With three days to go until Christmas, it seemed as if everyone in possession of a driving licence was out on the roads. But Eve filled a travel flask with coffee, loaded up a podcast and set off in a positive frame of mind, trying to ignore the little voice inside her head that was telling her it was insane to be making any sort of trip today, let alone a one-hundred-and-sixty-five-mile journey to the south coast.
Five hours later, after she’d been held up by an accident on the M4, moved at a snail’s pace through the car park masquerading as the M25 and got lost in a diversion on the outskirts of Brighton, Google Maps informed her that she’d reached her destination.
It had been dark for the last two hours and, as she pulled into a space on the opposite side of the road to 17 Lewes Close, the house was only partly illuminated by the artificial glow from a nearby street lamp. She peered through the passenger window; it was a sizeable red-brick property, with a neat front garden and white wooden gate. The curtains were closed in the downstairs bay window, but there was a light on behind them.
Eve took a couple of deep breaths, her hands shaking on the steering wheel. Now she was actually here, the whole thing seemed crazy. She’d made a last-minute, impulsive decision to drive to this unknown address and knock on the door, but hadn’t thought any further than that. In the back of her mind there had been an expectation – almost a hope – that no one would be home. In that case she would be able to turn around and go back to Bristol, knowing she’d tried to find out more about her father, but failed – through no fault of her own – which would mean she could draw a line under the whole business.
Except, it looked as if someone was at home. Which meant she had to get out of the car, walk across the road and knock on that front door. Eve took another deep breath and wondered what she’d say; how on earth she would explain all this to a stranger?
It was no good, she couldn’t do it. She started the engine again, putting the car into gear and releasing the handbrake. There was no way she could go through with this. ‘Stupid bloody idea,’ she muttered. ‘What a waste of a day.’
Suddenly, her phone began to ring and the screen lit up with Ben’s photo.
‘Ben? Is everything okay? Is something wrong with Daniel?’
‘Mummy, it’s me!’ Daniel’s voice sounded squeaky and strangely high; Eve wasn’t used to speaking to him on the phone, he never usually called her while he was with his dad for the weekend.
‘Hello, gorgeous boy! Are you all right?’
‘Yes, it’s brilliant! We’ve been to Winter Wonderland and we had chocolate doughnuts and Daddy and I did ice skating and he fell over on his bottom – it was so funny! Then Keira went on a baby train with a whistle and I went with her because she’s too small to go on her own, and we saw Father Christmas and I asked him for an iPhone 15 and Keira asked him for sweets, but Daddy said sweets were okay but Father Christmas might not be able to fit too many expensive things on his sleigh because he has to go all over the world and lots of children want phones and the elves won’t be able to carry them all back from the Apple store…’
Eve smiled as she listened to his chatter, picturing him clinging tightly to Ben’s phone, so many miles away, stumbling over his words in his excitement to tell her about his day.
‘…and Daddy said I could call to tell you what we’ve been doing because he said you’d like to hear about it, but I’ve got to go now because we’ve stopped to get pizza for Lou because she’s feeling sick and Daddy says pizza will cheer her up, and Keira is asleep in the car next to me so we’ll need to wake her up when we get home, and we’re nearly there now. So, I’ve got to go, Mummy! Bye, see you tomorrow.’
As the phone screen went dark, Eve sat back in the driver’s seat and reached forward to turn off the car engine again. In the silence, she watched spots of rain fill the windscreen in front of her, her head still full of her little boy’s voice. He’d said they were nearly home, so Ben’s house was home. Such a casual reference, thrown into the conversation without a thought. It hurt like hell, but she shouldn’t be surprised – of course that was his home too, and they were his family. It was yet another reminder – as if she needed one – that she was just one small part of Daniel’s life, even though he was almost all of hers.
She turned towards the house again, which had a plaque with 17 attached to the white gate. There was no way she could go back to Bristol without knocking on this door. It didn’t matter what she found, even if she found nothing at all. That in itself would be closure, and – much as she hated the term – closure was probably the reason she had driven all this way.
Eve undid her seatbelt, opened the car door and got out, her legs stiff after hours of driving. She took a deep breath as she pushed open the gate and walked up the path to the front door. There was no bell, so she lifted the heavy brass knocker and brought it back down against the wood. In the darkness of the empty street, the echoing rap was shockingly loud.
A light came on in the glass panel above the door and there was the sound of a lock clicking. Eve took a step back, her heart beating so furiously, it felt like someone was tapping on her ribcage with a drumstick.
‘Hello?’ A women stood in the doorway, the hall light behind her making it hard to see any of her features. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes, I hope so,’ Eve said. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, and this will probably sound mad, but I was looking for someone who used to live in this house, years ago.’
The woman put her head on one side. ‘There’s only me and my husband.’
‘It was probably before you lived here,’ Eve said. ‘Back in the late 1970s. I found some letters that were sent to this address, and I just wanted to come and see if I could work out why.’
‘Oh, well I may be able to help,’ said the woman. ‘My family has owned this house since 1965. Who were the letters to?’
‘A man called Alan Baker.’ Eve had thought about bringing one of the envelopes with her, but in her rush to leave the house she’d left it lying on the kitchen table. ‘The first letter was sent to him here, in September 1979, then several others were sent over the next four years.’
The woman’s face had changed. She looked surprised, then frowned in confusion. ‘That’s strange,’ she said. ‘He didn’t actually live here.’
Eve stared at her. ‘Do you mean, you know him?’
‘Well, of course! He was my uncle. My mum’s younger brother. But I don’t know why anyone would write to him here. This was my parents’ house and he used to come and visit, but I don’t remember him ever staying here, or having any post sent to us. There was no reason for him to do that, he didn’t live far away.’
Eve’s pulse was racing so hard, she could hardly breathe. ‘Where did he live?’
‘In Hastings, with Aunt Judith and my cousin Sally. They had a house near Halton Park. My sister and I were a few years older than Sally, but we spent lots of time there – and they came to see us as well, obviously.’
There was too much here for Eve to process. Could they really be talking about the same man? ‘Is this Alan Derek Baker?’ she asked, aware her voice was catching in her throat, making her sound unlike herself.
The woman’s brow furrowed. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Yes, I’m pretty sure that was his middle name. He was just Uncle Alan to me!’ She laughed.
Eve hadn’t been expecting to find any answers today, but suddenly it seemed as if she’d not only tracked down Alan Baker, but in a few short seconds had also found out more about him than she’d ever expected; the most important fact being that he was married. With a child.
‘It’s funny you should be asking about him today, of all days,’ the woman continued. ‘It’s Sally’s birthday and I emailed her this morning. She isn’t local now, she lives in Lowestoft, but we keep in touch. It’s her fiftieth and she’s having a big party up there. Ian and I were invited but we decided not to go, it’s a long journey anyway, but with all the traffic at this time of year it would have taken hours to get there, then we would have needed to book a hotel for the night…’
Eve was nodding and smiling, as if this chatter was all just that: chatter. Whereas these earth-shattering nuggets were sending her brain into a tailspin. She was dazed, confused, trying to get to grips with these snippets of information as they came at her from so many directions, like sparks flying off an angle grinder. Sally was this woman’s cousin. Sally was Alan Baker’s daughter. She was fifty years old, which meant she’d been five when Eve was born. So, Alan Derek Baker had been married, with a family of his own, when he met Flora and created another one.
‘Lowestoft is lovely, and in normal circumstances we’d quite fancy a weekend up there,’ the woman was saying. ‘But I think it’s odd to have such a big party right before Christmas. I mean, we’ve all got so much on. If it was me, I would have waited and had a belated celebration in the new year.’
Eve nodded, not listening. ‘You said before, that Alan was your uncle,’ she said. ‘Isn’t he still alive?’
‘Oh no, he died about ten years ago. Pancreatic cancer. Aunty Judith is alive though. She still lives in Hastings, though not in their old house. She’s in a retirement village on the way to St Leonards – been there for a few years now. I go and see her every few weeks. I’m sure she’d be interested to hear about your visit. What did you say your name was?’
‘I didn’t. It’s Eve.’
‘Nice to meet you, I’m Alison. Do you want to come in and have a cup of tea? Ian’s around somewhere. So, what were these letters you were telling me about? The ones to Uncle Alan. Do you know who wrote them? I really can’t understand why he would have given our address to anyone, but I guess he must have had some arrangement with my mother and she would have passed letters on to him. Maybe he’d asked her if he could use our address for some business thing he was setting up. He was a bit of a wheeler-dealer. When I was younger, I remember my dad going off to work in an office every day in a boring suit and tie, but Uncle Alan was much more exciting. My sister and I used to think he must be a spy because he went away for weeks on end and brought Sally back all these amazing presents – dolls and jewellery.’
Alison moved back and opened the door wide, beckoning Eve into the house. ‘Come in and I’ll put the kettle on. My mum died three years ago, so we can’t ask her what this was all about. But I’m sure Aunty Judith will be able to shed some light on it all. She’s still got all her marbles!’
Eve suddenly found her voice. ‘I can’t stay, but thank you so much for seeing me. It’s been lovely to meet you. Sorry to take up your time.’
‘But, why don’t you come in and–’
‘No! I really can’t stay. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.’ She was backing away down the path, fumbling in her pocket for the car keys, so many thoughts crowding through her head she could hardly think straight. She turned and ran back to the car, starting the engine and pulling away as she reached behind her to grab the seatbelt.
She glanced sideways as she accelerated down Lewes Close and saw Alison silhouetted in the doorway. Alison, who would never know that the strange woman who’d knocked on her front door one Saturday evening just before Christmas, and then rushed away again with no explanation, was her cousin.