She had just finished that morning’s bowl when she heard a knock at the front door. Evelyn started. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Nicholas generally called on a Sunday, and the food delivery had arrived yesterday. No one else ever knocked.
It couldn’t be important, she thought as she dropped her bowl into the sink, already filled with crockery from previous meals that she hadn’t got round to washing up. She would ignore the knocking. The kitchen was at the back of the house so no one could see she was there. She picked up the plastic carton of milk and went to replace it in the fridge.
The knocking came again and this time there was another sound as well. Evelyn stood stock still and strained to listen. It was a woman’s voice.
‘Miss Mountcastle?’ it said. ‘Are you there? I really need to talk to you.’
Evelyn shuffled to the door and peered into the hallway just as the flap of the letterbox slammed shut. The cheek of it. Whoever it was had shouted through her door without so much as a by your leave, Evelyn thought indignantly, and they had invaded her privacy to boot. There were rules about that kind of thing, she knew.
But a part of her was curious. Who was so eager to talk to her that they would prostrate themselves before her front door in full view of passers-by just to attract her attention? And what could be so important to require that?
Against her better judgement, Evelyn felt herself being pulled towards the front door just as whoever it was knocked again, harder this time. Then the letter box opened for a second time. From where she was standing at the end of the corridor, Evelyn fancied she could just make out a pair of eyes and possibly a nose.
‘Miss Mountcastle,’ the disembodied head called out. ‘Are you in there?’
‘I’m coming,’ barked Evelyn. ‘Give me a chance, for goodness’ sake.’
The letter box snapped shut and the knocking stopped. Approaching the door, Evelyn reached her hand out to slide the bolt across, but then she stopped. She had no idea who this person was. Yes, the woman had referred to her by name, but how hard could it be to discover that? The Mountcastles had lived in this house for over eighty years. All the person had to do was ask a couple of questions and she could have found out enough details to blag her way in like a long-lost friend. Nicholas was always warning her about scammers. Who was to say this wasn’t one of those? Evelyn stayed her hand.
‘What do you want?’ she asked through the door.
‘I just wanted a quick word,’ came the voice.
‘About what?’ asked Evelyn, her suspicions growing by the minute.
‘I think I have something of yours,’ the woman said.
Evelyn had to concede that the woman didn’t sound like a scammer, although she had only the shakiest notion of how such a person might speak. This woman’s voice was clear and distinct and she was well spoken, with only a hint of a local accent. Evelyn was still sceptical, though. She had barely left the house in years and it seemed highly unlikely that the woman really did have something of hers, but now she wanted to know for sure – exactly as the woman, if she were a scammer, no doubt hoped. Evelyn decided to proceed with caution.
‘Oh yes?’ she replied in what she hoped was a disinterested tone.
‘Yes,’ the woman continued. ‘A diary. From 1983.’
Her words made Evelyn sway a little, and she had to hold on to the doorjamb to steady herself.
‘I work in the Have a Heart charity shop,’ the voice continued.
Evelyn didn’t need to hear any more. She slid the bolt across, turned the latch and opened the door. Standing on the doorstep, but at a respectful distance, was the young woman from the other day, the one she had caught staring up at the house. She looked around thirty, Evelyn thought, but was somehow more careworn than she should have been for her age. Fine lines radiated out from her dark eyes and narrow mouth, and her cheekbones protruded severely, although something about her face suggested it was used to being a little more filled out. Her dark hair was cut into a neat, shoulder-length bob that she kept touching as if fearful it would fall out of place. She might have been pretty had she not looked so drawn.
‘Do you have the diary?’ Evelyn said without introduction.
The woman looked a little taken aback at the lack of social niceties, but she nodded obediently, her bottom lip caught between her front teeth. Evelyn assumed the book must be in the cloth bag slung over her shoulder, but her visitor made no effort to remove it and hand it over.
‘Can I come in, please?’ the woman asked. ‘I would love to talk to you for a moment.’