‘How could I not tell him?’ she said, and the way she looked at me suggested she was genuinely horrified by the idea. ‘It’s his right to know where he comes from. I couldn’t possibly keep something like that from him; he’d resent it – he’d resent me.’ She fastened the poppers on his babygrow.
‘But there’s no reason he’d ever find out, is there? I mean—’
‘Mum, Marcus and I have talked about this. We believe in being honest about it, right from the word go. Yes, it would make life easier for us if he didn’t have to know, of course it would.’ She picked him up and handed him to me to hold while she cleared away the changing things. ‘But that’s just being selfish, isn’t it?’
Being selfish; it was exactly what I’d accused Scott of for wanting to tell her the truth. I don’t know whether it was because I was standing right outside the house, but a memory flashed into my head of the day after Scott and I slept together for the first time. I was so worried about Eve finding out, and then Scott told her and she was lovely about it. All that mattered, she told me, was that we were honest, that we told the truth.
Before I went back to the station, I walked through Alexandra Park and sat on the bench by the larger of the two ponds. I watched the pairs of swans gliding through the water; had there been swans here that summer? All I remembered was seeing the pond water shrink back further and further each day until the hidden detritus of the town was gradually revealed, half buried in the mud – shopping trolleys, car tyres and bicycle wheels, even an old pram. Soon, even the mud dried up, leaving a baked, deeply cracked crust on the surface. Now the pond was lush and green again, teeming with life. I felt calmer just sitting there looking out across the water.
I’m not sure how long I sat there, but I was thinking so hard it almost hurt. I kept coming back to that conversation with Hannah; I could see the look on her face and I could hear her words in my head. Yes, it would make life easier . . . But that’s just being selfish, isn’t it? And now, much as I hated to admit it, I understood that Scott was right; I could not keep this secret any longer. Hannah had a right to know the truth, and so did Duncan.
The journey back seemed quicker, somehow, maybe because I was so preoccupied. I’d parked the car about ten minutes from the station, not far from where Scott lived. I still hadn’t heard from him, but it was only nine o’clock so I decided to call round there before I went home. I’d told Duncan I might be late back anyway. I was in no hurry to get home, and I certainly didn’t want to disturb Hannah tonight; I would tell them tomorrow. My stomach flipped again at the thought.
When I pulled up outside Scott’s, I couldn’t see any lights on in the front of the house, so I got out of the car and walked through the gennel round to the back to see if maybe there was a lamp on or something. But the house was in darkness. I thought at first that he might have gone to bed, but then I remembered him saying that he struggled with stairs now, so he usually just dozed in his chair. Perhaps he was still in the hospice; maybe he hadn’t been well enough to come home. I turned to go back to the car when the door to the next house – where the landlady lived – opened and a tiny woman of about my age with short-cropped hair and large dangly earrings came running out, the light from her kitchen illuminating the small yard. ‘Are you a relative?’ she said; her face was creased in an anxious frown.
I looked back at her blankly. ‘Sorry,’ she continued in a rush, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Brenda. Scott’s landlady. Are you a friend? Relative?’ She paused. ‘Sorry.’ She adjusted her voice. ‘You’re looking for Mr Matthews?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, it’s all right, I’m a friend of his.’ I didn’t know why I said that.
‘A friend. Oh dear.’ She looked flustered. ‘I’m afraid . . . it’s very sad, but . . .’ She inclined her head and rested her hand on my arm. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, lovey.’
I looked at her. Was she saying what I thought she was saying?
‘Did you . . . I mean, are you a close friend?’
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘No, not close at all. Just a, you know, more of an acquaintance, really.’
She seemed relieved. ‘Oh, well. In that case . . . oh dear, I’m sorry to be the one to break the news, but he passed away peacefully on Monday afternoon.’ She looked anxious again. ‘You did know he was ill?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, yes I knew.’ He was dead. Scott was dead.
‘But you’re not a close friend, you say? You see, I need to find . . . oh dear.’ She gestured to her open back door. ‘You’ve gone white as a sheet. You’d best come in for a minute.’
I could feel my legs trembling; I needed to get a grip. ‘No. No, thank you. It’s kind of you but . . . no. I need to—’
‘They want to know who his next of kin is, see. He gave the hospice my name, because there wasn’t no family, except for the little girl who died.’ She shook her head. ‘Proper tragic that, to lose a child. You don’t know of anyone, do you, lovey? Only they need to see to the funeral and so on.’
‘No.’ I shook my head again and hitched my bag up onto my shoulder. ‘No, I don’t think he had any family. As I say, I didn’t know him very well at all.’
‘Well, leave your number anyway, then I at least I can—’
‘Sorry, I have to go.’ I turned and hurried away. ‘Thank you for telling me,’ I called over my shoulder. ‘Sorry I can’t be more help.’
‘Wait up, duck,’ she called, but I was through the gennel and into the car in no time. I stalled the engine at the first try but then I managed to get it started and I pulled away as fast as I could, in the wrong gear and without indicating. I drove round the corner and pulled up in the next street. I was trembling. I tried to unclip my seatbelt, but I hadn’t even done it up. Scott was dead; he couldn’t hurt me any more. I felt a rush of adrenalin as the relief hit me. This meant I was free. I’d have to tell Hannah that he’d been here, that he’d wanted to see her, but I wouldn’t have to tell the whole truth; I wouldn’t have to risk losing everything. I could feel my own heartbeat and I think I was actually holding my breath while the fantasy sparkled in the air for ten, maybe fifteen seconds. Then it popped like a child’s soap bubble and I started to cry. Of course I had to tell the truth.
*
I sat in the car for a while before I drove home. I wanted to be sure Duncan would be asleep, because I needed to tell them both, together. I made myself some chamomile tea – I didn’t like the taste, I never had, but Eve always used to say that chamomile would help you through hard times. I went into the dining room, switched on the electric heater and sat in the comfortable armchair, where I would savour these last few hours. Monty looked up from his basket, thumped his tail a few times and then went back to sleep. In the quiet darkness, I reflected on how lucky I’d been to meet Duncan. If there was such a thing as God, he couldn’t have sent me a better father for Hannah. But I wondered what would happen now.
I must have dozed for a while, because when I opened my eyes it was light outside and I could hear the floor-boards above me creaking as Duncan moved around.
‘There you are.’ He appeared in the doorway of the dining room and his face started to form a question as he took in my fully clothed state.
‘Can you phone Hannah,’ I said. ‘And get her to come round without Toby – I’m sure Marcus can take him for a couple of hours. There’s something I need to tell you both, something important.’ I couldn’t hold the tears in. Duncan opened his mouth to speak and started moving towards me, but I put my hand up and shook my head. ‘No, please. I don’t deserve any sympathy.’
‘Darling, what on—’
‘Duncan, please, just do it. I’m sorry. I’ll explain when she gets here.’
*
Half an hour or so later, Hannah arrived looking anxious; was I ill? she wanted to know, her sweet face etched with worry. I shook my head quickly and took a deep breath, and then I told them. I told them everything.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Has
tings, 1976
The drought worsened. The shops on the seafront were selling T-shirts with the slogan Save water – bath with a friend! which caused a lot of sniggering among teenagers, and some disapproving looks from pensioners. The hot summer had brought a bumper crop of day trippers and holidaymakers flocking to the area, and when Scott went busking near the pier, or in Bottle Alley, or up in the Old Town, he made more money than he’d ever made before. The dazzling sunshine made people more generous, and the sound of his guitar and the Bob Dylan or Neil Young songs he sang seemed to fit well with the long days and the languorous mood. At the house, they managed to rig up a system that channelled washing-up water from the kitchen sink straight out of the window and down to the garden where Eve was growing tomatoes, runner beans and other things in various receptacles – terracotta pots, a stone sink that they’d found hiding under mounds of ivy and even an old trunk that Jo had found on a skip. As the three of them worked together to make sure the system operated efficiently so that water went to the growing areas and didn’t spill onto the hard ground, Jo began to wonder how she could ever have considered leaving the house. This was her home; Eve and Scott were her family now; they needed each other. Eve had said again and again that she was fine about Jo and Scott having slept together; in fact, she’d said it so often now that Jo finally believed her. And a few times, usually when Eve was feeling particularly tired, Scott would come to Jo’s bed, sometimes just to sleep, sometimes to make love, always with Eve’s blessing. And in the morning, Eve would smile and cheerfully ask each of them whether they would like tea or coffee.
The three of them had fallen into an easy rhythm, moving around the house, cooking, eating, carrying out their chores in comfortable relaxed companionship. And if Jo did turn out to be pregnant – they used condoms now, but her period was nine days late so she’d started to think about it more seriously – then somehow, they would cope, the three of them would manage and they would be a beautiful family. She hadn’t mentioned it to Eve or Scott yet, but they’d be cool about it; they were bound to be. And the fact that the rest of the country continued to hit problem after problem only enhanced this feeling of joyful separateness. It was not how she’d pictured her life, and every now and then she still ached for her mum, but in many ways they were happy; they were doing all right.
When her period came on the tenth day, a vicious, heavy bleed that made her feel as though her insides were being dragged out, she felt more than a stab of disappointment; and when Eve asked her what was wrong, she was glad to be able to say truthfully that she had a painful period, and needed to shut herself in her room for the day. After twenty-four hours she felt better, relieved even. They lived in a squat – looking after one baby was going to be difficult enough; how could she have possibly thought they would manage with two? It had been fun to imagine it, though, she and Eve, pushing their prams side by side. But it was just a fantasy. She was almost seventeen and she thought of herself as an adult, but she didn’t really feel grown-up enough yet to actually have a baby. But she still cried herself to sleep three nights in a row.
*
It was late August, and Jo and Eve were at the beach. Jo handed Eve an ice cream that was already melting and sat back down on a towel to flick through a copy of the Daily Express that she’d found sticking out of a bin. Like the radio news they listened to at the house, the paper was full of doom and gloom – inflation was higher than it had been for years while the pound had hit a record low against the dollar; water shortages were now so serious that there was rationing in some areas and people were having to use standpipes at the end of the street – the government had even appointed a minister for drought. The continuing heat wave was relentless, causing freak plagues of insects – in some places, apparently, there were millions of ladybirds, and they covered the roads so thickly that people were crunching them underfoot. Reservoirs were baked dry and cracking; the tarmac on the roads melted under the blazing sun, and forest fires swept through wooded areas and heathland that were dry as tinder. They forecast a break in the weather soon, but it was hard to even remember what rain felt like.
‘It almost makes you feel guilty, doesn’t it?’ Jo took another large bite of her ice lolly which had started to slide off the stick. ‘I mean, the whole country’s going up in smoke – literally – and we’re just lying around, getting tanned and being happy.’ They’d been on the beach for most of the day, just reading and swimming. Scott was bringing his guitar down later, along with some cheese, French bread and black grapes. Then they were going to swim some more, eat the food, drink some cider and smoke some weed – at least, Jo and Scott were going to smoke some weed; Eve said there had been a couple of reports recently about smoking being bad for unborn babies, and even though she only smoked occasionally, she didn’t want to risk it.
Eve licked her ice cream thoughtfully. ‘It’s terrible about the fires, and the drought and everything, but we must never, never feel guilty for feeling happy.’ She absent-mindedly ran her hand in light circles over her bump, which was significant now, and with its coating of Ambre Solaire it glowed in the sunshine like a big brown beach ball. Eve was proud of her pregnancy and refused to cover it up. Pregnancy was beautiful, she argued, a life made from love; so why hide it under ghastly, tent-like maternity dresses with neat little white collars? It was clear that not everyone agreed, but Jo no longer felt embarrassed by the disapproving glances of other people on the beach, only anger on Eve’s behalf, especially this morning when one woman had stared openly at Eve’s rounded belly, shaking her head as she muttered, ‘Disgusting.’ Jo had sprung to her feet, incensed. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, hands on hips. ‘But what can you possibly find “disgusting” about an unborn baby?’
The woman had looked slightly taken aback and hadn’t yet managed to form an answer, when Jo felt Eve’s hand on her arm. ‘Leave it, Jo,’ Eve had said quietly. ‘You don’t know what’s behind it.’ Jo’s anger had subsided as she watched the woman continue along the beach.
‘Happiness is only a cause for guilt,’ Eve was saying now, ‘if the pursuit of it causes pain or unhappiness to someone else. Life is a gift, and it’s our duty to make the most of it.’ She looked down at her bump. ‘And we owe it to this little person to be happy, too. Do you hear that, baby?’ She smiled, as if the baby could see her. ‘You’re going to be born into a gorgeous, happy, happy family.’
‘I can’t wait for him or her to be born,’ Jo said with a smile. ‘It seems like you’ve been pregnant for years.’ She felt a tiny whisper of sadness as she thought of her own briefly imagined baby.
‘It does to me, too. But it’s not that long now; she’ll come when she’s ready.’
‘What if it’s a boy?’ Jo teased.
‘It isn’t,’ Eve said, finishing the last of her cornet. ‘I’m going to call her Lily.’
‘So anyway,’ Jo lay back down again, wriggling her body into the pebbles to try and get comfortable. ‘Do you know who your midwife’ll be yet?’ She’d spent quite a while in the library reading up on home births, and now felt quite knowledgeable on the subject, but they hadn’t discussed details yet. She hoped there wouldn’t be a problem with Eve wanting to give birth at home. Jo herself had been born in her parents’ bedroom, and Pat next door had been going to have her baby at home until they discovered it was twins, but Eve’s home was a squat. True, they had water and electricity, but even so . . .
At first, she thought Eve hadn’t heard her, so she repeated the question.
There was a pause before Eve answered. ‘There won’t be a midwife.’
Jo looked at her. ‘You’ve not abandoned the idea, have you?’ She felt a prickle of disappointment; for all her concerns, she was becoming increasingly excited at the prospect of being so close to an actual birth. ‘So . . . ?’
Eve had lain back down and given no indication that she planned to explain any further. Jo loved Eve, but God, she could be maddening sometimes. ‘So,’ she continued. ‘What’s happenin
g then?’
Eve answered drowsily, as though Jo had woken her unexpectedly from a nap. ’What do you mean, “what’s happening”?’
‘Oh Eve, for God’s sake!’ Jo raised herself on her elbow to look Eve in the face. ‘You know what I mean.’ At that moment, she spotted Scott loping down the beach towards them, guitar slung over his back, cool box in his hand. The crowds were thinning out now as people packed up their towels and picnic baskets and headed back to boiling cars for a tortuous journey home, or to their hotels or B&Bs to take cooling showers and to smooth Aftersun on sunburned skin before heading out to spend the evening on the pier or in a pub garden.
‘Hey,’ Scott said, his shadow falling over Eve’s body. ‘How are my two favourite sun worshippers then?’ He set down the cool box, wincing and shaking his arm to show how heavy it was, swung his guitar off his shoulder and settled himself next to Eve before reaching down the back of his neck and pulling his T-shirt off over his head. Jo found herself looking at his hairless chest, now the deepest brown she’d ever seen on a white man. A slight flutter in her stomach reminded her that, even though they only rarely slept together now, she still quite fancied him.
‘Eve’s being mysterious again,’ she said, trying to lighten her voice to hide her irritation.
‘Eve? Mysterious?’ He was grinning as he planted a kiss on Eve’s swollen belly. ‘Surely not.’
‘I want to know what’s happening with the birth, that’s all, and I was asking about the midwife. I just want to know whether they’re going to let her have it at home, that’s all.’ She saw a glance pass between Eve and Scott.
‘You’d better tell her,’ Scott said to Eve, his voice serious now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
‘Tell me what?’ Jo said, looking from Scott to Eve and back again.
Eve sighed, took off her sunglasses and sat up. ‘Okay. Jo, I need you to understand something. This is my baby – our baby – and “they” have no right to tell me where I can or can’t give birth.’
The Secrets We Left Behind Page 22
