mind in the weeks and months to come, or however long it took to recover. There would be much to do and much to think about, but she would be ready. She logged the contents of the cases at the back of her memory and prepared her story, while outside, in the dark, a barn owl called to its mate in the first hunt of the night across the Kingsley estate.
61
Evelyn, 15 January 2016
Where is Home?
‘Honestly, Aunt, the staff in this nursing home didn’t seem to know who on earth you were. I began to think I’d come to the wrong place.’ Pat’s face looks red and shiny, either from the sleety rain outside or the heat of the ward, Evelyn can’t quite tell.
‘Really, dear? What was the problem?’
‘Oh, there’s a stupid woman on reception who seems to think your name is Hilda. I said I’d come to visit Mrs Evelyn Taylor-Clarke and she looked down her list, then went blank and said they only had someone here by the name of Hilda with that surname. It wasn’t until I told her I knew you were here, and that you are my Aunt Evelyn and I’ve always known you by that name, that she finally let me through. Honestly, where do they get these people from?’ Pat looked around the small ward at the staff and patients, then shook her head. ‘Half of them are foreign, I’m sure.’
Evelyn laughed. ‘Possibly, dear. But they’re all very nice and kind. I’m feeling much stronger now. I managed to walk to the bathroom on my own after lunch today.’
‘But your name’s not Hilda, is it?’
‘No, dear, it isn’t. It’s Hildegarde. I expect some of them find that a bit of a mouthful.’
‘Hildegarde? I never knew that. How in heaven’s name did that happen?’ Pat pulled off her heavy raincoat and fanned herself with a copy of The Lady from Evelyn’s bedside cabinet.
‘Hildegarde was Grandmama’s first name. She was half Polish, remember? It was a family name. I was very fond of my grandmother, but I never really liked the name, nor did Mama, so I was always called Evelyn.’ Or Evie or Eva, but you don’t need to know that.
‘Oh, whatever.’ Pat waved her hand in exasperation. ‘I hope they’re not making any other stupid mistakes. How are you feeling anyway? I’ve brought you some shortbread. It’s not home-made, I’m afraid. I was in a bit of a rush, after the morning I’ve had, so I dashed into Waitrose on my way over. But I hope you like it.’
‘Thank you, dear. That’s really very kind of you,’ Evelyn said, thinking how she would much rather have had fresh flowers, maybe freesias for their sharp lemony scent or some spring bulbs about to burst into flower, something growing and alive to remind her that there was life outside this stifling ward with its smells of disinfectant and talcum powder, and accompanying sounds of low murmuring, the occasional buzzer to summon attention and the scrape of visitors’ chairs.
Pat placed the tin of biscuits on the bedside cabinet and shifted on her chair. ‘But the main reason I’ve come to see you today is to have a chat with you about what should happen next, when the doctor says you are well enough to leave here. They think it won’t be long now.’
‘I’ll go home, of course. It will be so nice to go home, dear. Some of the other people here really aren’t at all well. And I don’t like being with such a lot of old people all the time. I think I’ll be much better off at home in familiar surroundings. I could take little walks in the garden for exercise. I’d soon be back to normal, you’ll see.’
‘Well, Humphrey and I aren’t so sure, Aunt. This wasn’t the first time you’d had a fall and we think Kingsley just isn’t a suitable place for someone your age, living on their own.’ Pat paused and then gave her aunt the most cheerful smile she could muster. ‘We both think you would be much more comfortable in a residential home with staff to look after you. Some of them are really very nice and it would be so good for you to have company all the time.’
‘I’m sure they are very nice, dear, but I don’t know if I’d like living with other people. I’m not used to it, you know.’ Evelyn continued to stare at her niece. I knew it would come to