They ordered tea and scones, sticky buns being conspicuous by their absence, then sat quietly contemplating the sea beyond the window. Pip had missed moments of peace and stillness. The pace of life was so fast in London and she loved being in the thick of it, thriving on the stress and dancing on the competitive knife-edge without losing her balance. But she had been playing the game by the wrong rules, she realised now. The lifestyle, the competition, having just the right thing or eating in just the right place – it had grown out of proportion, like a cancer that just kept multiplying until there was no room for other, less urgent things. And she hadn’t made any space for quiet – had scoffed at it, in fact, as if taking time away from the cut and thrust of her London life was a sign of weakness. Now she understood that had been a mistake. She would rectify it. When her life reformed into whatever it was going to be and she got back to her work, she would make sure she found time for watching waves roll in and clouds scud across the sky.
Pip suddenly became aware of Evelyn’s eyes on her, and turned her head enquiringly. The old woman held her gaze steadily, even when she had been caught staring. It felt as if she were trying to stare deep into Pip’s soul. Pip stared back for a moment, but then felt forced to look down, unable to bear Evelyn’s scrutiny any longer.
‘Did you read my diary?’ Evelyn asked abruptly. Her voice was low, but her words were very distinct.
Pip swallowed. What should she say? She could lie; Evelyn would never be able to prove the contrary was true. But where would that get her? Once she lied, she would never find out what truly happened to Scarlet and Joan. And what was the worst that could happen if she told the truth? Evelyn could clam up and refuse to see her again. That would be a shame, but there was nothing turning on it, apart from Pip’s own curiosity.
‘Yes,’ she said simply. She offered no apology for any breach of trust.
Evelyn didn’t say anything for a moment. She seemed to be considering her next move. Pip longed to say something to encourage her to open up, to tell the story, but her gut told her that staying quiet was the right thing to do.
‘I thought you might have,’ said Evelyn eventually. ‘It’s what I would have done, too. Is that why you brought it back?’
Pip nodded.
‘But you didn’t tell anyone else.’
Pip shook her head.
Evelyn took a deep breath, moving a stray wisp of hair away from her mouth, and then blew it all out as if she was deciding what to do next. Then she picked up her teacup, took a mouthful and placed it back down firmly.
‘So,’ she began. ‘I’ll tell you what happened, and then you can decide what you want to do next. Unless you’d rather not know, of course?’
Was Jez right? Had Evelyn really murdered Joan? The diary was ambiguous, but the 30th November entry certainly could be interpreted that way. And if that was what Evelyn was about to tell her, then where did that leave Pip morally? Would she be obliged to pass the information on to the police?
The sensible thing would be not to know, to tell Evelyn it didn’t matter one way or the other, and she could take her secret with her to the grave.
But there was something about Evelyn’s expression that made Pip think she really did want to tell her, that it was time for an unburdening of sorts. If she had been waiting all these years to let the truth out and had chosen this as the moment to do so, then surely Pip owed it to her to listen.
Decision made, she nodded. ‘Please tell me,’ she replied.
Evelyn gave a curt nod, and Pip felt that an understanding of sorts had passed between them.
‘It was a Wednesday,’ she began without bothering with any kind of introduction. ‘On Wednesdays, Scarlet and I always went to the library to change our books, but that day Scarlet wasn’t well. She had a cold starting and she was a little bit whiny, so rather than make her walk all that way, I decided to leave her at home with Joan whilst I nipped out and did it on my own. When I got home, Scarlet was dead.’
Pip’s eyes widened at the abruptness of Evelyn’s words, but she bit her tongue and said nothing. It felt important not to interrupt and to let it all escape at once. She watched Evelyn swallow hard, her jaw held tight. This was really hard for her, that much was obvious.
‘The police were at the house when I got there. They were talking to Joan and she told them that Scarlet must have let herself out when she wasn’t watching and then wandered off. They seemed to accept that, but that didn’t make sense to me. Scarlet would have known not to go off without an adult. It was so out of character.