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Back Reluctantly Home Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  55. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Of course, there had been no need to hide the diaries in recent years, and so she had decided to place them on the shelf. Even though she didn’t read them often, their mere presence reminded her of the life she had had before. And there they had sat, untouched, for over a decade. It had been too unbearably painful to open their covers and read the most intimate thoughts of the person she had been before, and yet it was impossible to throw them away. There was too much of herself woven into her words. Each diary recorded a part of her life before – growing up in this very house, then her escape to London and the wonderful years she spent there, and finally the miracle of living with her beautiful baby girl. Before . . . Evelyn had left them all untouched on the shelf.

But then gradually, as the years ticked by, she had begun to feel that she might be ready to open these little snapshots into her life and peek in. She had started tentatively with her own childhood and the years spent growing up with Peter and Joan. Her words reminded her of how little she had had in common with her family. She had always been different to them, and consequently, in her own mind at least, a little bit special, from the moment she was old enough to develop a sense of self.

Feeling emboldened, she had continued working through them. The London years had been fun to revisit. She had enjoyed rereading the tales of life in the shabby little flat on Kentish Town Road, and Brenda, and then dear Ted.

And then finally, she had turned to the volumes that catalogued her life with Scarlet. There were so few of those in comparison to the rest, and she had cherished every entry, lingering over them as you might a fine wine, savouring every sentence and the memories each one evoked. By the end, she had even been able to reread the last one. There had been no more diaries after 1983. What would have been the point?

But where was it? Evelyn could see at once that it wasn’t in its place. The 1983 volume was different to the others and so easy to spot. Rather than the plain business diaries she had favoured before, it had daisies on the cover because Scarlet had been with her when she’d bought it, and she had let her choose. But now it was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes flicked backward and forward as she became more and more desperate, but she couldn’t see it.