The Secrets We Left Behind (33 page)

As Jo was heating up some cow’s milk, Scott remembered where he’d put the powdered baby milk, which turned out to be just within date. Carefully following the
instructions on the tin, Jo made up three bottles, one of which she fed to a ravenous Lily who fell asleep before she’d quite finished. She was now sleeping peacefully in her cradle, which
they’d moved into the kitchen and wiped clean of the blood that stained its rockers. Jo and Scott sat opposite one another at the kitchen table, too stunned to eat, drink or even smoke,
despite what Scott had said earlier. ‘We should tell someone,’ he said. He was looking down at the table and his voice was so quiet she could barely hear him.

She sighed, then nodded. ‘Yes. We should.’ After an initial period of not being able to think at all, her thoughts had now started to speed up and were darting back and forth across
her mind. Of course they must tell someone. Doctors? The police? But what would happen when they did? One thought kept coming to the front of her mind, shouting at her louder than the others: As
soon as they told whoever they needed to tell, it was unlikely that she would ever see Lily again and the one thing she was absolutely certain about was that she loved Lily as surely as if she were
her own baby.

‘Scott,’ she said, but he didn’t appear to have heard her. Scott was Lily’s father, but even he might not be allowed to keep her, not after what had happened. She reached
across and put her hand on the back of his, shaking it slightly as if gently rousing him from sleep. ‘Scott, listen. We need to think. Eve’s dead, and we were there when it happened
– in the same room, for Christ’s sake. We were supposed to be looking after her, although I’m not even sure if it was legal to arrange a home birth with no doctor or midwife
around.’

He raised his head slowly, revealing a face that was ravaged, a face that had aged ten years in a single night. ‘I know.’

‘She bled to death while we were tripping our tits off on illegal drugs.’ A scene flashed into Jo’s mind, a red pool, Eve’s white face amid the swirling red that was
dragging her under, drowning her. She blinked away the image and looked around at the real solid objects in the kitchen, the ashtray, the tray of cress growing on the windowsill, the rubber plant
that Eve had coaxed back to life, the clock on the mantelpiece – it was still only 9.30 in the morning.

‘You okay?’ Scott was looking at her, and she realised that she was breathing loudly and faster than usual.

‘My God,’ she said. ‘I thought it was just the drugs, but I think I saw it . . . I think I actually saw the blood . . .’ Her whole body began to shake and her teeth started
to chatter uncontrollably.

Scott scraped his chair back and came round to her side of the table. ‘You’re in shock,’ he said, resting his hand on her arm; ‘I think we both are.’ Then he picked
up Eve’s green cardigan and draped it round Jo’s shoulders, which made her cry. He boiled the kettle and made them both tea with lots of sugar, and it did seem to help. He rolled two
cigarettes, passed one to Jo then struck a match and lit them both. ‘What the fuck are we going to do, Jo?’

She smoked in silence for a minute. They’d have to call the police. One of them was going to have to walk to the phone box and dial 999. What words would they say?
My friend is dead. Oh
yes? And how did that happen? She had a baby and then she bled to death. And where were you when this occurred? Sitting on a settee about fifteen feet away. And why didn’t you . . .
She took
a drag of the thin roll-up. ‘We’ll be arrested for the drugs, definitely.’

Scott nodded. ‘But what else? We were in charge, weren’t we?’

It was a strange way of putting it and it made Scott suddenly seem very young, not a man at all but a boy, perhaps because it reminded her of when she was at primary school and was part of a
group of children who were tidying up the Home Corner; her teacher had told her quietly that, as the most sensible one, she was in charge of making sure everything was done properly. Now it was
clear to her that, not only was Scott just a boy, but she was just a girl. They had both behaved like stupid, irresponsible kids. Eve was the only one who’d had any sense, and now she was
dead and it was their fault.

‘I think we should go.’

‘Go where?’

She looked at him, feeling more certain by the second. ‘No one ever comes to this house. I think we should clean her up, say goodbye to her, take Lily and go somewhere big, where we can
disappear – London. We’ve got some money, we could find somewhere to stay, get jobs, start again . . .’

‘What?’ Scott said. ‘Are you mad? They’ll be looking for us.’

‘They won’t find us. No one knows our full names, do they? The bills here are in the name of Smith, we both work cash-in-hand, we’re not on the dole – we’re not
even registered anywhere, are we? We can take anything that would identify us with us when we go.’

‘You’re saying we should just go and leave her here?’

Jo swallowed. The idea of leaving Eve all alone in the house was almost unbearable, but the alternative was worse.

‘They’ll take Lily, you know. Put her in some horrible children’s home.’

‘But I’m her dad.’

‘Who was so off his face on drugs that he sat and watched the mother of his child bleed to death!’

He flinched visibly.

‘Sorry, but it’s true.’ She was talking quickly now, a sense of urgency and excitement building. ‘They’ll say you’re not fit to look after her. And we live in
a squat – people think that makes us drug addicts anyway.’ She waited, but he still didn’t say anything.

She took a breath and tried to make her voice calmer. ‘Look at it this way, Scott, if we go to the police now, we know for sure that we’ll be arrested for the drugs, they’ll
take Lily away, and we’ll almost certainly be accused of – I don’t know what it’ll be, manslaughter, maybe—’

‘No! They couldn’t—’

‘Well, probably not manslaughter, but
something.
We let her die, Scott.’ She paused for a moment. ‘But if we take Lily and go, there’s a chance they may not find
her for a while. We could change our names anyway, to be on the safe side.’

Scott stood and started pacing around the room, then he went out of the kitchen and along the hall to the living room where he stood outside the door for a moment before going in. Jo watched
Lily sleeping as she waited for him to come out. What if he said no?

Then she heard his footsteps coming slowly back along the hall. He looked weary as he came back into the kitchen and sat down. ‘All right. Let’s do it.’

*

It was almost two in the afternoon by the time they were ready to leave. They hadn’t been able to clean Eve up as much as they’d have liked – there was just
too much blood to deal with, and they’d had to keep stopping to give in to bouts of uncontrollable trembling or waves of nausea – but they’d washed her face, brushed her hair, and
covered her with a clean white sheet. They packed the old shopping trolleys that they used for transporting stuff to the markets with a few clothes for themselves, but mostly with baby clothes,
bedding, shawls and nappies. They scoured the house for papers bearing any of their names, but there were surprisingly few, and they put them in the bag she’d found all those months ago
containing Eve’s birth certificate, driving licence and National Insurance number. Jo made up more bottles and a bag of cheese sandwiches, and as an afterthought, stuffed a few things from
the larder into her trolley – Marmite, some jars of jam, tins of beans, packets of lentils and rice. Her stomach was churning – what if they couldn’t find anywhere to stay? They
couldn’t sleep rough, not with a baby. Maybe they could find a squat? But how many squats would be suitable? No, she told herself, don’t think like that; it’s going to be fine.
Including Eve’s money, they had almost ninety pounds between them. That would keep them going for a few weeks at least.

They each went in separately to say their goodbyes, Jo first, then Scott. He was tearful when he came out. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Ready?’

Jo tucked Lily into the baby sling and kissed her head, marvelling once again at the softness of her hair. ‘Hang on a sec,’ she said to Scott. She hurried back into the kitchen and
rummaged in the drawer for some scissors. Carefully, she selected a lock of Lily’s silky hair and snipped, then she went back into the living room. Tenderly, she pulled back the sheet and
placed the lock of hair on Eve’s chest, at about the point where a locket would sit if she were wearing one. ‘This is your daughter’s hair,’ she whispered. ‘I will
love her for you, for ever.’ And she kissed Eve’s forehead before covering her again and leaving the room, shutting the door quietly as if afraid of waking her.

Jo instinctively pulled on her parka, but with Lily nestling against her chest, it was impossible to zip up, so she took the big tent-coat Eve had bought at a jumble sale and buttoned it easily,
keeping Lily snug inside.

‘Lily Hannah,’ she said as they walked up the hill to the station. ‘Did she tell anyone she was going to call her Lily?’

‘I don’t know. Who would she tell? She’s barely been out for weeks.’

‘All the same, maybe we should call her Hannah Lily. Just in case.’

*

At the station, they were about to board the train when a porter came hurrying along the platform towards them. Jo couldn’t move. This was it; they’d been found out
already. But then the porter smiled and said, ‘Not long now, eh?’ then took her arm and helped her up the step into the carriage. ‘Me and me missus have just had our own nipper,
so I know what it’s like.’ He lifted the trolleys in while Scott took the bags. ‘When you due, love?’ He nodded towards the bump that Lily made under the huge coat.

She hesitated, unsure how to answer, then Scott chipped in. ‘Only a couple more weeks. Thanks for your help, mate. Cheers.’ He smiled at the man and pulled the carriage door shut.
Jo’s heart was hammering as they found their seats in the empty carriage. ‘You
idiot
,’ she hissed. ‘What the hell did you say that for?’

‘Well, it disguises us, doesn’t it? If they’re looking for a bloke and a girl with a baby, all he’s seen is a bloke with a girl who’s pregnant.’

‘But what if she’d cried or something?’

Scott looked at her, and for a moment she thought he was going to cry. ‘I didn’t think of that.’

They sat opposite each other in silence, both still a little stunned by what had happened and by what they’d done. Jo was conscious of the warm weight of Lily, no, Hannah; she must get
used to calling her Hannah, asleep on her chest. She unbuttoned her coat so that she could gaze at the little whorl of still sticky dark hair and remind herself what she’d promised Eve. She
was now a mother.

Unable to look at Scott, she turned her head to the window and for a few minutes allowed her mind to go blank as the houses and back gardens with their washing lines, bikes and discarded toys
whizzed past. Then she became aware of her own reflection looking back at her. She tried to look past it into the gardens, but its gaze became more insistent, as though it were another person. A
few spots of rain fell onto the glass but the speed of the train pulled them sideways, so it was as if the rain was falling horizontally. She could feel her own eyes boring into her, like when you
stare and stare at someone until they can’t help but look back at you. She gave in and looked, and for a split second, it was Eve staring back. She slipped her hand into her coat pocket and
allowed her fingers to close around Eve’s birth certificate, now
her
birth certificate.

Sheffield, October 2010

I’m on a train to Hastings. It’s been raining all morning and the sky is dark and overcast, making it feel like late afternoon even though it’s not yet
lunchtime. I look at my reflection in the train window, and I try to see Eve looking back at me, but I can’t seem to conjure up her face any more.

This is the second time I’ve been down to visit her grave since I found out where she was. It was strange the first time, knowing her remains were there but with nothing to say it was her.
But they put the headstone up last week, so that’s why I’m going down today. I emailed Hannah to ask if she’d like to choose the stone and what she wanted on it, but she
didn’t reply. I write letters now, almost every week, but she never replies to those either.

I chose the headstone myself in the end; it’s quite small and made of smooth white marble, with a built-in flower holder at the bottom. I sent Hannah a picture. Then I wrote again to tell
her when they were putting it up, and that I’d chosen a simple inscription:
Eve, beloved mother.
I find I’m impatient to see it now.

*

I walk along the straight gravel path past the neatly trimmed grass and the regimented lines of plots. Eve would have hated the way the cemetery looks; this part of it, at
least, where there are so few headstones because this is where they bury the unnamed, the unidentified. Eve would have preferred the ancient cemetery in Sheffield. It’s not used for burials
any more, but it’s a pretty walk, a rambling, overgrown place full of worn headstones and memorials adorned with tiny cherubs, chipped Grecian urns, Celtic crosses and weeping stone
angels.

As I turn into the row of plots where Eve is buried, I see immediately that Hannah did receive my letter, because there are sunflowers, five big bright blooms, perfectly arranged in the holder.
I know Hannah likes sunflowers; Eve did, too. Is that a coincidence, I wonder? I crouch down to touch them. Hannah has put these flowers here; it may have even been today. I wonder if she brought
Toby. I wonder if she stayed and talked to her mother. For a moment, l feel unbearably lonely; a gust of wind sweeps across the grass, stripping some of the petals from the sunflowers and somehow
intensifying my sadness.

The stone is rather lovely, and its simplicity sets off the beautiful lettering. I trace the words with my fingertips:
beloved mother,
and then
Eve.

The sunflowers look nice against the white stone. ‘These are from your daughter,’ I say aloud. ‘She’s very like you, Eve, in lots of ways. She’s kind, and clever,
and strong. You’d be so proud.’ I pause; I can hear the wind moving in the trees. And then I realise that I want to keep talking, and so I do. I tell her how sorry I am for leaving her;
I tell her how much I love Hannah, how much Duncan loves her, too. I try to explain how scared I was back then that they’d take her away. I carry on talking, babbling away with tears
streaming down my face, and I don’t stop even when a group of people walk past and I can feel them looking, wondering whether they should do anything or tell someone.