My Name is Eva An absolutely gripping and emotional historical novel - Suzanne Goldring Page 0,62

in that rigidly controlled handwriting and tries to think if there are any other traces of his presence that she might have forgotten.

44

Mrs T-C, 11 December 2016

At Last

Those who can, knit. Evelyn never did learn to knit well, despite her younger self’s desire to keep Hugh’s feet dry and warm. Other pairs of hands are clicking needles and rolling wool as far as their swollen arthritic knuckles permit. Evelyn resigns herself to checking the pots of snowdrops, now almost in bud and likely to flower when they are brought indoors from the cold greenhouse.

The care home is preparing for its Christmas fair when relatives and neighbours will come to buy knitted toys, strips of tombola tickets and jars of mincemeat prepared by Foffle, the Friends of Forest Lawns. There is a festive atmosphere about the place even though the actual day is still three weeks away. Some residents will be able to leave for a couple of days to stay with daughters and sons who can cope with an elderly parent, but others will remain at Forest Lawns, which will be filled with the sounds of snapping crackers, music for Pass the Parcel, the Queen’s speech and the gentle snores of those who have dined well on turkey and Christmas pudding.

Evelyn is not looking forward to the festivities. Until she broke her hip, she had spent the Christmas Days of recent years at church, followed by lunch in the local pub, where she was well known and was warmly greeted by other villagers. There were one or two years when she had joined Pat and her family for lunch, but it was always served very late and she couldn’t bear the extravagant presents, the bickering and the drive home in the lonely dark.

And now she is looking forward to a new tradition: Secret Santa. She’s never heard of it before, but Sarah, who coordinates the home’s activities, says it is quite the thing nowadays. ‘You’ll see, Mrs T-C. This way, everyone gets a surprise present. Just like when you were a little girl, waiting for Father Christmas to come and fill your stocking with goodies.’

‘We hung Papa’s fishing socks on the beam over the inglenook fireplace,’ Evelyn says. ‘Long cream woollen socks they were. They seemed enormous to me, when I was a child. But they were never completely filled, even though I wished they could be, year after year. But I remember a grey rabbit one time. Not a real one, of course. A little Peter Rabbit type of rabbit, but without the waistcoat.’

‘Well, who knows what you’ll get this year. Won’t it be fun, having a surprise?’ Sarah is smiling and laughing, as if she thinks Evelyn hasn’t realised that most of the secret gifts will have been chosen from the selection Sarah has bought herself and offered to each resident to wrap as they can’t all leave the home for Christmas shopping. And some even think they will be receiving the scented soap or chocolates they’ve chosen themselves, although they will of course be labelled for another resident.

Oh, but there will be secrets, Evelyn thinks, and there will be surprises too, though not ones I’m sharing with you. Now, which shall be first? She smiles to herself as Sarah does her round of the drawing room, the dining room and the morning room, chatting to the knitters and the ones rolling wool. I think it has to be Pat first. Pat and then that nice police detective. They both deserve a surprise for Christmas. I’ll ask them each to visit, one after the other.

Pat arrives early in the afternoon in a flurry of impatience. ‘This had better be important, you know. I’ve got Humphrey’s cousins staying with us at the weekend. And my Ocado delivery is booked for six, so I mustn’t be late getting back and you know what the traffic can be like around Guildford in the rush hour…’

‘Yes, dear, I quite understand. I can see you’re in a frightful hurry. There’s always such a lot for you to do before Christmas. Everyone’s at it here as well, you know.’

Pat scoffs. ‘It’s hardly panic stations here, is it? Not exactly what I’d call mad preparations.’ She looks around the drawing room at the few who are sitting in their armchairs. Some are dozing after their good lunch. There was a choice of roast pork or chicken curry, followed by rice pudding or apple tart. Evelyn complained because fish wasn’t on the menu, even though she