Evelyn chattered as they left London and headed up the A12, regaling him with stories of her childhood that made him laugh, roll his eyes and look horrified in equal measure.
‘Your family sound like a right bunch of horrors,’ he said.
‘It was always me in bother,’ laughed Evelyn. ‘I was the one that got caught and had to be punished. I think Joan used to snitch on me, but I could never prove it. I knew, though. She always looked so pleased with herself when I got into trouble.’
‘I’m not sure I’m going to like Joan much,’ he said.
As they drew close to the town, however, Evelyn’s chatter slowed until the only words she uttered were the directions to the house. She’d hadn’t been quite sure how she’d feel when they got there – whether there would be nerves, disappointment or even anger, but as the van pulled up in front of the house she had grown up in, the house from which she had fled, Evelyn was surprised to discover that her overwhelming emotional response was sadness. She was delighted to be having this baby, of course she was, and if she hadn’t, what would have been the point of all this disruption? But now that she stood on the doorstep of her former home, she knew being here marked the end of the life she had worked so hard to achieve.
‘Do you want me to come in?’ asked Ted. ‘I can just turn round and head back home if you’d rather.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Evelyn replied. ‘You have kindly driven me all the way here. The least we can do is offer you some lunch. Come on. We’ll unpack later.’
Evelyn still had a front door key – it was her house too, after all – so she slipped it into the lock and turned. The door swung open and immediately the aroma of the place hit her. It didn’t seem to have changed at all. Furniture polish, bleach and coal tar soap – all clean smells, but ones she associated not with a welcoming home but with strict order and regime. The hallway was shadowy because all the doors leading off it were firmly closed to keep the transference of dust to a minimum, just as they had been in her parents’ day. As a child, Evelyn had longed to fling them all open and wander around willy-nilly, sitting on plumped cushions and leaving finger marks on polished wood. She never had, of course, being too worried about the consequences of such impetuous actions. She had once dropped a candlestick on the hearth and broken a tile. She had been forced to stay in her room for a month, coming out only for school and meals. But things would be different for her and her child. She wasn’t going to let Joan treat the baby as she herself had been treated.
The place was very quiet, with no signs of life anywhere. No radio played, no dog barked; there was no sound at all. Even the air felt silent.
‘She does know you’re arriving today?’ asked Ted. ‘I thought she’d be here to welcome you home.’
‘Oh, she’s here all right,’ replied Evelyn darkly. ‘She misses nothing.’
Evelyn stepped into the hall and walked down the gloomy corridor to the kitchen. Her sister Joan was sitting in a chair by the range, a newspaper folded open at the crossword in her hand. She didn’t look up when Evelyn walked in.
‘Hello, Joan,’ she began. ‘I’m back.’
‘So I see,’ said Joan.
‘And this is my friend Ted. He’s been kind enough to drive me and my things up from London.’
‘How do you do,’ said Ted, and held out a hand.
Joan regarded Ted with disdain and made no attempt to take his outstretched hand. ‘Is he the one, then?’ she asked, cocking her head in Ted’s direction but without making eye contact with him.
‘No,’ replied Evelyn, unable to keep the irritation from her voice. ‘I said. He’s my friend.’
‘Funny kind of life you lead, having friends who are men,’ replied Joan stiffly.
Evelyn rolled her eyes at Ted and sighed, as if to say this was what she was going to have to put up with from now on.
‘I have a perfectly normal kind of life,’ she said. ‘And now I’m going to make him a cup of tea. Would you like one? Sit down, Ted,’ she added.
Ted picked a chair as far away from Joan as possible and muttered his thanks.
Evelyn refused to let Joan’s rudeness fluster her, and she got on with making the tea, opening cupboards to retrieve teapot, cups and tea leaves, all still exactly where they had been when she left.
‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ said Ted.
Joan didn’t reply.
‘I’ve always fancied living by the coast myself. I had an aunt who lived in Margate. Used to visit when I was a nipper.’