Thirty-Two
The Friendship
Thursday, 1 September 1916, when Edie discovers something unexpected.
The clouds had hovered low and grey for days, rumbling irritably, discontented with their lot in life, menacing everyone and jangling nerves in the process. The wind been blowing bitterly just because it could and the old men said to each other that at least they weren’t at the war, where it was sure to be worse than this. The boys who had returned from the war thanked the gods that all they had to do was live with this God-awful ball-freezing weather, which could never be as bad as the cold in Turkey. The women said to each other if it was this bad for them, what must it be like for the poor boys still at the front? So they must put their chins up and face the iciness head-on. Old ladies struggled pointlessly against the wind until they gave up and went home to sit by the fire. Then, as if God had snapped his fingers, the wind shut its mouth, the clouds quietened and the town was still. Something new was about to be born.
This is the earth before it snows. A profound quietness descended and nothing stirred to disturb the hush.
Through all this weather — the hot summer that had come before and the balmy autumn and now through the rain and sleet of winter and the icy stillness of snow — a tiny shoot of green had shot up in the middle of Lilly’s front yard. It had survived.
Edie had determined not to go out into the cold, but at one in the afternoon she changed her mind, put on her coat, hat, scarf and gloves and got her umbrella in case it rained. She told Gracie to keep on with her homework because she would be back very soon and to put another log in the stove. As soon as Edie was gone Gracie pushed away her homework and started drawing unicorns and fairies dancing on rainbows.
Edie walked to Lilly’s house and by the time she got there the snow was falling. She went around to the back and called out, ‘Cooeee,’ as she banged on the back door. Lilly came to the door rugged up in a thick cardigan. Despite the bulk of the cardigan Edie could see how thin Lilly had become. Edie had seen Lilly at church on Sundays but until now hadn’t noticed how much weight she had lost.
‘You need some coca-wine — a wonderful mix of cocaine and wine that is perfect for fatigue of the brain and the body,’ said Edie, stepping quickly out of the cold into the warmth of Lilly’s house. ‘I’ll get you some.’
‘What are you doing out in this weather?’ asked Lilly.
‘Oh, I was just wondering,’ asked Edie carefully, ‘if I could take a clipping from the front yard.’
‘But it’s snowing. It’s a wonderful thing when you’re inside and looking out at it through a window standing by a warm fire. But it’s not as lovely as it looks when it’s soaking you through.’
Edie shook the snowflakes from her jacket as she took it off. ‘You know, I don’t know why I had to do it today of all days. I suppose we don’t know if this weather will clear up. I mean, I would rather snow than hail and sleet, which is what we’ve been getting till now and — Well, I just have to do it. May I? May I have a clipping?’
Lilly had a kind face. Peter always said her face had the kindness of an angel. Her grey hair was tucked loosely into a bun low at the back of her head. Her eyes had gentle folds of age around them but if you looked closely you could see the filmy cataracts of loss. She ushered Edie into the kitchen.
‘Of course you can, dear. If you first have a cuppa and a piece of cake with me. You must be freezing.’
The kitchen was snug and warm and filled with the smell of warm cinnamon and nutmeg and just-baked cake.
‘Hmm, did you know I was coming?’ she asked.
Lilly giggled. ‘You know how much I bake.’
Edie took off her hat and gloves and put her umbrella on the table. Lilly filled her with hot cake crusted with cinnamon, butter and oats. It was called German cake but Lilly couldn’t call it that now they were fighting the Germans so she called it potato and cinnamon cake because of the amount of mashed potato in it. She filled Edie’s teacup with hot steaming tea and pushed over the milk and sugar. Lilly watched as Edie ate the cake and as soon as Edie finished her piece, Lilly cut another and put it on her plate. Watching Edie eat the cake made her feel less hollow.
‘You haven’t eaten your first piece,’ said Edie, ‘and here you are giving me another.’
‘Oh,’ laughed Lilly, and cut off a piece with her spoon. She had no one to eat for now, so most of the time eating was something she just forgot to do. As they lifted the warm cake to their mouths the scent of the cinnamon on the oat crust wafted around the kitchen, making it smell warm, as if they could hear the muffled voices of children playing in the next room.
Lilly wiped her fingers on her apron and stood up from the table to get some sheets of newspaper from the basket beside the stove and put them under the tap. She handed the wet newspaper to Edie, ‘To wrap the clipping,’ and handed Edie her sharpest knife.
‘Do you know where to cut?’ she asked.
‘I do,’ said Edie.
‘It’s grown extraordinarily fast.’
They both put on their coats, hats and scarves and shoved their gloved hands in their pockets to keep them warm and walked out into the falling snow in the front yard. The
