Pip thought about it for a moment. She had assumed she would move back to Shoreditch. That was where she had always aspired to live. She had given her postcode proudly when she got into a taxi and she and Dominic had often congratulated each other on their excellent taste. In fact, now she came to think about it, she struggled to remember exactly how it had felt to be so pleased about something so very trivial.
But her mother was right. Why was she contemplating moving back there, to a flashy, poky, overpriced flat surrounded by people who neither knew their neighbours nor cared who they might be, when there were so many other places she could try? So what if she lived a little bit further out? Lots of people did and no one thought any the less of them.
Actually, that wasn’t true, she admitted to herself. People like her and Dominic had thought less of them. Pip winced as she remembered the kinds of conversations they had had within the confines of their boxy living room, barely big enough to swing a cat in, but in the right location.
She couldn’t quite picture herself cast in that role any more. It felt so long ago, almost a different lifetime. But then, when she thought about it, she supposed that was exactly what it was.
She closed down the Shoreditch search and started again.
It was a little later when she spotted a notification that she didn’t recognise. It was the email account she had set up when she had posted the advert trying to find Evelyn’s Ted. She clicked on it now. The inbox was full of replies.
Pip started to work her way down them. In the main they seemed to be from men who might or might not be called Ted but were still happy to introduce themselves to her. It was clear that the purpose of her email had been wilfully misinterpreted in a great number of cases, and she felt relieved that she’d had the foresight not to use her usual email address.
After scrolling through around twenty messages, a couple of which made her skin crawl, she came to one that looked more promising.
My name is Ted Bannister. I knew Evelyn Mountcastle in the seventies and eighties. We met at her flatmate’s wedding but we lost touch after she moved to Suffolk.
This is not me typing but a friend of mine as I do not have a computer. I do have a mobile telephone （number below）。 Please ring me for further details if required.
This had to be him, Pip thought. Her initial message had been intentionally vague, but this reply had details that matched what Evelyn had told her and what she knew from the diary.
She reached for her mobile and rang the number. After a couple of rings, it was answered.
‘Hello?’ said a voice with a thick Cockney accent.
Pip swallowed. This had all happened so fast that she hadn’t had time to prepare what she wanted to say. ‘Hello. Mr Bannister? Ted?’
‘Yes. What can I do you for?’ came the chirpy reply.
‘My name is Pip Appleby,’ she said. ‘You answered my advert in the Standard , about Evelyn Mountcastle?’
‘So I did,’ he replied.
Pip smiled down the line. She liked Ted Bannister already. ‘I can’t believe I’ve found you,’ she said.
‘Well, you have. So, what’s up? Evelyn’s not dead, is she?’
‘No! No! She’s fine!’
‘Well, that’s a relief at least. I was worried, when I saw your message.’
‘I’ve recently met Evelyn and we’ve become friends. She’s mentioned you and I just thought I’d see if I could find you. She talks about you all the time. I think she’d love to see you, so I was hoping we could arrange for the two of you to meet up, as a surprise. Evelyn’s still in Southwold. Maybe you could come up here. I’d pay your fare,’ she added as an afterthought.
There was a silence at the other end of the line, and Pip’s heart sank. She had got it wrong. That much was clear. He didn’t want to see Evelyn. Perhaps they hadn’t been as close as Evelyn had suggested, or it was all too long ago. She waited, but it was fairly obvious that Ted was just working out how to turn her down.
Ted sucked his teeth. ‘Well, the thing is . . . ’ he began.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ interrupted Pip. ‘Forget it. I’m sorry to have troubled you.’
‘Hold your horses!’ said Ted. ‘Have I said I don’t want to come? Trouble is, it’s my old mum. She’s ninety-seven and as blind as a bat. She’s still living at home, though. We both are, as it goes. But I can’t leave her. I mean, it’s okay just popping out to the shops. But to come all the way up there to Suffolk – that’s a no-go, I’m afraid. Shame though. I’d love to see Evie again. How’s about she comes down here?’