As Eudora pulls open the doors to her ancient mahogany wardrobe, she is hit with the scent of mothballs and lavender. She sifts through her limited selection of clothes with a resigned sigh. It’s been a long time since she’s been invited anywhere and Eudora isn’t convinced she owns the appropriate outfit for a fiftieth birthday party. Alongside her funeral suit, the rail is loaded with garments in every shade of grey, brown and blue, all leaning towards the darker end of this palette.
‘When did I get so drab?’ she asks Montgomery who is curled neatly on top of the bed. Eudora reaches over to scratch the top of his head. The cat stretches out and yawns, revealing sharp teeth, a warning that her actions are not currently welcome. ‘Well you’re not much use,’ she tells him, turning back to her disastrous excuse for a wardrobe.
Eudora has always been smart – she prides herself on her appearance – but she has never been adventurous when it comes to clothes. She is wondering if she regrets this. She is also wondering why she cares so much. It’s only a birthday party with Stanley and a group of strangers. And it’s not as if she knows him that well anyway. Or cares what he thinks. No. She definitely doesn’t give two hoots what Stanley Marcham thinks.
However, she would like to make an effort for herself. Eudora always used to take care over her appearance when she went dancing as a young woman. She can still recall the effervescent joy of getting spruced up on a Saturday night, of wearing a beautiful dress with newly curled hair and make-up – not too much mind – before skipping off to dance the night away. It seems like a different lifetime now.
Eudora reaches disconsolately into the wardrobe, wishing for a large pumpkin and a fairy godmother. She pulls out a navy-blue skirt, which she used to wear for gardening, and a blouse the colour of over-steeped tea. Holding both items up for inspection, she tries to convince herself they might do. Perhaps a brooch would lift the whole effect? Or her mother’s pearls? And should she dare to wear a pair of smart court shoes or stick to her boring but comfortable slip-ons with the cushioned soles?
Eudora is so lost in thought that she jumps as the silence is broken by someone pressing the doorbell for a little longer than is strictly necessary. ‘Let go of the bell, Rose,’ calls Eudora over the banister.
‘How did you know it was me?’ asks the little girl, as Eudora eventually reaches the front door.
‘Who else would it be?’
‘I am very reliable,’ admits Rose. ‘Mum always says that I am the best and most loyal friend you can have.’
‘That makes you sound like a dog.’
Rose giggles. ‘I like that.’
‘And to what do I owe the pleasure? Because I’m not going swimming today if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘Oh, I know. You went this morning. I saw you come back.’ Eudora isn’t sure whether to be touched or terrified by Rose’s commitment to keeping her under KGB-level surveillance. ‘I just popped round with this.’ She holds out a red and white polka-dot cake tin. ‘To say sorry. It’s lemon drizzle. I made it with Mum. She told me to drop it off and come straight home.’
Eudora accepts the tin. ‘Oh. Well thank you, Rose.’ The little girl stares up at her hopefully. ‘You’re not doing a very good job of going straight home, are you?’
‘Well no,’ admits Rose. ‘But I thought it would be polite of me to offer to share the cake with you so you don’t feel too piggy.’
‘How selfless of you.’
‘Thank you,’ says Rose, nodding proudly.
Eudora realises she’s not going to leave and can’t think of a way of banishing her without appearing rude. ‘Would you like to come in for a slice of cake, Rose?’
Rose’s face erupts with delight. ‘Yes, please! Thank you, Eudora. Shall I make us some squash or cor-dial as you like to call it?’
Recalling the tooth-dissolving concoction she prepared last time, Eudora shakes her head. ‘Not for me. I shall make some tea but you can have cordial if you prefer.’
‘I do prefer,’ says Rose, following her to the kitchen. Eudora fetches a glass and the cordial bottle then sets about making her tea. Rose pours out a good half-glass, topping it up with the merest splash of water.
‘You’ll rot your teeth,’ warns Eudora.
‘That’s what Mum says. But I’m a really good brusher so I think it’ll be okay.’ She looks around the room. ‘Your kitchen is very bare. You don’t have any magnets on your fridge or pictures on the cupboards like we do.’
‘True.’
‘I’ll do you some pictures,’ says Rose.
‘There’s really no need.’
‘I don’t mind. I love drawing.’ Eudora thinks about the pictures she saw on the walls of the hospital and knows there’s no sense in arguing. Besides, they might brighten up the place a little. What with her ill-stocked wardrobe and empty walls, life has become a little colourless. ‘Were you having a nap upstairs when I rang the doorbell? My granny often has a nap in the afternoons.’
‘No. In actual fact I was trying to choose an outfit.’
‘Ooh, can I help? I know a lot about fashion.’
Eudora glances at Rose’s current ensemble – a pair of pink khaki shorts, a purple T-shirt emblazoned with the words, ‘Be More Unicorn’, and a gold headscarf. Maybe Eudora is starting to get used to these affronts to fashion or perhaps it’s just too hot to protest. ‘Very well,’ she says.
‘You always say that.’
‘Say what?’
‘Very well. When you don’t want to do something but decide to go along with it to be polite.’
‘Very well,’ repeats Eudora.
‘You’re funny, Eudora,’ says Rose, galloping up the stairs.
By the time Eudora reaches the door to her bedroom, Rose is standing with her arms folded, having reviewed and rejected her entire wardrobe. ‘There are too many browns and greys. You need something colourful,’ she says confirming Eudora’s suspicions. ‘Also, I was wondering what that is up there?’ she asks, pointing to a large cardboard box marked ‘Eudora’s Treasures’.
‘It’s nothing,’ says Eudora, leaning forwards to push the door to.
‘Meddlers for nosey parkers. Am I right?’ says Rose proudly.
Eudora purses her lips. ‘Let’s return to your critique of my wardrobe.’
Rose frowns. ‘Does that mean you want me to be your style guru?’
‘I prefer the term “fashion advisor”.’
‘Very well,’ says Rose, adopting a serious expression as she parrots Eudora. ‘I accept the challenge. When shall we go shopping?’
Eudora is determined to nip this ridiculous suggestion in the bud. ‘Is that entirely necessary, Rose?’
‘Of course. You need a makeover and I am the woman for the job.’ Rose is bouncing from foot to foot like a toddler in need of the toilet.
‘I’m not sure it’s worth it for one evening out.’
Rose is agog. ‘An evening out! Is it a party?’
Eudora nods. ‘Stanley’s son’s fiftieth.’
Rose looks as if she’s about to burst. ‘Then you have to get a new outfit! It’s very important to make an effort and not let yourself go as you get older.’
Eudora’s lips twitch with amusement. ‘Is that so?’
Rose nods gravely. ‘It is.’
‘Well then, I suppose I’d better try,’ says Eudora, staggered that she is agreeing to this charade.
‘Yesss! Wait here, I’ll go and ask Mum.’ Rose bounds off down the stairs, leaving Eudora wondering what has just happened. She isn’t used to having such a force of nature in her life. This little girl is like a grenade packed full of joie de vivre and Eudora has no idea why she has been chosen as a friend. Eudora is everything Rose isn’t: old, disillusioned and able to keep her emotions in check. Yet it’s not unpleasant having the child around. She is infuriatingly persistent but unrelentingly kind. Eudora supposes Rose has singled her out because she misses her own grandmother. She has no doubt her enthusiasm will fizzle out once she starts school and meets people her own age. In the meantime, it’s probably no bad thing for Eudora to have a distraction from the business of dying. And it might be nice to have a new dress. She could wear it to her funeral. Now there’s a thought.
Eudora makes her way downstairs, her mind set on making another cup of tea as the first one has gone cold. The phone rings and she diverts to the living room to answer it. Her heart beats a little faster as she registers the voice.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Honeysett. This is Doctor Greta Liebermann calling from Klinik Lebenswahl.’
Eudora’s pulse quickens. ‘It’s good to hear from you.’
‘It’s good to speak to you too. Petra has passed on your application to me so I wanted to call in person. I will be the one who effectively guides you through the process and of course I will ultimately take the decision as to whether we are able to proceed.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you have time for a conversation about your application?’
Eudora glances at the door, fearing that Rose will come flying through it at any moment. ‘Yes. Of course,’ she says, wanting to sound as co-operative as possible.
‘Good. Firstly, let me introduce myself properly. My name is Greta Liebermann. Please call me Greta and would it be all right if I call you Eudora?’
‘Very well,’ says Eudora.
‘So, everything is up to date on your form in terms of medical conditions?’
‘It is.’
‘And have you had any more thoughts about your decision?’
Eudora bristles. ‘You mean have I changed my mind?’
‘People often do.’
‘Well I haven’t.’
‘Okay. And have you discussed your decision with anyone?’
‘Good heavens, no. Why on earth would I do that?’
‘You could say that it really is a matter of life and death and therefore important to talk it through.’
‘Is this why you’ve called?’
‘I want to make sure you understand the full implications of what this decision means.’
Eudora gives an exasperated sigh. ‘I have explained this to Petra. I am eighty-five years old and done with life. My body is deteriorating and I want to have a choice about how I die. I am not depressed or unhappy. I just want to have a say about what happens to me before it’s too late.’
‘Eudora, believe me, I do understand. But you must also understand that I need to ask these questions. I must be certain that you are sure before I take any decision.’
Eudora inhales deeply. ‘I do understand. I’m sorry. I know you can’t take this decision lightly.’
‘I can hear the determination in your voice and I promise I will consider your application in full. I think what you say about having a choice in death as in life is very important. I cannot guarantee I will agree to it but I will consult with my colleagues, consider everything you have told us, and contact you again for further discussions before I decide.’
‘Thank you,’ says Eudora. The doctor’s words give her unexpected hope. Finally someone is listening to her. Finally someone understands.
There’s a scrabbling sound in the hall as Rose returns. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not a burglar. It’s me, Rose,’ she shouts. ‘I left the door on the latch like we used to in Cornwall and then I was a bit worried that I shouldn’t have because there are all sorts of violent criminals in London; I saw it on the news.’ She appears in the doorway. ‘Oh sorry, I didn’t realise you were on the phone.’
Eudora stiffens. She doesn’t want to be having this conversation with Doctor Liebermann whilst Rose is in the room. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor. I have to go. I’ve got a visitor.’
‘Yes, I heard her. But this is not your granddaughter as you don’t have family?’
‘No. It’s Rose. She’s my …’ Eudora fumbles for the right word.
‘Fashion advisor!’ shouts Rose, giving Eudora a thumbs-up.
‘… Neighbour’s daughter,’ finishes Eudora.
‘I see,’ says the doctor with a hint of amusement in her voice. ‘I will let you go but can I just say one thing?’
‘Very well.’ Rose gives her a knowing look and Eudora rolls her eyes.
‘Allow yourself to choose life while you are making the decision about your death. It’s important to live life to the full while you can.’
Eudora sniffs. ‘I’ll give it some thought.’
‘Good. We will speak again soon. Goodbye, Eudora.’
‘That sounded intense,’ says Rose, wide-eyed, as Eudora replaces the handset.
‘It was private business. Now, shall we have some of that cake?’ says Eudora, keen to move things along.
Rose taps the side of her nose and winks. ‘Private business. Got it. Yes, please, to the cake. And Mum says we can go shopping whenever you like – we can be your fairy godmothers!’ Rose is staring up at her hopefully. ‘You can just say “very well”, if you like.’
The doctor’s ‘choose life’ mantra echoes in Eudora’s mind. ‘Thank you, Rose. That would be lovely.’
‘Yay! And now we can watch Pointless together while we eat our cake, if you like? My granny loves it.’
‘What an utterly ridiculous name for a television show,’ says Eudora.
‘I know but you’ll love Richard Osman. All the old ladies do.’
‘I’m a very harsh critic.’
‘I don’t know what that means but okay,’ says Rose. ‘Shall I cut the cake while you make the tea?’
‘That would be helpful, thank you,’ says Eudora, leading the way to the kitchen.
Rose glances up from the haphazardly gigantic slices of cake she has cut for them. ‘Do you like your name?’
‘I didn’t have much choice in the matter,’ says Eudora.
‘You could shorten it to Dora if you don’t like the long version.’ Eudora is struck dumb by an emotional thunderbolt from the past. ‘Can I call you Dora? Like Dora the Explorer?’
‘I would prefer it if you didn’t,’ says Eudora in a shaky but firm voice.
‘Why? It’s much friendlier.’
Eudora is surprised by the anger, which ignites immediately. ‘I don’t want you to call me that, Rose. Please desist with this. I don’t want to be called Dora. My name is Eudora!’ She knows her fury is irrational but she can’t help it. Her dear father’s face floats into her mind.
‘Adorable Dora!’ he cries. ‘My little peach!’
‘Sorry,’ says Rose in a quiet voice. ‘I’m sorry I made you sad.’ Eudora is amazed by her intuition. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No,’ says Eudora. ‘But thank you.’
Rose nods. ‘Case closed, m’lud.’
This child is astonishing, thinks Eudora.
‘Come on, let’s distract ourselves by watching Pointless,’ says Rose, balancing two plates of cake and her drink and leading them into the living room.
Eudora finds herself rather taken with both Richard Osman and the lemon drizzle cake as they watch television companionably. Eudora enjoys identifying the missing words in certain categories and snorts with derision when a contestant suggests that John Steinbeck’s novel is called, The Grapes of France.
‘It’s The Grapes of Wrath, you silly woman,’ she cries.
‘You know a lot of stuff,’ says Rose, impressed.
‘I’ve been alive for a long time,’ admits Eudora.
Rose finishes the cake, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Are you scared of dying?’
Despite becoming more accustomed to Rose’s direct approach to conversation, the question catches Eudora off-guard. However, it doesn’t take her long to find the answer. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Are you?’
Rose considers this for a moment. ‘I was until I watched Coco.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A film about the Day of the Dead, which is this really cool celebration they have in Mexico.’ Eudora watches Rose’s face light up as she explains. ‘Basically, when you die, you hang out with all the other people from your family who have died and then once a year the people who are still alive put up your picture and light candles and you go back to visit them.’
‘That sounds rather nice.’
‘I think so too. Mum says we can do it this year to remember Grandad. She thinks I’m a bit obsessed with death but I think it’s important not to be scared, don’t you?’
Eudora stares at her. ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
‘I’m glad you’re not scared because it would be easy to be frightened the nearer you get to death.’
‘Thank you for reminding me.’
‘Sorry. I’m talking too much again, aren’t I? Do you want me to go?’
Normally, Eudora would welcome the idea of having her house back to herself but for some reason, she’s in no hurry today. ‘You can stay for a bit longer, if you like.’
‘Thanks. Anyway, I hope you live long enough to come to my birthday party.’
Eudora swallows her amusement. ‘How long have I got?’
‘It’s the 22nd of October.’
‘You’ll want all your new school friends there, not some fuddy-duddy like me.’
Rose is indignant. ‘I will want you there. And Stanley. And Montgomery if we can persuade him. Please can you try to stay alive until then?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Their conversation is interrupted by a loud knock at the door. ‘Rose? Are you still in there?’
Rose pulls a face. ‘That’s Mum. I better go. Thanks for sharing the cake and for the chat. I really enjoyed it.’
‘Me too,’ says Eudora.
Rose skips down the hall to let her mother in. Eudora hears Maggie scolding her daughter before appearing at the living room door. ‘Eudora, I’m so sorry. I told Rose not to stay too long.’
Eudora holds up her hands. ‘It’s quite all right. I invited her to stay. Please don’t be cross with her.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Completely sure.’ Eudora notices that she looks weary. ‘How are you?’
Maggie runs a hand over her burgeoning belly. ‘Fine, thank you. A bit tired but that’s babies for you.’
‘I’m sure.’
Maggie smiles. ‘Right, come along you,’ she says to Rose. ‘Have you said thank you?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ says Rose, rolling her eyes at Eudora. ‘When shall we go shopping then?’
‘Oh yes,’ says Maggie. ‘I understand we’re taking you for a makeover.’
‘Apparently so.’
Maggie smiles. ‘How about this Saturday?’
‘That would be fine, thank you. The party is in the evening so it will force me to be decisive.’
‘Fantastic. Shall we say ten o’clock?’
‘Thank you,’ says Eudora. ‘Oh, and Rose?’
‘Yes?’ says Rose with shining eyes.
‘What does, “Be More Unicorn”, mean?’ she asks, gesturing at her T-shirt.
‘Well, Eudora. It’s all about being more sparkly and magical,’ she says, flinging open her arms like a singer reaching the finale of a big number. ‘Does that make sense?’
Resistance is futile, Eudora. You should know this by now.
‘It does, Rose. I understand perfectly. See you both on Saturday.’
* * *
The dress was pale blue and had a chiffon bodice finished with an A-line skirt. Eudora found it in Allders during a Saturday afternoon shopping trip with Sylvia and had spent a good while trying to decide whether she should fritter nearly a month’s wages on it.
‘It’s like something Grace Kelly would wear,’ said Sylvia with a dreamy look in her eyes.
‘I’ll take it,’ Eudora told the shop assistant.
As Eddie arrived to collect her the following Saturday, she made sure she was standing at the top of the stairs so she could sashay down towards him in the manner of a Hollywood film star. It didn’t help that the staircase was carpeted in beige Axminster rather than made from the smooth grey marble of LA mansions but she did her best to remain elegant. Eddie’s face was a picture of admiration and Eudora decided immediately that it had been worth every penny.
‘Like the cat that got the cream,’ as her mother might say.
Beatrice disapproved of Eddie. Eudora could tell. She was always civil, greeting him politely but without warmth, twitching her nose as if she’d detected a bad smell. Eudora chose to ignore it. Eddie was her escape. There was something about his mischievous south-east London charm and noisy self-confidence which gave her hope. In a home life almost devoid of fun and laughter, Eddie offered a joyful alternative. Encouraged by Sylvia, Eudora resolved that if she wasn’t having fun at the age of twenty-two, she may as well give up.
‘Seriously, Dor. You can’t stay stuck at home with your mum and Stella going hell for leather at each other forever. You’ll end up in the Bethlem.’
Eudora knew her friend was right. Beatrice and Stella’s loathing for one another had hardened into something as cold and solid as granite. Their communication was either cursory or like a lit fuse which threatened to ignite into conflict at any moment. As soon as Eudora walked through the door at night, her shoulders would tighten as the toxic atmosphere cloaked her.
Eddie was the antithesis of this world. She had met him at a dance one Saturday night, where she was playing gooseberry to Sylvia and her date, Ken. Eudora was usually happy to sit at the side and watch; the atmosphere alone was enough to serve as respite. She had noticed Eddie a few times and on first sight shared her mother’s reservations. He was loud, brash, and a little too sure of himself. As a result, he was never short of doe-eyed females with whom to dance. On this particular night, Eudora was sitting in her usual position at the side of the room, nursing a glass of lemonade and tapping her foot in time to the music, when Eddie appeared before her.
‘Of all the dance floors in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine,’ he said, putting his foot up on the chair next to her and leaning forwards with a smirk.
Eudora knew it was clichéd but there was something about the way he had strode over and chosen her which made her laugh and blush. Taking this as an invitation, Eddie stuck out his hand.
‘Eddie Spencer.’
‘Eudora Honeysett,’ she replied, longing for a more straightforward name.
‘A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.’ Eudora’s cheeks grew warm. ‘Smoke?’ He offered her the packet.
‘No, thank you. I don’t smoke,’ she said, hoping this didn’t make her sound superior.
‘I like a woman who knows her own mind,’ said Eddie, tucking the packet back inside his pocket and flashing her a grin.
Eudora pressed her lips together, struggling to know what to say next. Luckily, Eddie was a dab hand. ‘How about we say it with music?’ he asked, holding out his hand. Eudora accepted and as they danced, her body grew light with the possibility of how life could be.
In the weeks and months that followed, Eudora, Eddie, Sylvia and Kenny became a happy band of four. To Eudora, Saturday was as sacred as a Sunday and she allowed herself to dream that she was on the path towards something new and wonderful.
Stella was the thorn in her side. She nagged and pestered Eudora to let her tag along and when her sister refused, flouted the rules and left the house anyway. After one occasion when fifteen-year-old Stella was brought home by a policeman, having broken into the local park with two other girls and been caught smoking, Beatrice had turned to Eudora with mournful eyes.
‘Please, Dora. Just take her with you on Saturday night. I can’t bear the shame.’
Conscience suitably pricked, Eudora had agreed. She told herself it would be fine. Stella’s level of defiance had intensified as she hit the teenage years but Eudora’s relationship with her sister remained strong. Or so she had thought.
‘You can come along on Saturday but you have to behave. No drinking or smoking, okay?’
‘O-kay, Do-ra,’ sang Stella in a mocking little-girl voice.
‘If you’re going to be like that, I won’t let you come.’
Stella fixed her sister with a determined look. ‘Of course you will. Because if you don’t, I’ll escape and bring shame upon this house. Again. And you’ll have to deal with Beatrice droning on and on about how life would have been so much better if our precious father hadn’t been killed, blah, blah, blah.’
‘Stella!’
Stella’s expression dissolved into one of raucous mirth. ‘I’m joking, Dora. Calm down. Of course I’ll behave.’ Eudora looked deep into her sister’s eyes, longing to believe her. Stella pulled a comical face before planting a kiss on her sister’s cheek and whispering in her ear. ‘You can trust me, Dora. I won’t let you down. Beatrice might hate me but I know you love me.’
Stella had taken to calling their mother Beatrice in a bid to annoy her. For Eudora it was another example of her being cast as the mother, torn between warring siblings. She loathed this role but endured it as best she could, hoping for brighter days ahead.
Stella started off the evening as good as her word. She wore a simple, pretty pink dress and helped Eudora with her hair. ‘You look beautiful, Dora,’ she told her sister as they smiled at their reflections in the mirror.
Their mother waved them off. ‘Be back by eleven and be good, Stella,’ she warned. Stella rolled her eyes.
The alarm bells should have rung during the car journey. Eudora sat in the front with Eddie, while Stella was in the back with Kenny in the middle and Sylvia to his left. Stella kept laughing too loudly at everything Kenny said. It was a sharp, tinkling sound designed to focus attention on her alone. At one point she reached over and squeezed his knee.
‘You’re so funny, Ken,’ she told him.
Eudora could see Sylvia was fuming whilst Kenny lapped it up.
In the front, Eddie and Eudora exchanged glances. ‘Your sister’s a bit over-the-top, isn’t she?’ he muttered.
Eudora was mortified. After everything she’d said to Stella and all her false promises, her selfish sister was going to ruin everything if she didn’t act fast.
Eudora turned in her seat to see Stella leaning in to whisper something in Kenny’s ear. From his shocked laugh and Stella’s raised eyebrows, Eudora could tell that whatever she’d said was highly inappropriate. She stole a glance at Sylvia, who looked ready to explode.
‘Stella,’ said Eudora. ‘May I remind you that you are fifteen years old and have been invited along tonight as my guest. If you don’t stop embarrassing me in front of my friends, I shall take you straight home. Do you understand?’
‘Yeah, cool it, little girl,’ said Eddie.
Stella’s face clouded with shame. It was one thing to be told off by her sister, but Eddie’s casual dismissal crushed her. She shrank back into her seat and didn’t speak for the rest of the journey.
Stella stood next to Eudora in brooding silence as they checked their coats.
‘Stella …’ she began.
‘I know you don’t want me here. I wish I’d stayed at home.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Of course it is. You and your little friends hate me.’
‘No, Stella. We don’t hate you. You just got off on the wrong foot.’
‘I was being friendly. Anyway, I don’t care. You go and dance with your precious Eddie and I’ll sit on the side like a good girl,’ said Stella as they entered the dance hall.
‘Come on, Eudora,’ said Eddie, appearing next to them and grabbing her hand. ‘It’s your favourite.’ Eudora allowed him to lead her to the dance floor and watched as Stella took a seat at the side, arms folded, face set in a pout.
‘Ignore her,’ said Eddie. ‘She’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye out.’
Eudora looked into his eyes and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Anything for my girl,’ he told her, grabbing her by the waist and whirling her round.
Eudora’s body, heart, and mind soared with hopeful joy.
This is living. This is how life is meant to be.
About halfway through the evening, Eudora lost sight of Stella. She glanced over to where her sister had been sitting. Panic shot through her as she noticed the empty chair.
‘Stella’s gone,’ she told Eddie.
He cast around the room. ‘Don’t worry. She’s probably powdering her nose or something. We’ll find her.’
Eddie’s reassurance was short-lived as Eudora spotted Stella in a far corner, laughing with a group of older teenagers. She was holding a glass of what looked like Cherryade. Eudora’s heart sank when she spotted one of the boys surreptitiously pull out a hip flask and pour some into Stella’s drink. ‘Eddie,’ she said, tapping him on the arm and gesturing in the direction of the group.
Eddie’s eyes flashed with anger as he let go of Eudora’s hand and charged towards them. She hurried after in fearful astonishment. Before Eudora could stop him, Eddie had the youth with the hip flask pinned up against the wall.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at? She’s fifteen!’
Eudora was horrified, not only by the violence of Eddie’s reaction, but by the way her sister watched the scene unfold with calm, smiling indifference. It was almost as if she’d planned it. The boy was flailing his hands and struggling to breathe as his friends watched on in stupefied fear. Eddie was older than these youths and had a reputation as someone to be respected and even feared. Eudora reached out a trembling hand and touched him on the shoulder. ‘Eddie. Let him go. Please.’
Eddie shot a glance in her direction. Eudora saw a coldness in his eyes which she’d never noticed before.
‘Eddie. Mate. Let him go, eh? He’s just a kid.’ Kenny had joined them now.
Eddie loosened his grip enough to bring the boy down to eye level. ‘Pull a stunt like that again and I’ll break your fucking arm, do you hear?’ he said, before letting go and walking away in disgust. Kenny hurried after him, leaving Eudora staring at her sister as the other youths dispersed.
Stella stumbled towards her, wearing a smirk of triumph. ‘Isn’t your boyfriend a hero? You’re so lucky, Eudora.’ She pretended to trip, Eudora was sure of that and her smirk deepened as the cherry-red liquid was flung across the front of Eudora’s dress
‘Ohh noo! Your beautiful dress,’ cried Stella, hand on heart, standing back as if to admire her handiwork. ‘I do hope it’s not ruined.’
Eudora had scrubbed and scrubbed at the dress for weeks afterwards but the stain never came out and Stella never apologised.