My Name is Eva An absolutely gripping and emotional historical novel - Suzanne Goldring Page 0,4

a driving licence, as they won’t take my word for it that I can already drive. They don’t seem to think that pootling around the estate counts if one is driving important officers around. But wouldn’t it be nice if I could get one of those secretary-cum-chauffeuse jobs to a sweet little general or something? Can’t you just see me in a smart uniform, cap at a jaunty angle and all, saluting as I drive past?

Darling, I suppose it is hard for you to understand why I feel I must ‘do my bit’, but it’s like this. Right now, there are opportunities for doing something different, which will never come again. At least I sincerely trust they won’t, but the fact remains that the opportunities are here now. I know you want me to stay where I am safe, waiting for your return, but this war is not like the last one. Women aren’t just sitting at home knitting, or dashing out with white feathers, they are making a real contribution, I know they are. And it feels as if times are changing for us and I want to be a part of that.

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