you can always bring this little chap round to me for the night.” She tickled David, making him giggle again.
Eva felt shamed by Cathy’s generosity. “No, I couldn’t possibly ask you to look after him—I feel bad enough leaving him at home.”
“Why not? I’d enjoy it.” She leaned across the bed and gave Eva a shove. “I know I’m a boring old has-been, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want anyone else to have any fun!”
“Is that how you see yourself, Cathy? Seriously, I mean: you don’t feel you want to . . . you know . . . meet someone else?”
Cathy sighed and ruffled David’s hair. “I don’t know. I’m just scared, I guess. Remember that sleazy so-and-so at the dance? The one with the wandering hands?”
Eva nodded. “But you can’t let one bad experience put you off men for life.”
“I know. And I look at you sometimes and think, yes, go for it! Be happy while you’ve got the chance. But then I look at Stuart’s photo and . . . well, I just can’t. I can’t imagine being that way with anybody else.”
“I wish it had been that way with Eddie and me,” Eva said quietly.
“You gave him everything you could,” Cathy said. “You made him happy.”
“Did I? He wasn’t happy about David.”
“He would have got over that. He just didn’t have the chance.” Cathy reached out and stroked the pale pink patch on the little boy’s cheek. “David’s his legacy to the world. That’s the gift you gave him: don’t sell yourself so short.”
Eva closed her eyes tight. She had never cried for Eddie. To do so now would be the worst kind of hypocrisy, because the tears she was fighting back were for herself.
It was cold and dark when Eva and Dilys left the house that night. Anton was waiting in the car at the end of the street, ready to whisk them into town. Eva asked to be dropped off at the usual place. Telling Dilys about Bill’s strange request would have prompted too many awkward questions.
When she found her way to the restaurant, Bill was already waiting outside. He greeted her with a smile and a hug. There was no hint of what yesterday had meant to him: of the anguish of sitting in front of a clock watching the minutes of his friend’s life ticking away.
The restaurant was crowded, mostly with white Americans and their girlfriends. Few local people could afford the prices the Victoria charged. There was a lot of pointing and whispering, but to Eva’s relief no one actually came up to the table to challenge them.
“This sounds pretty good, for Britain!” Bill laughed as he scanned the menu. “Now, what will you have?” Before she could answer, he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and passed it to her across the table. “Thought we could go see these guys after this,” he said. “Go on—read it!”
He’s talking too much, she thought, frowning as she unfolded the flyer. He’s acting as though he didn’t have a care in the world . “‘Civic Hall, Wolverhampton,’” she read aloud. “‘Anglo-American Ball. By public demand—return of that Dynamic Colored Personality, Stanley Carter and His All-Colored Harlem Hot Club Dance Band, featuring Vic Brown—the colored Bing Crosby . . . ’”
“Sounds perfect, don’t you think?”
“Well, yes . . . but do you really want to go dancing?” She frowned, trying to work out what was going on inside his head.
“Are you kidding?” Bill smiled broadly. “You know how I love to dance—and anyway, it’s what Jimmy would have wanted. Back home we believe in enjoying ourselves when we have a funeral. Just because there isn’t going to be a funeral doesn’t mean we can’t pretend . . . ” His voice faltered and almost broke. But before Eva could say or do anything, he was on his feet, helping her out of her chair. “Come on,” he said, “let’s skip dinner and get over there!”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Eva whispered as they made their way past the shadowy
Eva felt shamed by Cathy’s generosity. “No, I couldn’t possibly ask you to look after him—I feel bad enough leaving him at home.”
“Why not? I’d enjoy it.” She leaned across the bed and gave Eva a shove. “I know I’m a boring old has-been, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want anyone else to have any fun!”
“Is that how you see yourself, Cathy? Seriously, I mean: you don’t feel you want to . . . you know . . . meet someone else?”
Cathy sighed and ruffled David’s hair. “I don’t know. I’m just scared, I guess. Remember that sleazy so-and-so at the dance? The one with the wandering hands?”
Eva nodded. “But you can’t let one bad experience put you off men for life.”
“I know. And I look at you sometimes and think, yes, go for it! Be happy while you’ve got the chance. But then I look at Stuart’s photo and . . . well, I just can’t. I can’t imagine being that way with anybody else.”
“I wish it had been that way with Eddie and me,” Eva said quietly.
“You gave him everything you could,” Cathy said. “You made him happy.”
“Did I? He wasn’t happy about David.”
“He would have got over that. He just didn’t have the chance.” Cathy reached out and stroked the pale pink patch on the little boy’s cheek. “David’s his legacy to the world. That’s the gift you gave him: don’t sell yourself so short.”
Eva closed her eyes tight. She had never cried for Eddie. To do so now would be the worst kind of hypocrisy, because the tears she was fighting back were for herself.
It was cold and dark when Eva and Dilys left the house that night. Anton was waiting in the car at the end of the street, ready to whisk them into town. Eva asked to be dropped off at the usual place. Telling Dilys about Bill’s strange request would have prompted too many awkward questions.
When she found her way to the restaurant, Bill was already waiting outside. He greeted her with a smile and a hug. There was no hint of what yesterday had meant to him: of the anguish of sitting in front of a clock watching the minutes of his friend’s life ticking away.
The restaurant was crowded, mostly with white Americans and their girlfriends. Few local people could afford the prices the Victoria charged. There was a lot of pointing and whispering, but to Eva’s relief no one actually came up to the table to challenge them.
“This sounds pretty good, for Britain!” Bill laughed as he scanned the menu. “Now, what will you have?” Before she could answer, he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and passed it to her across the table. “Thought we could go see these guys after this,” he said. “Go on—read it!”
He’s talking too much, she thought, frowning as she unfolded the flyer. He’s acting as though he didn’t have a care in the world . “‘Civic Hall, Wolverhampton,’” she read aloud. “‘Anglo-American Ball. By public demand—return of that Dynamic Colored Personality, Stanley Carter and His All-Colored Harlem Hot Club Dance Band, featuring Vic Brown—the colored Bing Crosby . . . ’”
“Sounds perfect, don’t you think?”
“Well, yes . . . but do you really want to go dancing?” She frowned, trying to work out what was going on inside his head.
“Are you kidding?” Bill smiled broadly. “You know how I love to dance—and anyway, it’s what Jimmy would have wanted. Back home we believe in enjoying ourselves when we have a funeral. Just because there isn’t going to be a funeral doesn’t mean we can’t pretend . . . ” His voice faltered and almost broke. But before Eva could say or do anything, he was on his feet, helping her out of her chair. “Come on,” he said, “let’s skip dinner and get over there!”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Eva whispered as they made their way past the shadowy
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