If Pip could have cried, then she would have done.
17
Pip retrieved the 1983 diary from its hiding place between a couple of other books on her shelves, sat back on her bed and began to read.
Evelyn seemed to live a quiet life, not dissimilar to hers in fact, although where Pip’s days had been curtailed by the accident and what had happened since, it seemed that Evelyn’s world had been shrunk by the presence of her child. It felt a little as if Evelyn was too big for the space she was occupying, as if there were more of her than there was room for in the house with Joan. And yet Pip had the impression that her spirit was being slowly crushed with each day that passed.
The diary seemed to have three themes – how much Evelyn loved Scarlet, how much she hated Joan and how unfair her life’s events had been, although Pip was struggling to work out exactly what had happened. It was something to do with why she’d left London and the fact that she was an unmarried mother. There was very little mention of her former life as an actress, but Pip could feel Evelyn’s sense of claustrophobia, her urgency to get herself and her daughter back to where she felt they belonged, together with her frustration at not being able to do so. There was also a sense, though, of making the most of the situation. Yes, Evelyn Mountcastle was unhappy at being trapped in the house with her sister, but she was still managing to find joy in little moments spent with her daughter.
The contrast with how Pip was adapting to the changes in her own life made her feel ashamed. Until now, she had spent most of her time either drilling down deep inside herself to examine her own misery, or worrying about how much longer she would have to stay where she was.
Now, though, she thought she might be starting to reconnect with her surroundings. Just that morning, she had heard a cuckoo calling from the copse behind the farm. It had been years since she had heard a cuckoo, and its distinctive cry had cut through the noise in her head so that she’d stopped what she was doing and just listened. Was it the very first time it had called that spring, she wondered, or was it merely the first time she had heard it? Either way, it felt like a step forward.
Evelyn seemed much more aware of the simple pleasures in life, and it was the tiny moments of happiness that Pip enjoyed reading about the most. The diary was full of notes about the things Scarlet had said and done, and Evelyn’s obvious delight in them. They made life seem so straightforward in a way that Pip had forgotten was possible. She wasn’t sure her own life had ever been as simple as that, although it surely must have been once.
Thursday 31st March
Today S and I went puddle-jumping. She wore the darling little wellington boots and I gave her my umbrella to carry, although it was far too big for her and she couldn’t get the hang of holding it upright at all. I suggested that we might want to float it upside down and ride in it like Winnie-the-Pooh did, but S just stared at me as if I was the stupidest person on the planet. She planted her little wellingtoned feet in the puddle, put her hands on her hips and looked up at me, shaking her head.
‘You are silly, Mummy. The umbrella is far too weak to hold us. We’d sink.’
It was all I could do not to laugh at her sweetness. But I didn’t. I kept a straight face and told her that she was very wise and I was indeed very silly. Bless her. I could just eat her up.
It couldn’t have been easy to be a single mother in 1983. Pip hadn’t even been born until 1989, but she instinctively felt that the stigma Evelyn faced, particularly in a small, conservative town, would have been challenging. There was something about the way Evelyn described their days that made it sound like it was her and Scarlet against the world. What was also crystal clear was that Evelyn’s sister Joan didn’t approve of the situation, or of anything about Evelyn’s life. There were rarely any kind words for her in the diary.
Wednesday May 11th
I sometimes wonder what J is thinking. I know she’s supporting S and me for now, and I’m grateful for that, but has she forgotten that this house belongs to all three of us? She’s got no more right to it than Peter and me, and just because I left and she chose to stay doesn’t mean that she suddenly gained any extra entitlement. But she manages to make me feel beholden to her every day. It’s like she sees me as a second-class citizen who she only tolerates in the house because of her own magnanimity and not because we are flesh and blood. S is her niece, for God’s sake, but there’s no affection for her, no kindness for either of us, in fact.
And she holds the purse strings so tightly it’s like she actually wants me to suffer. Yesterday I asked her for some money so that I could buy some sandals for S. She can hardly wear her wellingtons all summer and anyway, she is growing so fast that I doubt they will still fit her by the autumn. But the fuss Joan made. You’d have thought I’d asked her for the Crown Jewels and not a few pounds to buy my child some shoes. She made me feel like I had to beg. My own sister. Sometimes I hate her.