JUNE 1974
Eunice dropped the keys of the petty cash tin back into their rightful place and closed the drawer. Her drawer. In her desk. Eunice had worked for Bomber for a whole month now, and he had sent her out to buy iced buns for the three of them so that they could celebrate. The month had flown past with Eunice arriving earlier and leaving later each day, stretching her time in a place and with company that made her feel ignited with exciting possibilities. In those four short weeks she had learned that Bomber was a fair and generous boss, passionate about his job, his dog, and films. He was also her matinee idol. He had a habit of quoting lines from his favorite films and Eunice was beginning to follow suit. Her taste was more contemporary, but he was teaching her to appreciate some of Ealing Studios’ finest, and already she had piqued his interest sufficiently for him to see a couple of newer releases at the local cinema. They agreed that Kind Hearts and Coronets was utterly marvelous and Brief Encounter tragic; The Exorcist was shocking but the spinning head bit hilarious; The Wicker Man chilling, The Optimists of Nine Elms magical, and Don’t Look Now atmospheric and haunting, but with rather excessive exposure of Donald Sutherland’s naked buttocks. Eunice was even considering the purchase of a red duffle coat like the one worn by the dwarf in the film and doing some haunting of her own. And, of course, The Great Escape was perfection. Bomber said that the wonderful thing about books was that they were films that played inside your head. Eunice had also learned that Douglas liked to go for a little stroll at 11 A.M., particularly if it took him past the bakery which sold such delicious iced buns, and that he always ate the icing first and then the bun. And finally, she had learned that poisonous Portia was every bit as odious as a bowl of rotting offal.
Bomber was in the kitchen making the tea and Douglas was chivvying him along by dribbling on his chestnut-colored Loake brogues in anticipation of an iced bun. From the window, Eunice watched the street below, today bustling with life, but only recently paralyzed by a death; pedestrians and traffic stopped in their tracks by a heart stopping forever before their very eyes. According to Mrs. Doyle in the bakery, Eunice had been there. But she hadn’t seen a thing. Mrs. Doyle recalled the exact date and time, and every detail of what had happened. As an ardent fan of police dramas on the television, she prided herself on being an excellent potential eyewitness should the occasion ever arise. Mrs. Doyle inspected unfamiliar customers carefully, committing to memory lazy eyes, thin mustaches, gold teeth, and left-sided partings, all of which she believed to be signs of a questionable moral character. And women with red shoes and green handbags were never to be trusted. The young woman who had died had neither. Dressed in a powder-blue summer coat with matching shoes and handbag, she had collapsed and died right there outside the bakery against a backdrop of Mrs. Doyle’s finest cakes and pastries. It had happened on the day of Eunice’s interview at 11:55 A.M. exactly. Mrs. Doyle was sure of the time because she had a batch of Bath buns in the oven which was due out at twelve.
“They were burned to buggery hell,” Mrs. Doyle told Eunice. “I was too busy phoning the ambulance to remember the buns, but I don’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault that she went and dropped dead, poor love. The ambulance came quick enough, but she was already gone when it got here. Not a mark on her, mind you. Heart attack I ’spect. My Bert says it could have been an ‘annualism,’ but my money’s on a heart attack. Or a stroke.”
Eunice could remember a crowd gathered and a distant siren, but that was all. She was sad to think that the best day of her life so far had been the last day of someone else’s, and all that had separated them had been a few feet of tarmac.
“Tea up!”
Bomber plonked the tray down on the table.
“Shall I be mother?”
Bomber poured the tea and dished out the iced buns. Douglas settled down with his bun gripped between his paws and set to work on the icing.