‘The woman. The mother. Of the boy. Robbie. She said it. She sent the letter and she said it.’
‘Ah,’ replied her mother, as if no further explanation were required. ‘Good.’
Pip stayed there, cocooned, until she finally stopped trembling.
48
Project Tidy Up was going rather well and Evelyn was feeling pretty smug. There was still a way to go, and the rooms she had tackled thus far were a long way from perfect, but things were definitely better. She had also figured out how to put her internet shopping on hold, so nothing new had been delivered to the house. She had missed having the delivery driver to share a few words with, but she had replaced this in a new way.
She had left the house.
She had ventured to the little supermarket at the end of the High Street and bought herself milk and bread and a rather delicious muffin. And she had spoken to the girl at the checkout. She had wanted to tell her that this was the first time she had been out and bought her own groceries in years, but that felt like too much information to share, so instead she had passed some inane comment about the weather and the girl had given an equally inane reply, and then she had left.
And it felt amazing.
Nicholas had been virtually speechless when he had made his weekly duty call.
‘Can you help me get rid of these things?’ she asked him as he stood, open-mouthed, gaping at the mountain of black plastic bags. ‘That pile is for charity and that one for the tip. I’d do it myself, but . . .’
‘Of course, of course,’ he said, making a decent stab at enthusiasm, although Evelyn had seen his expression slide when he realised the amount of work that now lay ahead of him. ‘What’s brought this on?’ he asked her.
‘It’s been long enough,’ Evelyn replied simply.
Nicholas seemed to accept this at face value, and dutifully loaded the bags into his car and took them away over several trips.
Pip had taken to popping over in the evenings, and they shared a jug of cocoa and chatted about their lives in London. Even though Pip was a few years younger than Scarlet would have been, Evelyn couldn’t help but make comparisons. If Scarlet had lived, perhaps this was what their relationship would have been like: the two of them chatting easily at the kitchen table, sharing ideas and thoughts. Evelyn couldn’t imagine having that kind of rapport with her own mother, but she liked to think her Scarlet wouldn’t have been as desperate to run away as she herself had been.
Evelyn told Pip about the Winter of Discontent and the freezing flat she had shared with Brenda, and Pip reciprocated with stories about the cases she had worked on. One night, after they had laughed until they cried over a calamitous show Evelyn had once been in, Evelyn sat back in her chair and licked her lips.
‘You know, don’t you, Philippa Rose, that there is nothing stopping you from going back to your life?’
She hadn’t wanted to say it, and now, as she heard the words coming out of her mouth, she almost wished she hadn’t. She loved the time she and Pip spent together and had come to rely on her company more than she would care to admit. But still, it needed to be said, and if she was to consider herself a true friend to the girl then she had to be honest.
Pip didn’t seem to have caught what she said or had missed her meaning. Either way, she eyed Evelyn quizzically.
‘To London,’ Evelyn clarified. ‘You should really be thinking about going back to London. I know you love your job so you must be missing it, and I’m certain they will be missing you. And London is where you’re meant to be. It’s lovely that you have been back here and that you’ve managed to reconcile all your old prejudices about the place, but now it’s time you were getting back to your real life.’
Pip didn’t speak for a long while. Instead she cupped the mug of cocoa and stared out at the street beyond the window. It was almost midsummer and the evening sky still held the last of the sun’s rays. Evelyn waited. If she had learned anything in her seventy years on the planet, it was the importance of timing.
Eventually, Pip returned her focus to the room.
‘I can’t,’ she said.
Evelyn said nothing, the obvious question hanging in the air between them. There was no need to ask. Pip would explain, given time.
‘I’m scared,’ she said, after a few more moments.
‘Of what?’ asked Evelyn.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Pip. ‘Just everything. I’m scared that I won’t be able to work without cracking up again. I’m scared that there won’t be any work for me and my career is ruined. I’m scared that I have nowhere to live, and now that I’m single I will have no friends and no social life. I’m scared of driving. I’m scared of not driving. I’m scared that I won’t be able to cope and will have to come back home. I don’t think I could bear to have to do this again.’