Reluctantly Home(53)
Pip smiled to herself and let out a little huff of laughter. What on earth was she doing, wasting all this time thinking about a complete stranger? It was madness, even bordering on obsession. Ever since she had found the diary, its contents and Evelyn herself had occupied Pip’s mind almost constantly. It wasn’t normal, she knew, but then again not much had been normal since the accident. It probably wasn’t healthy, either. She knew what she was doing, focusing on the diary so she could avoid thinking about Dominic, although each time she did allow thoughts of him to creep into her mind she felt a little less sad. The longer she was at home, the further she felt from Rose. She was fading in her memory, like the scent of her namesake flowers kept overlong in a vase. Dominic had loved Rose – or at least the idea of her; Pip wasn’t sure which. But when Rose had started to wither, so had Dominic’s interest in her, and he had shown no interest at all in Pip. Pip was beginning to think that spoke volumes. Didn’t these things generally work out for the best? Maybe that was the case here. When she got back to London, she would see Dominic almost every day at work, but that thought didn’t worry her at all. That must mean something, surely?
For the first time, a new idea appeared in her head: cautious, like a snail stretching out its horns as it checked for signs of danger. Maybe she could start looking for a new flat. After all, she couldn’t spend the rest of her life hiding out up here in the sticks. She was going to have to get back to work sooner or later, and she would have to live somewhere. She could simply transport her things from one place to another, rather than bring everything to the farm. There was something very final about bringing her possessions back to Suffolk. It would feel like a failure to her, and she was certain there were others in the town who would think the same. She would be the girl who flew too close to the sun, and everyone knew what happened to her. A new flat would avoid all that, she thought.
But then, out of nowhere, came the memory of her sliding to the floor in the Grand Hall of the Supreme Court. How could she contemplate returning to London when she had no idea when she might have a panic attack like that one? Just thinking about it made her heart beat harder. She gripped the clothes rail tightly and breathed slowly in and out, as she had been taught. It took a good ten minutes before she felt in control again, and every part of her was exhausted by the strain of trying to hold herself together. Despair crept into her heart yet again. She might be improving, but clearly she was a long way off being better.
31
Every morning, Evelyn had a bowl of cornflakes for her breakfast. She didn’t even like cornflakes that much, but when she had first set up her online food shop, cornflakes had been the only cereal she could think of. And so they had ended up in her basket, and there they had stayed. She knew it couldn’t be that hard to switch the order to something else, but somehow she never seemed to have the energy to think about it. It was much easier to keep reordering the same things week after week: bread, milk, Granny Smith apples, tinned pilchards, Philadelphia cream cheese, Jacob’s cream crackers and cornflakes. It made for a very dull diet, but it hadn’t killed her yet. Each week she promised herself she would shake things up a little, and yet the same food kept arriving.
She had just finished that morning’s bowl when she heard a knock at the front door. Evelyn started. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Nicholas generally called on a Sunday, and the food delivery had arrived yesterday. No one else ever knocked.
It couldn’t be important, she thought as she dropped her bowl into the sink, already filled with crockery from previous meals that she hadn’t got round to washing up. She would ignore the knocking. The kitchen was at the back of the house so no one could see she was there. She picked up the plastic carton of milk and went to replace it in the fridge.
The knocking came again and this time there was another sound as well. Evelyn stood stock still and strained to listen. It was a woman’s voice.
‘Miss Mountcastle?’ it said. ‘Are you there? I really need to talk to you.’
Evelyn shuffled to the door and peered into the hallway just as the flap of the letterbox slammed shut. The cheek of it. Whoever it was had shouted through her door without so much as a by your leave, Evelyn thought indignantly, and they had invaded her privacy to boot. There were rules about that kind of thing, she knew.
But a part of her was curious. Who was so eager to talk to her that they would prostrate themselves before her front door in full view of passers-by just to attract her attention? And what could be so important to require that?
Against her better judgement, Evelyn felt herself being pulled towards the front door just as whoever it was knocked again, harder this time. Then the letter box opened for a second time. From where she was standing at the end of the corridor, Evelyn fancied she could just make out a pair of eyes and possibly a nose.
‘Miss Mountcastle,’ the disembodied head called out. ‘Are you in there?’
‘I’m coming,’ barked Evelyn. ‘Give me a chance, for goodness’ sake.’
The letter box snapped shut and the knocking stopped. Approaching the door, Evelyn reached her hand out to slide the bolt across, but then she stopped. She had no idea who this person was. Yes, the woman had referred to her by name, but how hard could it be to discover that? The Mountcastles had lived in this house for over eighty years. All the person had to do was ask a couple of questions and she could have found out enough details to blag her way in like a long-lost friend. Nicholas was always warning her about scammers. Who was to say this wasn’t one of those? Evelyn stayed her hand.