Shadow Over Edmund Street by Suzanne Frankham (best e reader for android .txt) 📗

end-of-year concert. We were in the choir, hence the white dresses. Little angels. You look at it, what do you see? Three little girls, dressed up, sitting together, smiling and happy.’ She put the glass down on the table with a thump. Watched as a lemon-coloured drop spilt on the tablecloth. ‘It’s painful remembering, you know. Those days. Pretty on the outside, miserable inside. Kids can be so cruel. So very cruel. I was bullied because my parents were Italian. There were other Italian kids there for God’s sake, it was a Catholic school, but they were stronger than I was. Or I became the token wog. I don’t know, but they made my life hell.’

Rose nodded, wondered about her own children dragged across the world because of their selfish parents. Had it been hard for them? She didn’t think so, but what did she know?

‘And Edwina,’ Juliana continued. ‘Why would Edwina be bullied, you might well ask? Well, I’ll tell you why. Because she was poor. A mother, no father and the clothes her mother used to put her in—the haircut, the glasses—everything. She was always “Four Eyes”, and that was the kindest thing anyone said about her. Kids smell it, you know. Hopelessness, despair. A lack of confidence, I suppose. That was Edwina’s lot. Never had a chance.’

‘And then there was Trudi.’ Juliana signalled for another round of drinks and Jack came over with the bottle.

God, thought Rose, what have I let myself in for? Then reconsidered. I’ll Uber home, come back for the car in the morning.

‘Look at her, for God’s sake,’ said Juliana, after she’d had another healthy sip.

‘She’s pretty,’ said Rose. ‘No, there’s something else. A vulnerability, perhaps. She has a special quality.’

‘Oh, yes. Spot on. She was so beautiful, but there was a fatal flaw. Her father was dead long before I knew her. But there was talk. Oh yes, there was always talk. According to my grandfather her father had come back from the war damaged. Shell shock. Nowadays you’d call it post-traumatic stress disorder or something, and everyone would be kinder. But not then. He must have married late when I think about it now but to me she was the same as Edwina; fatherless. That was another thing,’ Juliana waved her glass in the air, ‘it was almost sinful to be a single mother. And Lord knows what went on in her home. My guess, with a bit of hindsight, is somewhere along the line there was violence. She was fragile. Very fragile. Scared of her own shadow. Probably why she developed such a stammer.’ Juliana sighed long and loud. ‘Impossible to hide a stammer. It’s such a cruel thing. The more you try the worse it gets. Such an easy thing to make fun of. The kids gave her hell.’ She fingered the glass, took another swig. ‘So beautiful, but scared of life. Terrified of everything, Trudi was.’

Rose picked up the photo, an image captured forever. Three little girls sitting side by side on the pavement with the future ahead of them.

‘I’m so sorry, Juliana. How very sad.’

‘Yes, my dear, Rose. In the photo you are not seeing three happy children from the seventies, but three survivors. We clung together because no one else would bother with us. When the photo was taken, the three of us had been sent to Coventry for a week. Do you know what Coventry is?’

Juliana didn’t wait for Rose to answer. ‘Well, I’ll tell you. For one whole week, none of the other kids in the school would talk to us. At all. If I remember correctly Jack, dear Jack, was one of the ring leaders,’ she said, smiling across the room at him. More a grimace. Bared teeth. ‘Which is why tonight’s meal, all my meals here in fact, are at mates’ rates. To his credit, he did grow up and realise what an awful shit he’d been. He’s been making up for it ever since.’ She beckoned Jack over.

‘How are you going, girls? Quite a night out.’ Jack’s smile was in place, but Rose could see he was watching Juliana closely.

‘It’s going fine,’ she said, ‘fine.’ She took the photo from Rose’s fingers and waved it in front of his face. ‘I’ve been filling Rose in on dear Trudi. She wanted to know about Edwina. You can’t know the young Edwina without knowing about Trudi, now can you?’ She ran her hand around the edge of the picture. ‘Do you realise I’m the only one still alive? Makes you think,

doesn’t it.’

* Juliana linked arms with Rose as they wound their way across the road to the vegetable shop. ‘We don’t live here anymore, use it though when we’re in town. Got our own house now, big place, big swimming pool, big patio, big everything,’ Juliana said, her stilettos beating a tattoo on the wood as she climbed the stairs. ‘But you know what? I’m still the little girl who lived above the shop. The little girl who got hell at school.’

‘Why don’t you leave? You don’t have to be here every day swallowing another drop of poison. Go somewhere else. Forget about it. By the looks of it, you’ve done well. Why don’t you move on?’

‘Family. My father is alive. He potters around here day after day. It’s his life. His domain. Once Dad goes though, it will be different. I’ll find out what I truly want. Eh?’

Juliana opened the door, ushered Rose into the apartment. Clean lines, simple white surfaces. Attractive.

‘Nice, very nice.’

‘Oh yes, very nice now. Now there’s money. But God, it was awful then. Used to have orange and brown walls and living over the shop, believe me, wasn’t considered trendy.’ She fell onto the couch, kicked off her shoes.

‘What happened? What happened to the family who lived there, Trudi’s family?’

‘Put the coffee on will you, love, and draw the blinds. Jack has a lovely view into this room. Gay though, don’t you think?’