My Name is Eva(4)

I promise I will let you know how I get on and won’t let them send me anywhere hazardous where I might risk not seeing my darling husband when he is finally home on leave and we can spend some precious hours dreaming of having our very own home in the country one day.



Much love, my darling one, with umpteen kisses, Yours, Evie xxxxx Ps I love you xxxxxxx





5





Mrs T-C, 6 October 2016





Keys and Puddings





‘You’ve got your collar all skew-whiff again,’ Pat complains, slipping her hands either side of her aunt’s neck, then turning the collar up and then down again, smoothing the material and pursing her lips. ‘Didn’t you look in the mirror before you left your room?’

‘’Course I did,’ Evelyn says, looking at her niece in her old checked golfing trousers covered in dog hair. ‘Don’t make such a fuss, dear. There’s plenty here worse off than me.’ She nods towards her fellow residents on the far side of the drawing room, asleep in their armchairs.

‘Oh, don’t I just know it! I saw quite a commotion as I was arriving this afternoon. I was standing outside waiting for someone to let me in and there was an old gentleman bashing away at the buttons on the keypad by the door, trying to get out. He was shouting and hollering something about being expected at home for lunch and how he was going to be late. Then one of the staff came along and persuaded him to go back to his room.’

Evelyn sniffs. ‘It’s lucky he didn’t get out then. They’d be in almighty trouble if someone actually escaped.’

‘They certainly would be. It’s their responsibility. I expect they have to change the security codes all the time, just to be on the safe side.’

Evelyn doesn’t correct Pat and tell her she knows the numbers are never changed. One, two, three, four. That’s been the entry code for months, ever since she first arrived at the Forest Lawns Care Home. It shows such a lack of imagination. If she were in charge, she would choose something with a bit of history: 1066, the Battle of Hastings, perhaps, or maybe the Great Fire of London, 1666. That would make it so much more interesting as well as being memorable.

She knows the code is unchanged, because she’s watched the staff tapping at the buttons often enough. If she sees anyone using the keypad as she shuffles through the entrance hall (taking her exercise, she calls it), she deliberately slows down so she can check the code is still the same. She doesn’t like to think that she might not be able to leave when she needs to.

But she can guess why the numbers never change. It’s because the staff think the residents wouldn’t remember the code, even if they were told, so what is the point? Otherwise they’d have to keep reminding each other of the new number and passing it on to approved visitors and volunteers, who are allowed to come and go freely. Too much trouble for them.

Evelyn knows the code, though, but keeps that knowledge to herself. She can’t let Pat suspect or she might wonder how well she remembers other details, so she just says, ‘Probably dear, probably,’ and waits for what might come next.

‘So, have you thought any more about what we were discussing the other day?’ Pat leans forward with an encouraging smile. ‘You know, about the keys?’

Evelyn knows perfectly well what Pat means, but can’t let her think that, so she tries to look mystified before she answers. ‘Keys… what keys are you talking about?’

The smile disappears and Pat frowns. ‘Honestly, it’s so hard trying to get anywhere with you. I asked you on Tuesday if you ever remembered having any keys to that lovely bird’s-eye maple breakfront bookcase. A couple of the drawers are locked and I really don’t want to force them open. It’s such an important and valuable piece of furniture.’

‘It was Mama’s,’ Evelyn murmurs. ‘She kept her letters there. And her diaries. Have you read them?’

‘How can I, if I can’t open the drawers?’

Evelyn’s reply is deliberately slow in coming. ‘I don’t think there’s anything else in there.’

‘You said that last time. But how can you be sure? You can’t remember what you had for lunch half the time. Anyway, you said you’d think about where the keys might be.’

‘Did I?’ Evelyn looks away towards the view of the gardens through the drawing room windows. Smoke is still drifting behind the trees. Anything could be burning there. A bonfire is a very good way of gradually disposing of papers that might prove inconvenient – and other evidence.

‘So, did you think about it? Where the keys might be?’

Evelyn is quiet for a moment, as if she is thinking hard, then says, ‘What about the kitchen drawer? Did you look there? We always threw all sorts of bits and pieces in the kitchen dresser drawer. It was full of junk. They might have slipped down the back.’

‘Of course I tried that drawer, then I tried every other darned drawer in the kitchen, the cellar, the workshop, the whole damn house. Honestly, Aunt Evelyn, the place is a total mess. Please remind me not to leave such a horrendous muddle to my kids when I go.’

‘Then maybe the children would like to have a look around with you, to help you. It would be like a big treasure hunt for them. We always enjoyed a treasure hunt when I was a girl. I remember once, Great-Uncle Will—’