Chapter Twenty-Five
Evelyn
That evening, Evelyn still feels bad about how she upset Miranda earlier; her and her big blabbing mouth. Rose did always say she never knew when to shut up. The rest of their lunch was cordial enough, but nevertheless it felt as if something had been lost between them, as if Evelyn had shown herself to be as untrustworthy as this Bonnie woman. Afterwards, Miranda had looked at her phone and said that the best time to see the sea turtles at Argostoli was first thing in the morning, so they might as well go back to the hotel now. Evelyn couldn’t help wondering if she’d changed her mind about being her chauffeur, after what had happened.
It would be a shame if so. Until then, Evelyn had been enjoying talking to her, finding out who she really was, and also having the chance to speak about Rose. Yes, she’d ended up pontificating about death (again), but it had been fun to talk about life, too. And so, with this in mind, she heads down to the bar and asks for a bottle of Robola, the Kefalonian wine she has really rather fallen in love with, and two glasses. She then takes a deep breath and heads up to Miranda’s suite.
‘Who is it?’ Miranda calls through the door without opening it.
‘It’s Evelyn, and Ihave wine,’ she calls back. ‘And an apology to make,’ she adds meekly when Miranda opens the door a moment later. ‘I’m sorry Ispoke out of turn earlier. Can Ipour you a drink?’
Miranda is wearing pink shortie pyjamas and has her hair– her real hair for a change, long and blonde– tied back in a loose ponytail. Barefoot and bare-faced, she looks much younger than the groomed, elegant TV star who was at the wheel of the hire car earlier. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘That’s kind of you. Come in.’
‘Never go to bed on an argument, that’s what my mum always used to say,’ Evelyn goes on, following Miranda into the suite. It smells floral, from a nice bath oil or body lotion, perhaps. ‘And Iwas feeling bad about upsetting you. Poking my nose in. If you’ve had enough of me for one day, Iunderstand– the wine is for you, you don’t have to—’
‘Evelyn, I’d love to have a glass of wine with you,’ Miranda tells her, interrupting before she can get any further. ‘And we’re all good. Iwas probably a bit oversensitive anyway.’ She gestures at one of the armchairs. ‘Have a seat. We could sit out on the balcony if you’d rather, but be warned, Igot bitten to shreds by the mozzies last night.’
‘Here is fine, thank you,’ Evelyn says, easing herself into the armchair, which is splendidly comfortable, with cushions galore. After a day sitting in a car, her body feels seized up and stiff; she’s grateful for all the padding she can get.
Miranda’s pouring the wine when Evelyn’s phone rings. The Godsend, the screen reads, and she smiles. ‘Sorry, I’ll just get this and tell him I’ll call back,’ she tells Miranda, swiping a finger to answer. ‘Hello, dearest Orrible,’ she says. ‘How are you?’
‘Hi, Evil, just thought I’d check in and say hello,’ he replies. ‘How’s the holiday going? Tearing up the town?’
It’s so lovely to hear the voice of her beloved godson. ‘Not quite, although Iam having a glass of wine poured for me right now by a very famous person,’ she says, which has Miranda rolling her eyes. ‘So I’m being rather rude, answering my phone, actually. Can Iring you back later?’
‘Evil! What, you’re not even going to tell me who you’re hobnobbing with?’ he cries, feigning outrage. ‘You and your VIP lifestyle, honestly. Okay, I’ll let you go. There’s no rush to call back if you’re gallivanting.’
‘I’m not gallivanting!’ she splutters, pulling a face at Miranda. ‘All right, darling, I’ll speak to you later. Bye.’
She hangs up, to see Miranda looking at her in amusement. ‘Icouldn’t help hearing that person calling you “Evil”,’ she says, passing over a glass of wine. ‘Please tell me that is your actual nickname, Evelyn. If so, Iabsolutely love it and Iam one hundred per cent going to adopt that myself, immediately.’
Evelyn laughs. ‘That was my godson, Oliver, who, when he first started talking, couldn’t pronounce Evelyn, so called me Aunty Evil for the first few years of his life,’ she explains. ‘His parents thought it was hilarious and called me that as well and. . . well, it kind of stuck for them. By the time he was a teenager and still calling me “Evil”, Idecided Ishould redress the balance and give him a nickname back. He campaigned hard for me to call him “The Godsend”– in fact, he often still signs off emails like that, cheeky boy– but Ivetoed that, and call him Orrible instead. Even though he is actually a godsend, to be honest, and absolutely divine.’ A singularly excellent thought occurs to her in the next moment. ‘And he’s single too, Miranda! Can Ishow you a picture of him? He’s really and truly gorgeous! Even I, a decrepit old lesbian, think so.’
Miranda laughs too. ‘I’m off men right now, thanks, Evelyn; I’ll take your word for it. Anyway’– She holds up her glass– ‘Cheers to you, for your wine and excellent company, and cheers to finding the perfect place to say goodbye to Rose tomorrow.’
Evelyn’s eyes well with sudden tears. ‘Cheers,’ she says, clinking her glass gently against Miranda’s. ‘And to you too, for your excellent company and your kindness. Ihad a really good day with you.’
They both sip their wine– ‘Delicious,’ says Miranda– then Evelyn’s phone beeps with a new message from Oliver. Intrigued by your famous drinking companion. Do tell!!
‘Sorry,’ she says, picking up her phone to unlock it. ‘One, two, three, four,’ she murmurs under her breath as she punches in the code. ‘Your star-crossed lover is asking about you. Do you mind if Itell him I’m having a drink with you? He’s not a journalist, he won’t do anything with the information, he’s just nosey, that’s all.’
‘Idon’t mind,’ Miranda replies, ‘although Evelyn, have you ever thought about changing your phone passcode? Because one-two-three-four is a pretty basic one, you know.’
Evelyn is not paying her any attention, instead typing ‘Miranda Vallance– she’s an actor’ into the screen and sending it. ‘Right, sorry about that,’ she says, stuffing the phone out of sight. ‘Old people today, always on their phones, eh? Tsk tsk.’
They chat for a while, about this and that, Miranda asking her more about her professional life in various orchestras, and then opening up about her love of the theatre and how maybe she’ll return to the stage and ‘do something a bit more highbrow for a change’, as she puts it. ‘Being in a soap is brilliant, but it’s a bubble,’ she says, ‘and a really comfortable bubble at that– the sort that stops you from wanting to leave, and maybe challenging yourself in the way you did before.’
Before they know it, it’s gone ten o’clock, and Evelyn suddenly feels so shattered she can hardly string a sentence together. Or perhaps that’s the wine that they’ve long since finished off, followed by a decent amount of a new bottle from Miranda’s minibar. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ Evelyn says as she manoeuvres herself out of the chair. ‘I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself.’
‘So have I, Evelyn,’ Miranda says, following behind as she makes a wobbly path across the room. ‘I’m so glad you came round. And thank you for the wine.’
Evelyn pauses when she reaches the door, wanting to express quite how delightful she thinks Miranda is beneath those tough outer layers of hers. But she’s drunk enough that it’ll probably come out wrong– patronisingly maybe, or platitudinous. She’ll tell her in the morning, she vows, when there’s nothing more intoxicating than a coffee in her bloodstream and she’s able to summon the right words.
‘So– Argostoli tomorrow, then, is that the plan?’ Miranda asks. ‘You’re not too tired for back-to-back road trips?’
‘That would be wonderful if you’re sure you don’t mind,’ Evelyn replies. ‘And I’ll be fine tomorrow, I’m sure. I’ve been sleeping so well here, I’ve definitely got more energy than usual.’ It’s true, she thinks, as she says goodnight and makes her way rather blearily back to her own room. She began the holiday feeling quite depleted, but there’s something about the warmth here, the friendliness, the beauty of the island that has reinvigorated her.
It’s only when she’s back in her room that she thinks to look at her phone again. There, waiting for her, is another message from darling Oliver. No way! Tell her that Isaw her years ago at the Donmar in some Pinter play (Ithink), she was fantastic!
Evelyn smiles and is about to screenshot the message and send it on to Miranda (they have swapped numbers so that they can be in touch about Argostoli), but then holds back. Far nicer to pass on a compliment in person, she decides, if only to enjoy the pleasure on the other person’s face. She will be so thrilled to hear that, she replies. Iwill tell her tomorrow once I’ve sobered up. Goodnight sweetheart, talk to you properly soon x