My Name is Eva(44)
Evelyn lifts her head and smiles at him. As he leans forward she can see a delicate scattering of dandruff on the shoulders of his dark suit. She’s tempted to brush it away, but she tucks her hankie into the sleeve of her cardigan and looks at the picture held out before her. The face is familiar, of course, that cold stare, those thin lips. It’s the same dated picture used in the papers, when his absence was first reported. ‘He doesn’t look very friendly,’ she says. ‘Should I know him?’
‘That’s what I’m asking you. Do you think you may have ever met him?’
Evelyn shakes her head. ‘I don’t think so. And do you know, I don’t think I’d have liked him if I had.’
‘He was at the centre where you were stationed in Germany, years ago.’
Pat is bending over her aunt’s shoulder, also studying the photograph. Evelyn can smell her scent, failing to mask the stale smells of her unwashed hair and thick sweater. Pat leans in for a closer look and suddenly says, ‘That’s funny. I think I’ve seen that face before. Now where was it?’
The Inspector looks up at her. ‘It would be most helpful if you can recollect where you saw him.’
Evelyn looks up at her too. This is most interesting, but will Pat remember? She’s never had a very analytical retentive mind. She struggled at school, especially with Maths and English. She’s very good at needlework and knitting though. Pity she doesn’t apply that to herself. She’s wearing an awful jumper with a hole in it, scattered with dog hair, and she still hasn’t sewn that button back on her raincoat.
Pat is chewing her bottom lip and looking down at her feet while she thinks. Her shoes need polishing too. Then she points at the photo with an eager look and says, ‘I’ve got it! That biscuit tin I found in the house. When we were looking through those old photos the other week, I’m sure we saw him somewhere among all those snaps in the tin.’ She jumps up, adding, ‘I’ll just run up to your room, Aunt, and fetch it.’
‘I’d like a biscuit while you’re at it,’ Evelyn says. ‘Don’t eat them all yourself before you come back down here.’
‘I’m guessing she means it’s an old empty tin and there aren’t any biscuits in it any more, just photos,’ says Inspector Williams.
‘Oh, that’s a pity. I’m feeling a bit peckish. I’d rather like a biscuit now. Isn’t it time yet for morning coffee?’
‘Shall I see if a member of staff can bring us some drinks and biscuits then?’
‘Oh, that would be nice. You are kind. Ask them to open a new packet, will you? They grow stale so quickly and I really don’t like a soft biscuit.’
Evelyn watches him leave and thinks about her next move in this fascinating game. She doesn’t really like crying; tears were never her way. Maybe she could pretend to feel unwell. Or she could say she needs to be escorted to the bathroom; that would stall him for a while, but perhaps she can think of something else more amusing.
He soon returns and announces that refreshments are on their way. Then finally, Pat comes back, bearing the infamous biscuit tin. ‘I’ve had a quick look for that photo,’ she says, ‘but I can’t seem to find it. I would have emptied the tin out upstairs and had a proper look, but I didn’t want to keep you all waiting. I thought we could sort them out down here instead.’ She goes over to the mahogany console table, removes the pile of old issues of Country Life and tips out the contents of the tin. Shots of a past life slip and slide on the polished surface, some falling to the carpeted floor.
While Pat is cursing the mess and picking up the little Brownie camera snaps, Inspector Williams hands Evelyn the cup of coffee that has just arrived and offers her a biscuit. She takes a Nice biscuit and holds it up, saying, ‘It always amused Mama when I was little, when I said I liked nice biscuits.’ He obliges her with a polite restrained laugh.
Pat has been muttering in the background and then she appears at Evelyn’s side, thrusting a torn photograph under her nose. ‘Look at this. When did this happen?’
Evelyn peers at the black and white picture in Pat’s hand. ‘What’s that, dear? It’s very creased. Taken a long time ago, I should think.’
‘Yes, I know that. We both know that. But I mean, when did it get torn? It wasn’t like this the other day, was it?’ She waves the damaged photograph in front of her aunt again and points to the torn edge. ‘Look, there are only three people in this picture now. I’m sure there was a fourth the other day when we looked through the tin. There was, wasn’t there? I know I’m not imagining it.’
She gives the photo to Inspector Williams, saying, ‘I don’t know how this has happened, but I’m sure this was a picture of a group of four and that the man you’re asking about was one of them. And I definitely don’t remember it being torn the other day. It looks like a strip has been ripped off the side of the photo. And look, there’s my aunt. In her uniform, just like in that portrait photograph. She’s right there, on the left.’
He studies the image, then says, ‘This print is quite crumpled and there’s another small tear in the middle. Maybe it was already torn and you didn’t notice. Mrs T-C, do you remember this picture being taken?’
Evelyn shakes her head and her coffee spills into the saucer, so she puts it down on the little table at her side.