My Name is Eva An absolutely gripping and emotional historical novel - Suzanne Goldring Page 0,110

Garibaldi.’

80

23 December 2016

My darling one,

You won’t have to wait very much longer, my darling. They are watching me closely now, but I will get away soon, don’t you worry. Everyone here talks of nothing but Christmas, so they have almost forgotten me for the moment, but I know it won’t last. I have planned how I will be able to come to you and it won’t be long now, but I may not have many opportunities, so I must come while I still can.

They asked me lots of questions the other day and it was such fun, I tell you. I had no idea it would be quite so easy, not at all challenging. They asked me to look at words on cards, ‘flashcards’ we used to call them, for a few minutes, then see if I could remember any of them about five minutes later. It was just like the parlour games we used to play at Kingsley all those years ago. You do remember how good you were at charades and Gin Rummy, don’t you, darling? And of course I remembered every single one of the words, but I had to pretend I couldn’t and then I told them I wanted to go home. How I stopped myself from laughing, I honestly don’t know.

I also said Harold Wilson was the Prime Minister, that I hadn’t had any breakfast (it was mid-morning by then and I’d actually had a very nice poached egg on toast in my room) and then I pretended not to recognise Pat, and asked if she could go and fetch Mrs Glazier, so I could plan the menus for the week with her. I suppose that could have been a little upsetting for her, but do you know, I didn’t mind doing it one little bit as she was so unhelpful during my last visit to dear Kingsley. I could see her looking cross and confused, but that didn’t stop me.

There were lots more questions too, all of which I could have answered, but it was getting a bit tedious by then, so I decided I wouldn’t answer another thing, made a bit of a fuss and insisted I had to leave. Pat went off to fetch coffee and I told her to get fig rolls, then I made another scene when she came back with Garibaldi. I’ve been getting a bit tired of the Christmas shortbread and mince pies they keep giving us here, so I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for something different for a change.

Oh dear, darling, look at me rabbiting on about biscuits! We won’t do that when we meet up, I promise. But you will be amused to know that I finished the meeting with a little song. That funny George Formby one you always liked about bumping off your wife! ‘She’s Never Been Seen Since Then’, I think it’s called. I couldn’t remember all the words, but I thought it was an appropriate tune in the circumstances. Such fun!

So goodbye for now, darling, we’ll be together again very soon.

All my love,

your Evie xxx

Ps I love you

81

Mrs T-C, 24 December 2016

Give Me Moonlight

Evelyn wakes at midnight, her alarm clock chirping in her ear. She has allowed herself to sleep for three hours, to be fresh and alert for what must happen next.

All is quiet after the rush of the day. Concerned relatives have visited before departing for their own Christmas festivities and ever-patient carers have soothed those left behind. The minds of the care home staff are full of thoughts of carols and crackers for now, but after New Year, they will remind each other that she is unreliable. When the holiday season is over, they will review security, move her to the dementia wing, where doors are always locked and inmates closely supervised, and she may never be free again.

Before she woke, she had been dreaming and in her sleep a voice had been calling to her: ‘Evie, Evie, come to me. I need you.’

She is sure it was Hugh she heard calling; his voice was clear and urgent. It was not the way she remembered him speaking to her all those years ago, but it was most definitely his voice. He had sounded distressed, as if he really needed her help.

She presses the button to elevate her bed so she can sit up, then switches on the bedside light. The care home is silent. No other residents are calling or bleeping for assistance, no soft footsteps are