny, thank you, thinks Eudora. She glances down at Rose. Her gaze is so open, as if she’s seeing the whole world for the first time. ‘May I have these too, please?’ she says, picking up the sweets and showing them to the man. He flashes a grin at Rose and smiles at Eudora.
‘That’s £7.79 in total, please.’
Eudora hands over a ten pound note and carefully counts the change back into her purse. As they leave the post office, she hands Rose the sweets. Rose stares up at her. ‘Thank you, Eudora.’ The little girl opens the packet and offers it to her. ‘Try one.’
Eudora can’t get her fingers inside, so Rose carefully cups her hand and tips a sweet onto her palm. Eudora is struck by the novel sensation of this child’s soft, warm fingers under her own. She puts the sweet into her mouth and is amazed. The flavour of cherry is strong and rather wonderful. ‘Thank you, Rose.’
‘No, Eudora. Thank you.’
‘Mind your backs, ladies,’ says a voice. Eudora turns to see a postman hauling the large grey sack of letters and parcels he’s collected from the post office towards his waiting van. She watches as he flings it inside, pulls the door shut and races off to his next stop. It’s a reassuring sight. The deed is done. All she can do now is wait.
* * *
1944, Quay Cottage, Cliff Road, Waldringfield, Suffolk
‘Again, Dora,’ demanded the small girl.
Eudora smiled and lifted the rickety wooden swing-seat carefully to avoid the risk of splinters. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready!’
Eudora let go, feeling heady with love as the air was filled with her sister’s ticklish laughter. The oak tree’s branches creaked as the swing flew back and forth and she felt the dappled sunlight kiss her face through whispering leaves. Eudora remembered being pushed on this swing by her father. She sent up a silent prayer for his safe return. His last letter had sounded positive.
I miss you, my darlings. I hope to be home soon.
Hope. That perfect word. Eudora embraced it like a talisman.
‘Higher! Higher! Higher!’
Stella was a demanding child but Eudora didn’t mind. She doted on her younger sibling, relishing the fact that her mother entrusted Stella to her care. Eudora also remembered the promise she’d made to her father before he left. It was as constant as the beating of her own heart.
Stella’s cries were increasing in pitch and intensity now. Her laughter had a piercing, hysterical edge. Eudora wondered if it might be wise to stop.
‘Shall we take a break, Stella? Go inside and have a drink? It’s very hot out here.’
‘Noooo, Dora! Noooo! Again! Again! Again!’ shrieked Stella.
‘What on earth is all this racket?’
Eudora winced at the sight of her mother, neck flushed scarlet, storming towards them, tea towel in hand. Some girls’ mothers completed their outfits with neck-scarves or pearls. Eudora’s mother’s accessory of choice was a tea towel.
‘Sorry, Mummy. We were just playing,’ said Eudora. In this time of war, she took her role as peacekeeper very seriously. She was sure Mr Churchill would approve.
Beatrice Honeysett eyed her daughters. Eudora noticed a softness around her mother’s eyes when the gaze was fixed on her but it hardened as she turned her attention to Stella. She pointed a finger towards her youngest child.
‘I don’t want to hear any fuss or shrieking from you, young lady. Don’t you know there’s a war on?’
Stella jutted out her chin and stared at her mother. Beatrice’s eyes narrowed at this gesture of open defiance, her breathing intensifying as she studied the child’s face. Eudora’s eyes flicked from one to the other and noticed her mother shrink slightly at Stella’s knife-sharp gaze – clear blue and as open as the wide Suffolk skies, a carbon copy of their father’s. Beatrice’s sadness quickly gave way to anger. Her fist tightened its grip on the tea towel as she began to whip it towards Stella.
‘Wicked, wicked girl!’ she cried.
Instead of inciting fear and shame, as it might have done in Eudora, Stella squealed with mocking laughter, dodging both the tea towel and her mother’s fury, darting away towards the far end of the garden. Beatrice lurched forwards, ready to follow, but Eudora caught hold of her.
‘It’s all right, Mummy. It’s all right. I’ll look after her. You go and rest for a while. It’s so hot. We’re all just too hot.’
Beatrice’s eyes swam with tears as they fixed on her eldest daughter’s face. Eudora saw a never-ending pit of sorrow in that gaze. It frightened her.
I need you to be very brave and look after Mummy …
Eudora breathed in fresh courage from the memory as she searched for the right words. ‘It’s all right, Mummy. Daddy will be home soon. We can go back to London and everything will be all right.’
Beatrice squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘You’re a good girl, Dora,’ she said before retreating inside.
Eudora could feel sweat trickling down her back, the heat of the day as burdensome as if she were carrying stones in her pockets. She looked towards the end of the garden and spotted Stella staring back at her from behind an apple tree. She wore an expression of malevolent glee on her tiny, perfect face as if it was all a huge game and she was sure she had just won.
Eudora sighed and held out a hand. ‘Come on, Stella. Come and help me make the pie for supper.’ It was ridiculously hot to be making a pie but she knew her great-uncle expected something hearty after a day working in the fields, even in summer.
The kitchen was welcomingly cool and Eudora set about making pastry, rubbing fat and flour through her fingertips, whilst humming a tune.
‘What’s that song, Dora?’ asked Stella, who was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking milk.
‘We-ell meet again,’ sang Eudora. ‘Don’t know where, don’t know whe-en!’ Despite her mother’s outburst, she was in a happy mood. As her father had taught her, Eudora had been following the news on the wireless and felt sure victory was close at hand. Her mother refused to listen to the radio. She found it too depressing but Eudora couldn’t help herself. She owed it to her father, as if she was protecting him somehow by tuning in. She knew it was silly but she also harboured a secret idea that he would know she was listening. His letters sounded optimistic too. Eudora knew he couldn’t share what was really happening but she gleaned that he was okay and that was enough for now.
Every day was a step closer to him returning home and every night Eudora would kneel beside her bed and pray with all her might. She persuaded Stella to do this too, even though the child had never met their father. Stella fidgeted as they prayed but always rewarded Eudora with an obedient ‘Amen’ at the end.
Despite her deep love for the child, Eudora knew her sister had a troublesome streak.
‘There’s something of the devil in that one,’ warned her great-uncle after they’d caught Stella pulling the wing from a butterfly one day. Even Eudora agreed with the punishment of her being locked in their room with no food for the rest of the day. She’d expected Stella to kick and scream as she led her upstairs at her mother’s behest but the child was strangely calm and remained silent and expressionless as she sank onto the bed. Eudora sat down beside her for a moment, folding her hands in her lap.
‘Why did you do it, Stella? How could you be so cruel?’
Stella glanced up at her sister with a lack of contrition that sent a chill through Eudora. ‘I just wanted to see if it could still fly. But it couldn’t.’ She turned away from her sister and lay down, her large blue eyes staring into the middle distance.
Eudora told herself that Stella was just a child. Children could be cruel sometimes. She was sure Stella would grow out of it. It was hard for her growing up during the war, having never met her father, with a mother who seemed to resent her and a great-uncle who spent the day in the fields and the night drinking. Eudora felt like the only one who could steer a path through the vagaries of life and was determined to take care of Stella at any cost.