“Eudora?” says Stanley, waving a hand in front of her face.
“Mmm?”
“I said, would you like a cup of tea?”
“Oh. Yes, please. Thank you.”
Stanley frowns. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll have a custard cream too if they’ve got one, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Eudora watches him go and wonders at her declaration that she is “fine.” Such an innocuous word and yet so loaded with opposite meaning. She isn’t fine of course. Hasn’t been since her consultation with the doctor last week. She is feeling little effect from the antibiotics and the notion of a heart scan is unsettling. If Rose hadn’t been otherwise engaged at a meeting with her new teacher, Eudora might have asked her to deputize today, but Stanley had turned up like an eager little boy. She hadn’t the heart to send him away.
Stanley is taking his time with the tea. Eudora looks up to see him chatting with a woman she recalls from the last meeting. This must be the famous Sheila. Stanley makes a comment and the woman laughs, resting her hand on his arm as if afraid that his sparkling wit will throw her off balance. Eudora shifts in her seat, turning her attention elsewhere. She notices Audrey coming in through the door. They’ve made eye contact before Eudora has a chance to turn away. Audrey obviously sees this as an invitation.
“Hello, Eudora,” she says, taking a seat. “I wasn’t sure whether to come today so it’s lovely to see a friendly face.”
Eudora has never considered that her face might be friendly, but she is pleased to be able to offer some comfort to Audrey. She’s been around death enough to understand the seismic shifts of grief. “I was sorry to hear about Jim.”
“Thank you,” says Audrey. “I was very glad to have Hannah there. Do you remember her? The death doula.” Audrey smiles. “What a title, eh?”
“Quite. Yes, I know who you mean. She’s a remarkable woman. I bumped into her the other day, actually. She said she’d been with you and Jim at the end. That must have been consoling.”
Audrey nods. “It was. She’s a very special lady. I didn’t know what a good death was until I met her. And I’m glad Jim had that. He deserved it. He was a wonderful man. The last couple of years have been very hard, so it’s a comfort that he left this world surrounded by love.”
Eudora surprises herself by reaching out to squeeze Audrey’s hand. Their eyes lock in a moment of shared understanding. “And how are you?” she asks.
Audrey takes a deep breath. “Would you think me a monster if I said I was relieved?”
“No,” says Eudora without hesitation. “I could see how difficult your life was. I think relief is entirely natural and understandable.”
Audrey blinks back tears. “Thank you, Eudora. You have no idea what that means to me. My son doesn’t understand at all, probably because he hardly saw his dad. He’s so angry at the moment.”
“That will be the guilt. And it’s his guilt. Not yours. He’ll have to deal with that in his own time.”
Audrey nods gratefully. “Where’s Stanley today?”
“Did somebody mention my name?” says Stanley, appearing before them with Sheila at his side. “Meet my glamorous assistant,” he adds as she places two teas in front of Eudora and Audrey and curtsies to play along. Stanley laughs. “Have you met Sheila?” he says to Eudora.
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure,” she replies with a thin-lipped smile.
“Pleased to meet you, Eudora,” says Sheila, shaking her hand warmly. “And Audrey, my love. How are you?” she asks, reaching out her arms and folding her into a tight embrace. Eudora’s shoulders stiffen.
“I’m not too bad, thank you, Sheila,” says Audrey. “Eudora is being very kind.”
“She’s got a good heart deep down, that one,” says Stanley, winking at Eudora, who rolls her eyes.
“I used to find it hard coming here after Vic died,” says Sheila, cupping Audrey’s hands in hers. “But everyone was so supportive. It always made me feel much better.”
“Hear, hear,” says Stanley. “It’s been hard since I lost Ada, but having people around who understand helps.”
“We should form a support group,” jokes Sheila, squeezing Audrey’s hand. She turns to Eudora. “Are you a widow, Eudora?”
Eudora bristles. “No. I’ve never been married.”
“Oh,” says Sheila, looking unsure. “Well. I’d better get back to help with the teas. It was nice to meet you. Take care, Audrey.”
“Thank you, Sheila,” says Audrey, patting her on the arm.
“What a smashing lady,” says Stanley after she’s gone.
“Oh, Sheila is wonderful,” says Audrey. “I was having a wobble in the chilled aisle in Sainsbury’s the other day. She saw me and gave me the biggest hug.”
“Ahhh. That is lovely, isn’t it, Eudora?” says Stanley.
“Lovely,” echoes Eudora.
“Do you know that we share the same birthday?” says Stanley.
“No,” says Audrey with a level of astonishment that Eudora finds baffling.
“And we were born in the same year so we’re practically twins!”
“Well, there’s a thing,” says Eudora, wondering how long they are going to spend discussing the merits of Sheila. Stanley stares at her for a moment before they are distracted by Sue calling them to attention.
“Good afternoon, everyone! It’s fantastic to see you all. I’m so pleased that some of our newbies have returned.” She smiles at Eudora and Stanley. “I am delighted to welcome one of our absolute favorites back this afternoon, so without further ado, please put your hands together for Chris the Crooner!”
Eudora almost jumps out of her seat at the volume of the whoops and cheers that greet Chris. He grins and waves like a Hollywood star. “Good afternoon, everyone!” he cries. “My name is Chris the Crooner and I’m going to take you on a musical journey through the forties, fifties, and beyond. Feel free to sing, dance, or throw money!”
Saints preserve us, thinks Eudora.
Chris the Crooner flicks a switch and the opening bars of “Memories Are Made of This” begin to play. Eudora is amazed at the excitement he creates almost immediately. Three-quarters of the people present are already on their feet, while others tap and sway in time to the music.
One of the organizers spots Audrey and approaches, offering his hand. “Never miss a chance to dance,” she says, accepting with shining eyes, reminding Eudora of her old friend Sylvia, who always used the exact same phrase. Eudora senses Stanley, who is swaying from side to side in his chair, itching to join in.
“He’s not bad, is he?” says Stanley.
Eudora sniffs. “He’s no Dean Martin. But he has a passable voice, I suppose.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to dance, Miss Honeysett?” he asks.
Eudora arches a brow. “No. Thank you.”
“Oh,” says Stanley with obvious disappointment. “Well, do you mind if I ask Sheila?”
“Why would I mind?” says Eudora. “It makes no difference to me.” She deliberately keeps her gaze fixed forward.
“Well, in that case, I will,” he says, rising to his feet. “I’ll come and check on you in a bit.”
“There’s no need. I’m not an invalid,” calls Eudora after him, but he’s already approached Sheila, bowing extravagantly like a courtier. Shelia responds in kind with an over-the-top curtsy before allowing Stanley to lead her around the dance floor in an impressive waltz.
“Birds of a feather,” mutters Eudora, sipping her tea, trying to ignore the fact that she is just about the only person not dancing. Even an old lady in a wheelchair is being pirouetted around the dance floor by an exuberant volunteer.
The singer is working his way through the hits of Perry Como, Bobby Darin, and Frank Sinatra. Stanley’s right. He is a good singer, but Eudora finds herself unable to take pleasure in it. There are too many memories woven into music, too much of the past that she’d rather forget. It’s fine for others to pretend that reminiscences are a comfort, but for Eudora, it’s a sudden reminder of all the activities she can no longer enjoy and the episodes of her life she has long since packed away.
Chris the Crooner has now become Chris the Pelvis-Wiggler as he dons an Elvis wig and launches into a medley of the King’s greatest hits. Eudora watches in horror as Stanley embarks on a personal tribute to his favorite singer. He may be less physically able than Chris, but what he lacks in ability he more than makes up for in passion and energy.
The singer pulls Stanley next to him, hands him a spare Elvis wig and sunglasses, and the two of them embark on an enthusiastic duet, much to the delight of the assembled company. Stanley’s singing is some of the most tuneless Eudora has ever heard, but the whole room—except her—is joining in now, cheering and singing along. Sheila thrusts two fingers into her mouth and issues a loud, uncouth whistle.
Eudora has had enough. She grabs her stick and hoists herself to a standing position. She throws a look toward Stanley and his adoring fans, who all have their backs to her. It’s as if she’s standing alone on the other side of a wall. The song is reaching its denouement now as Stanley turns to Sheila to deliver the final line:
“That’s the won-der, the won-der of yooooooou!”
Eudora can bear it no longer. She turns away from the circle of swaying, whooping onlookers and hurries toward the door.
“Are you okay?” asks Sue, meeting her in the entrance hall.
“I need to get home,” says Eudora with an unexpected gasp of emotion.
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 friendly,” 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.
“Philip’s such a handsome boy,” said Eudora. “You must be very proud.”
“I am, but I keep looking ’round every time you call him Philip. Everyone calls him Phil.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s fine, Dora. You weren’t to know. Anyway, how is your mother? She seems a little confused.”
Eudora pursed her lips and tried not to sound defensive. “She’s fine. Life’s not been easy for her.” She’d never told anyone about what her mother did. She had hoped she might confide in Sylvia today, but something was telling her to keep her counsel.
Sylvia inclined her head toward Eudora as she nodded with sympathy. “And what about you now, Eudora? How is life?”
“It’s . . .” Eudora hesitated. “It’s fine. It was my twenty-fifth anniversary of working at the bank this year. They gave me a carriage clock.”
“Fancy,” said Sylvia in a teasing tone that Eudora didn’t care for. “And what about living here?”
“It’s fine. Mum and I get along just fine.”
“Really?” Sylvia raised her eyebrows.
Eudora felt her hands ball into fists. “Mum needs me.”
“But what about you, Dor? What about what you need? You were so happy when you met Sam again. Why didn’t you move away with him? What on earth stopped you?”
Eudora wasn’t sure if it was the judgmental note in Sylvia’s tone or her endless boasting about their perfect life in Canada—her four-bedroom town house, their summer cabin by the lake, Ken becoming the youngest CEO in the history of the company—but something made Eudora snap.
“I had no choice. Mum needed me, and Sam had to move away so he could see his children. The two situations were incompatible.”
“But you gave up your happiness, Dora. Again.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dora. This is me. I know you.”
Sylvia jumped as Eudora banged her fist on the table. “No. You don’t know me. Not anymore. You know about society life in Toronto and coffee and soda! I haven’t seen you for sixteen years, so you don’t have the first idea how I feel. Now, I would appreciate it if you would mind your own business, Sylvia. I have made my choices and I stand by them.”
Sylvia held up her hands. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.”
Sylvia and Philip only stayed an hour longer. Eudora was relieved when she announced they would be leaving. It’s one thing to know in your heart that you have remained frozen in time while the world moves on but quite another thing to be told it by the person you trust most.
Sylvia hugged Eudora before holding her at arm’s length and staring into her eyes. “Take care, Dora, okay?”
Eudora saw the pity in her eyes and knew this would be the last time they ever saw each other. “You too.”
As soon as they’d left, she picked up the plate holding the last of the Black Forest Gateau and threw the cake into the bin. Some things simply weren’t to be.