But Pip could play games, too. She was more than a match for Evelyn when it came to body language. She paused for a moment and cleared her throat, the sound a verbal tic to signal to her brain that she was ready to move on with her argument.
‘My mum tells me that you came back to have a baby,’ she said.
Evelyn’s demeanour changed instantly. Her sharp eyes narrowed and she pulled a little further back into her seat to increase the distance between them. Pip worried that she had overplayed her hand, gone in too far and too fast. She could kick herself. It wasn’t like her to make a tactical error like that. She was clearly out of practice in reading people. She gave her widest and most open smile to try to convey her harmlessness, but Evelyn still eyed her warily and the hint of warmth that had been kindled between them was gone.
‘Before we go any further,’ Evelyn said sharply, ‘I think you should tell me your name. Here you are in my house and you haven’t even introduced yourself.’
Blood rushed to Pip’s cheeks, and the carefully poised interrogator of the moment before deserted her.
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m . . .’ She hesitated.
Evelyn raised a suspicious eyebrow. Pip couldn’t blame her. What kind of person hesitated over their own name? She saw Evelyn’s fingers tighten around the diary in her lap.
‘It’s very complicated,’ Pip continued, although she could see Evelyn wondering how this could be true. Your name was generally your name, wasn’t it? Unless you had a stage name, or a pen name. Or you were lying.
Ignoring Evelyn’s apparently growing animosity, Pip began to explain. ‘Until recently I called myself Rose,’ she began. She could feel a sheen of tears glossing over her eyes and she blinked them away. This was not the time to cry, but she thought she saw Evelyn soften a little; something around the mouth, maybe, a certain curiosity in her gaze. ‘But my first name is Philippa, Pip. Pip Appleby.’
‘And why don’t you call yourself Rose any longer?’ Evelyn asked.
Pip took a deep breath and then let it out very slowly.
‘It’s a long story,’ she said.
‘I have all day,’ replied Evelyn.
33
This was not going at all as Pip had imagined her first meeting with Evelyn. She wanted to listen to Evelyn talk, not the other way around, and yet somehow the tables had been turned. Was this a game of tit for tat, Pip wondered – I’ll tell you my dubious and dark backstory, but only if you tell me yours first? Maybe opening herself up to Evelyn was the price she was going to have to pay.
Quickly, Pip ran through her options. She could refuse to answer, and subtly shift the conversation on to safer ground. Or she could lie, either making something up or telling a more palatable version of her story. But if she did that and watered down her own history to something bland and safe, then how could she expect Evelyn to be open and honest in return?
She should just tell her the truth, even though her reasons for changing her Christian name were starting to make her uncomfortable. Before the accident, when she had been totally caught up in her London life with her rich friends, she had never given it a second’s thought. It was only now, now that she was back at home and had time to consider her actions, that she could see the impact of what she had done. And it made her feel ashamed. But if she wanted to learn anything about Evelyn, then she was clearly going to have to give her something to start the ball rolling.
‘I grew up on a farm just outside the town,’ she began. ‘My parents are lovely, but their aspirations were limited to making a living on the land. So when I said I wanted to go to university and be a barrister they were pleased as punch, but they didn’t really understand why I wanted something so different to them. They tried to support me, but it was always on their terms. If I wanted to go up to London to see an exhibition that might help with my studies, they’d complain about the cost or worry that I wouldn’t be at the farm to do my share of the chores. They didn’t make my life difficult as such. They just didn’t get it.’
Pip searched Evelyn’s face for any clue that she understood. Hadn’t it been the same for Evelyn growing up in this house, wanting to break free from her family’s expectations? She thought she saw a glimmer of comprehension in Evelyn’s eyes, but she couldn’t be certain. Evelyn was hard to read, far harder than Pip had anticipated. She pressed on.
‘Anyway, I worked hard at school, got the grades I needed and then left home. It was only when I got to university that I realised how sheltered my life here had been. All at once, I was surrounded by new people and new points of view. Things that I had never even considered suddenly seemed to be hugely important to everyone else. Politics, art, philosophy; there was so much to learn, so much I needed to know. And I needed to do it quickly, before anyone noticed how unsophisticated I was.’