There seemed little point in hiding the fact that she had taken the diary. It was more important to find out as much as she could about Evelyn.
‘An old diary turned up at the shop,’ Pip explained.
Her mother raised an eyebrow.
‘It was in a box of things to throw away,’ Pip replied defensively. ‘So. Who is she?’
‘Well,’ her mother continued. She was emptying the tumble dryer; her mother was never still. She smoothed wrinkles from a checked flannel shirt, folded it and put in in a wicker basket, ready to be ironed. ‘She lived with her sister and a little girl, her daughter, I think. Anyway, the child died in an accident and then not long after that the sister fell down the stairs. Broke her neck, or so they say.’ Her mother shook her head at the tragedy of it all and began to pair thick working socks, pulling one inside the other to form soft woollen balls. ‘She’s been in that house ever since. Never really goes out. Lives there by herself. Apparently there’s a nephew who keeps an eye on her, but I don’t think he lives in town.’
So it was Joan and not Evelyn who had died. Pip felt almost giddy with relief. ‘I gather she was an actress,’ she said, hoping that a simple prompt would elicit more information, but her mother turned the corners of her mouth down.
‘Was she?’ she replied vaguely. ‘I didn’t hear that. All I was told were the tragedies. Poor, poor woman. Losing a child. You never really get ov—’ Her mother stopped, a blush flying across her cheeks like a wildfire. ‘Oh, Pip. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’
But Pip just waved her comment away with her hand. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. It’s true. You never do.’
They gave the thought the respect it deserved for a moment or two before moving the conversation on, beyond the death of children.
‘So, what do you think I should do with the diary?’ Pip asked. ‘I can’t believe she meant for it to go to the shop.’
‘Yes,’ her mother agreed. ‘It is odd. From what I’ve heard, the house is a real mess. It doesn’t feel right that she’d suddenly decide to start clearing things out after all this time. Unless she’s died, of course.’
No, thought Pip. She couldn’t be dead. She had only just had it confirmed that it was Joan who had fallen down the stairs. Evelyn couldn’t be snatched away again so soon. Pip wanted to know what had happened to her career, where Scarlet’s father was, why Joan was so horrible to her and how Scarlet died. Then she remembered the woman at the window.
‘I think I saw her,’ she said, ‘looking out at the street.’
Her mother pulled a face at her, making it clear that she didn’t feel standing outside people’s houses and peering in was quite the done thing, but she didn’t say anything.
‘So, what do you think I should do?’ Pip asked again. ‘Shall I take the diary back to her? I think it must be part of a set. It would be a shame if one year got lost.’
Her mother picked up the laundry basket. ‘You should do what you think’s best,’ she said. ‘But if I were you, I’d leave well alone. People don’t thank you for nosing about in their lives, especially not when they’ve kept themselves so private.’
This wasn’t the answer that Pip was expecting or wanted to hear, but she smiled at her mother. ‘Okay. Thanks, Mum.’
Her mother’s eyes lingered on her face a second longer. ‘And you’re all right?’ she asked quietly, a wealth of questions hidden in just one.
‘Yes, Mum,’ Pip replied. ‘I’m okay. Actually, I feel a bit better today. Maybe things are finally starting to change.’
‘Good,’ said her mother.
And then she bustled away.
Were they? Pip wondered. Were they really starting to change? She hardly dare believe it, and yet she had just said it out loud. She had finally cried, which had to be a good thing, and she had felt something when she had gone out with Jez. Granted, feelings like that weren’t that helpful, but at least she had some. She had been numb for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to have an emotional response. And reading Evelyn’s diary every night had given her an interest beyond her own grief and guilt. Each indicator of change was only small on its own, but they were all pointing in the same direction. Pip was finally moving forward.
26
2019
When Evelyn woke, the sky outside was a milky pink. It would rain, she thought. Not that it mattered, as she wouldn’t be going outside. She never went outside any more. Slowly she shifted her position, every inch of her back and hips crying out in pain. She felt so very old these days. It was as if simply moving was a luxury granted only to younger people, whilst she was expected to bear the agony of stiff and frozen joints until she died. She had to remind herself that she was only seventy. That was no age, she knew, and yet she felt every single month of it.