The Secrets We Left Behind (24 page)

Jo woke early as usual, with perspiration pooling in the hollows of her collarbones. She longed for a proper shower, but they only had a rubber attachment that fitted on the
bath taps, and anyway, they were supposed to be saving water. Once she was dressed, she went down to the basement, filled a bucket with washing-up water from the old tin bath then went outside and
up the back steps to water the tomato plants before the sun rose too high in the sky. It was hot already, and it wasn’t yet eight o’clock. The patch of grass Eve had planned to turn
into a mini allotment was parched and brittle, the soil nothing more than dust. It was just as well that Eve hadn’t felt well enough to dig it over in the spring, because anything that was
planted in the ground wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Scott and Eve were in the kitchen already. A huge pan of strawberries and sugar was bubbling away on the Baby Belling and the fragrant perfume of hot, sugary fruit filled the room. They’d
walked three miles to a Pick Your Own farm yesterday. It was half the usual price because the fruit was ripening too quickly, and they’d managed to pick almost twelve pounds of strawberries
that were at their peak of ripeness but would probably have gone too far if left another day.

‘It’s busy in here,’ Jo said. ‘And it’s only eight o’clock.’

Scott was stirring the jam while Eve scalded jars with boiling water; again there was this feeling of industry.

‘I wanted to get at least one lot of boiling done before it gets too hot,’ Eve said, ‘and anyway, we need to have this lot completely finished by about half eleven because
Scott’s got a lunchtime gig in Battle, and my train’s at five to twelve.’

Jo was surprised by a slight flare of panic. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Covent Garden. I need more supplies.’

‘Supplies?’

‘For the jewellery,’ Eve muttered as she lined up the jars. ‘I need to build up the stocks again.’ She spoke quietly. She’d barely mentioned her jewellery-making
ever since the summer fayre, and Jo was certain she was avoiding the subject because she knew Jo still felt guilty over those earrings.

‘Oh yes, of course.’ That day she’d met Eve in Trafalgar Square seemed so long ago now. ‘Eve, I’m not working today; is there anything I can do to help?’ She
half hoped Eve would suggest she go with her, although she’d struggle to find the train fare. Maybe they could hitchhike like before? But instead, Eve asked if she’d mind going down to
the beach to look for some small shells she could use for necklaces and bracelets. ‘Okay,’ she said, and tried not to look too disappointed.

The radio was on and the news was all about the drought and the dried-up reservoirs and how in some parts of the country people had to get their water from standpipes. The situation was becoming
serious, the newscaster said, and if rain didn’t come soon, the whole country was in trouble. ‘Like it’s not in trouble already.’ Scott turned the radio off and shook his
head. He lifted the pan of bubbling jam from the cooker and began filling the jars Eve had prepared. ‘Honestly, I used to be worried about living in squats and not having a regular income,
but at least we’re not having to pay, like, a third of what we earn to the government. That makes me so fucking angry—’

‘Scott!’

‘Sorry. But why should we work our butts off to support rising prices and falling employment? And then they accuse us of being long-haired layabouts and communists. I may have long hair
but I bet we work harder than most of those ignorant bastards who trot off to their office jobs with luncheon vouchers and a key to the executive khazi; and I guarantee they’re still using
hoses to wash their brand-new BMWs while the poor farmers are losing their crops.’

‘You know I agree with you, Scotty,’ Eve said. ‘But there’s no point in being angry about it, is there?’ She began wiping the sides of the jars and putting little
discs of waxed paper on top of the jam.

‘But the state of this country, man.’ Scott shook his head as he poured the last of the bright red jam into a jar. ‘It’s no wonder so many people are emigrating. My
parents had the right idea, didn’t they? Hey, maybe we should all go to New Zealand?’

Jo and Eve both laughed. ‘No,’ Eve said. ‘The country may be in trouble, but we’re not really part of it, are we? We work, we earn our living but we don’t have to
answer to anybody. All right, so we don’t pay tax, but we don’t claim anything, either. We don’t even use the Health Service, never mind rely on weekly giros.’

Jo hadn’t told them that, for a while, she and her mother
had
relied on weekly giros.

‘And I don’t see why we shouldn’t carry on just the way we are. Anyway, I like it here. Especially right here, by the sea.’ Eve looked wistful for a moment. ‘I hope
Mr Hedman doesn’t want to sell the place too soon; I don’t ever want to leave this house.’

Jo spent most of the day at the beach, gathering shells for the jewellery. She also picked up a few pretty small stones and some pebbles of smooth coloured glass that Eve might
be able to use. It was scorching again, but she’d been careful to apply plenty of sun cream ever since the summer fayre, when her shoulders had been badly sunburned. She’d been furious
with herself because she should have known better –
did
know better. But Eve had rubbed lavender oil into her damaged skin and it had healed remarkably quickly, although it still felt
a bit leathery. Now though, she was developing a deep toff ee tan which she knew suited her, especially when she wore the hot pants she’d bought at a jumble sale with a white cheesecloth
shirt tied in a knot under her bust.

Scott was standing at the sink when she got back, and when he turned round he did a double take, then let out a low, appreciative whistle. ‘You look good,’ he nodded. ‘That
get-up shows off your tan.’

It was only when Jo felt the little thrill of satisfaction at the compliment that she realised that it was exactly what she’d been hoping for, and was, if she was honest, the reason
she’d chosen these clothes. Scott turned back to the sink. ‘Do you fancy some grilled mackerel for dinner? We could have some bread and tomatoes and lettuce with it. I got talking to
this bloke at the gig. He went fishing off the beach this morning, caught a load of mackerel and then got home to find his deep-freeze had packed up, so he was sharing them out in the pub and I
thought as it’s just you and me tonight . . . you do like fish, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Jo nodded. ‘I love fish. But how come it’s just us? What time will Eve be back?’

‘Oh, I doubt she’ll be back tonight, not unless she finds another lost soul to bring back.’ He looked up suddenly, a bit sheepish. ‘Sorry, I didn’t
mean—’

‘It’s okay. I was a bit of a lost soul, I suppose. Does she often bring people back from London with her, then?’ She’d thought she was in some way special, that Eve had
only brought her back because she’d liked her, but maybe she was kidding herself.

‘Not that often, no. But we have an open-house rule – we always have, wherever we’ve lived. If someone needs to crash and there’s room at our place, we offer them a bed
for the night, and then we see how it goes, and if they want to stay, and as long as we’re both cool with whoever it is, they can stay.’

‘So you were both cool with me?’

He smiled. ‘Evidently.’

*

After they’d eaten the mackerel and salad, they sat in the living room with the windows open, smoking the extra-long joint Scott had made to celebrate the fact that his
gig had gone well and the venue had booked him for two more dates at fifteen quid a time, plus food, plus drinks. The heat showed no sign of abating, and there wasn’t the slightest breeze
coming in at the open window. Usually, Jo loved the hot weather, but this was getting to be a bit much, even for her. ‘Phew!’ she said, fanning herself ineffectually with her hand. She
stuck her bottom lip out to try and blow air up onto her face, but she could feel that her skin was covered in perspiration and her hair just clung to her damp skin in tendrils. Scott was sitting
opposite her, and she could see the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, which glistened after he’d rolled a cold bottle of beer over it. Jo did the same with her beer, and it provided a few
seconds’ relief. They were listening to
The Dark Side of the Moon
and soon fell into a reverential silence as they wallowed in the music, the experience heightened and deepened by the
cannabis.

After the record finished, they both sat there unmoving in the tingling silence. It was impossible to judge time when you were smoking hash, but they’d listened to the whole album and it
was now completely dark outside, so it must have been a couple of hours. Jo knew she should think about going to bed, but it was difficult to move from the little cocoon of contentment she found
herself in. She looked across to where Scott had been sitting, but he wasn’t there and she hadn’t even noticed him going. She closed her eyes and leant her head back. It was nice hash;
it made her feel floaty and dreamy and happy. When she opened her eyes again, Scott was standing in front of her holding out his hand. ‘Something to show you.’ He was grinning like an
excited child. ‘Come see!’

Feeling slightly woozy, she allowed him to pull her to her feet and lead her out of the room, along the hall and up the stairs. In any other situation, she might have wondered if he intended to
lead her to a bedroom, but his occasional chuckles suggested otherwise. He led her along the landing, past the bedrooms, then round the corner and past the thinking room, up to the second floor.
Where on earth was he taking her? The only room in use up here was Eve’s work room, and at first, she thought that was where they were going, but he pointed to the five narrow stairs that led
up to the storage space. The door was small, only about two and a half feet square, and she’d never opened it. Eve had said it was locked, but now Scott was leading her towards it, still
chuckling. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘but don’t tell Eve.’ He let go of her hand, produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, then he crouched down to crawl
through it. Jo followed on her hands and knees and as the surface she was touching changed from carpet to hard, rough concrete, the memory of her favourite childhood book flashed into her mind,
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
- it was as though she was crawling from the house into Narnia. But when she was through the door, she was almost as astonished as she would have been if
faced with trees and snow. Scott took her hand and helped her to her feet; she was standing on the roof, but it didn’t feel anywhere near as scary as she’d have expected. There were
lots of slopes and chimneys, but there were lots of flat areas, too, and the parapet was about two feet high and was like a little wall running right around the edge of the building so it felt
safe. It was just like another floor of the house, only one with the sky and stars overhead instead of a ceiling.

Up here, even though the air was still warm, there was a slight breeze, barely perceptible. From this vantage point, instead of the thin strip of blue that was visible from the thinking-room
window, you could see the sea clearly in all its vastness. It seemed so much nearer than it did if you were looking out of one of the windows downstairs. The sky was speckled with stars and the
almost full moon shone a silvery white light onto the inky blackness of the water below; to their left, Hastings Castle, illuminated by tasteful golden lighting, stood majestically on the West Hill
as though still watching over the town, still guarding England. Jo turned her head slowly so she could take it all in. ‘Wow,’ she said.

Scott was still grinning. ‘This way.’ He led her along one of the walkways and round to the other side of the main chimney stack. There, where a sloped part of the roof met the flat
area, Scott had laid out a picnic – more a midnight feast, she supposed – on a piece of hardboard that served as a table. There was more beer, half a bottle of white wine, a wedge of
cheese, a French stick cut into chunks and a pack of Anchor butter. He’d also brought up the remains of the jumbo-sized packet of crisps they’d been eating earlier, an unopened box of
Cheeselets and a bowl of rather mushy-looking strawberries left over from the jam-making. ‘Scott, this is . . .’ She looked around her. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘I figured you’d probably have the munchies after all that pot you’ve smoked, so I thought, well. And also’ – he looked down at his feet – ‘it’s
to make up for the way I’ve, like, you know, been with you lately. Come on, let’s sit down and enjoy the view.’

They sat with their backs against the sloping roof, legs stretched out in front of them; Scott’s feet just touched the parapet. They ate the bread and cheese then some of the squishy
strawberries washed down with the wine, which was sweet and slightly fizzy and which they drank straight from the bottle. Drinking from the same bottle seemed an intimate thing to do; more intimate
that sharing a joint, somehow. The wine was warm but went surprisingly well with the strawberries. She rested her head back against the slates while Scott rolled another joint and they giggled
disproportionately over the fact that it was pink from the juice that stained his fingers. It was so strange to be up here, so exposed and so near the sky.

‘Eve doesn’t like me coming up here,’ Scott said. He took another deep draw on the joint. ‘But it’s so . . .’ He tipped his head back and exhaled, holding his
arms out as if to embrace the sky. ‘It’s so
fucking
beautiful.’

Jo nodded. ‘I’ve never seen anything so amazing. I didn’t even know you could get up here. Why doesn’t Eve—’

‘She’s scared I’ll fall. I’ve told her you couldn’t fall really, not unless you were being stupidly careless. But she gets nervous. I used to have a motorbike, you
know, when we first met, but she was terrified I’d have an accident and get killed, so I sold it in the end.’

‘Wow. You must really care about her.’

‘I do. She means a lot to me, Eve does. She’s, like, really cool; you know what I mean?’

‘Yeah, I do. She was lovely to me even when she didn’t know me. She’s been ever so kind.’