Evelyn sidled across the road, dodging between cars without waiting for the little green man, and went into the café. Ted was at their usual table next to the window, two mugs of tea and a plate of malted milk biscuits set out before him. Sometimes they were shortbreads, or Rich Tea and, on one red-letter day, chocolate digestives. It all depended on what Sanjeet, whose café it was, had left over after the day’s trading.
Today Ted was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. On other days he wore a jacket and tie, and occasionally the brown wedding suit. Evelyn assumed his clothes reflected the duties of his day but she never pried, asking simply, ‘Good day?’ as she sat down, to which he invariably replied, ‘Fair to middling.’ Generally, when she arrived he would be scouring the small ads in the London Evening Standard , and today was no different.
‘You never know what you might pick up from the small ads,’ he’d told her when she asked why he scrutinised the back pages of the paper so carefully. ‘It’s like a whole microcosm of London life right there in those little boxes.’
They had shared more of the detail of their lives with one another now. She knew that he lived with his mother in a flat on the seventeenth floor of a tower block in Hackney. He seemed to be her only carer.
‘Mum’s not as young as she was,’ he’d told Evelyn. ‘She can’t manage the stairs like she used to and the lift is always out of order. I’ve told the council to move her somewhere more suitable but of course, nothing’s happened. Lord only knows what would become of her if I wasn’t there to do her shopping, but no one seems bothered about that.’
The council’s failings, many and varied, made a regular theme for his complaints, but Evelyn now knew that Ted was devoted to his mother and would happily spend the rest of his days fetching and carrying for her.
It was a far cry from her relationship with her own family. This was also a subject they had covered at length over their cups of tea.
‘What I don’t get,’ Ted had said vehemently whenever the vexed subject of Evelyn’s relations had come up, ‘is why they couldn’t just accept that you wanted to be an actress and then help you get there. To my way of thinking it makes no sense, driving you away like they did.’
‘They didn’t exactly drive me away,’ Evelyn said. ‘I left of my own accord.’
‘But only because they weren’t there for you. If I had kids I’d make sure they knew that I’d back them to the hilt, no matter what they wanted to do,’ he replied, angry on her behalf and without any hint of a doubt about his own parenting skills, notwithstanding his distinct lack of children. ‘And,’ he’d continued, warming to his theme, ‘why Pete and Joan have continued in the same vein now that your mum and dad are dead is a total mystery to me. I mean, who are they to dictate to you how you should or shouldn’t live your life?’
It tickled Evelyn that Ted would talk so freely about her siblings, even shortening their names, without ever having met them. Her brother Peter had never, ever been a Pete. She also loved the outrage Ted seemed to feel about the injustices done to her, not least because it was unique.
‘Well, you can’t really blame them,’ replied Evelyn, although she did. ‘They never understood me, any of them. But it’s okay, because I don’t ever have to go back.’
‘And when this new TV programme hits their screens they’ll see that you were right all along and have to eat their words.’
Ted had sat back in his chair, triumphant, and Evelyn hadn’t had the heart to tell him that her sister Joan didn’t even own a television set and so would probably never see the show.
‘How did it go with Julian?’ Ted asked her now, shutting his newspaper and folding it up.
‘Really well,’ replied Evelyn, nodding enthusiastically as she nibbled on a biscuit. ‘Rehearsals start next week.’
‘Finally!’ Ted said, but Evelyn shook her head.
‘Actually, it’s all happened quite quickly for television. But yes, it will be good to get started.’
‘And then you’ll meet all the cast. You’ve met the director bloke already, haven’t you? What about the producer?’
Evelyn felt her stomach turn over at the mention of Rory MacMillan. ‘I’ve met them both at various stages,’ she said briefly.
Ted picked a bit of biscuit out of his teeth with a fingernail. ‘What are they like?’ he asked. ‘I’ve always imagined TV types to be a bit pleased with themselves.’