The Secrets We Left Behind (34 page)

After a while, I straighten up and blow my nose. Silly really. I didn’t need to come here to talk to Eve; I could have talked to her anywhere, at any time. But there’s something
about seeing her name on the headstone, something about giving it back to her, I suppose, that makes me feel close to her again, as though she’s actually here, rather than it simply being the
place where her remains are buried. As I stand here talking to her, I realise that I’m becoming increasingly reluctant to leave. I know it’s stupid and irrational, but it feels like the
moment I walk away from here, I’ll be abandoning her all over again.

I can hardly believe it was over thirty years ago; strange to think that Eve will be for ever twenty. When Hannah was that age she still seemed very young. At least, she did to me. And yet I
remember Eve as being almost a mother figure as well as a friend; she made me feel safe; she taught me things, and she was proud of me. But we’d both needed mothers back then. It was one of
the reasons I’d relished the chance to help her when she was expecting Hannah. I wanted to look after her, to take care of her just as she’d taken care of me. But in the end I let her
down. ‘I’m sorry, Eve,’ I whisper eventually, and as I finally walk away, I feel myself give a small, involuntary wave.

*

I’m not ready to go back to Sheffield yet, so after I leave the cemetery, I go walking, and somehow, I find myself standing at the foot of the cliffs at Covehurst Bay, the
wind whipping my hair around my face. This is where Eve taught me to swim. It occurs to me that this is another thing Hannah might like to know about her mother, so I allow my mind to drift back so
that I can recall the details which, when I get home later, I’ll put into a letter.

I remember the first day we came here. It was a half-hour walk from the East Hill down a narrow, rocky path that wound in and out of woodland so that sometimes we were in the shade, sometimes in
the sunshine. That first day the sun was so fierce that it made the skin on my arms prickle. The path was dry and dusty, and by the time we came to the painted wooden sign that said
To the
beach
, I was beginning to look forward to being in the cool water, although every time I thought of actually swimming, my stomach turned over.

‘This way,’ Eve said, turning onto another path. I could hear the gentle hiss of the waves scurrying up the beach, but we still had to climb down another steep path, holding on to
tree roots and rocks until we came to a clearing where the ground levelled out and we could see the sea, shimmering and glassy in the distance. There was a three foot drop onto the beach, and we
both jumped down, sending pebbles spraying up behind us. The beach here was almost empty. It was sandier, not so steeply shelved as Hastings beach, and the waves were more gentle; the sea even
looked bluer.

Eve smiled. ‘See what I mean? The water’s always calm here – probably something to do with the shape of the bay. It’s gorgeous to look at, isn’t it? Although
personally, I prefer it when the sea’s a bit more lively.’

Eve was never happier than when the waves were crashing into the sea wall and the spray was going twenty feet in the air and drenching all the traffic on the coast road. I quite enjoyed watching
the huge waves and listening to the heavy thuds as they hit the wall, but I didn’t like standing too close because when I looked over the wall, I was overcome by an almost physical fear, not
so much of falling, or of being swept away, but of what I might do. It was a terrifying sensation that manifested as a sort of effervescence in my ankles and fingertips, as if there were some
hidden presence inside me that might suddenly turn against me and make me leap over the wall and down into the grip of the deep, powerful water.

‘But this is just right if you’re learning to swim,’ Eve continued. ‘Come on.’ She took my hand. ‘Let’s get started.’ She led me into the water
and turned to offer me the other hand as well. ‘First of all,’ she said, tucking her elbows in at her sides, ‘treat my hands like a float. Just hold on, and kick your feet up
behind you.’

I did as she said, but I didn’t want to splash her too much.

‘Come on! Kick harder, make some noise. Okay, rest. Now, try again, only try to get your bottom up higher, right to the top of the water, so you can feel the sun. I know,’ she
grinned. ‘Pretend you’re trying to get a bum-tan!’

I had to put my feet down, because Eve was making me laugh. But then I tried again, and concentrated on pushing my body up so that it felt almost straight. I nearly panicked when I felt her grip
loosen, but she grabbed me again quickly. Then she got me to lie on my front with my arms out while she put her hands under my stomach to support me.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m lifting you, and I’m holding on to your costume so you can’t fall, but it’s actually the water that’s keeping you up. Try
and let your body relax, then you’ll feel safer.’

I could feel the warmth of Eve’s hands against my stomach; I made a conscious effort to relax, and she was right, I did feel safer. Soon I could lie flat on the surface with my face in the
water, as long as Eve was supporting me. I was virtually floating on my own, but I loved the feel of her hands, warm and solid, keeping me afloat.

The lessons continued every day, sometimes twice if I wasn’t working. Eve showed me how to float on my back, and how to move my arms as if I was doing backstroke. Then she showed me how to
do a front crawl and how to coordinate my arm movements and turn my head so as to take a breath, all the time supporting me, keeping me safe. After a week, she said she wanted to take her hands
away to see if I could stay up on my own. What followed wasn’t real swimming, but frantic doggie-paddle. But at least I stayed up, even if it was only for a few seconds. Then she moved a few
feet away from me and held her arms out. ‘Come on, Jo. See if you can swim to me.’

There was something about her expression, a look in her eyes that said she wanted me to succeed; that she really cared whether or not I would finally be able to swim. I took a breath, raised my
arm and launched forward, lifting my body to the surface of the water. Sweeping down with one arm, I kicked my feet and heard the splashing as I moved forward. Up with the other arm, face towards
the shore, breathe, turn, face towards the horizon, breathe, kick, keep going, left, right, breathe, kick. I felt my own strength and actions pulling me forward. And I wasn’t even looking at
Eve, though I could hear her clapping and shouting, ‘That’s it, Jo, you’ve got it! You’re doing it!’ And as I looked through the bubbles and saw the sun glinting off
the blue-green ocean, I felt as though I could plough through the vast expanse of water with ease, that if I kept chopping through it with my arms and kicking with my legs that I would move
forward, on and on until I reached the other shore. I was swimming! Wait till I told my mum! It was a millisecond before I felt the familiar surge of grief flooding through me, but then I fought it
down, because I could see Eve, smiling and clapping as I swam towards her.

‘That was marvellous,’ she said, and she beamed at me as she put the towel around my shoulders. ‘I’m so, so proud of you.’

It’s very late when I get back from Hastings, but I stay up later still so that I can write my weekly letter to Hannah.

When I wake the next morning, the first thing I think about is the grave, and I think about it with relief, relief that it finally has a headstone, and that I’ve seen it
properly in place and with her name engraved on its surface. It’s odd how readily I relinquished the name. I’ve been ‘Eve’ for thirty-four years, and I never felt
uncomfortable with it until I knew where she was. Now, I’m happy it’s hers again.

I switch on my laptop and check the letter again before printing it out, ready to post. I still hope Hannah will read my letters at some point, so I type them so they’re as easy to read as
possible – my handwriting is appalling these days, and I know she can become impatient with illegible handwriting. It takes up too much time, she argues, which is fair enough.

I’ve been up for a while before I remember that it’s Wednesday and my heart gives a little lift, because Wednesday is the day that Hannah usually takes Toby to the swings after his
playgroup, and if I stand way back among the trees, I can watch them, unobserved. Sometimes they only stay for twenty minutes or so, but it’s all I have, and it’s better than nothing.
Hannah hasn’t spoken to me since the day I told them back in March – almost seven months ago now.

*

After I’d finished speaking, Hannah stared at me for a full minute, and then she got up and walked slowly out of the house, closing the front door behind her so quietly
that I didn’t even hear it click. Duncan was still looking at me incredulously. We sat in silence, I’m not sure for how long, and then he started to speak. ‘Eve, what . . .’
Then he shook his head. ‘Jesus Christ, that’s not even your fucking name, is it?’ Then he mumbled something, stood up and went out of the room. I stayed sitting there as though in
a trance. I couldn’t feel my body. I’d done it; I’d told them.

I sat there, not moving, listening to Duncan walking around upstairs. I heard him speaking on the phone at one point and, when he came back in, he had his car keys in his hand. Monty climbed out
of his basket and stretched, wagging his tail and looking expectantly at Duncan. ‘Come on, then, boy,’ he muttered, then he turned towards the door and said over his shoulder,
‘I’m going to stay at my brother’s for a bit. I need to think. I can’t do it here.’

I nodded. ‘When will you bring Monty back?’

He looked at me as though he didn’t know me, and I had to look away because instead of the calm, easy love and friendship I was used
to seeing in his eyes, what I recognised there now was mistrust and a flicker of dislike. ‘He’s my dog, Eve.’

I opened my mouth to argue, but there was no point; he
was
more Duncan’s dog than mine. When Duncan first brought him home, I had very little to do with him. Hannah had just gone
off to university at that point and I was missing her terribly. I was annoyed with Duncan because I thought he’d bought a puppy as some sort of substitute. It wasn’t that at all, of
course. He just wanted to save the poor little creature after a policeman had found him tied up and dumped in a skip, half-starved, covered in sores and frightened of his own shadow. It was Duncan
who nursed him back to health; Duncan who patiently coaxed him into the room with us and talked to him in a soothing voice while the poor thing cowered under the table. It was even Duncan who took
him for walks at first, while I stayed at home, moping around because I missed Hannah. That changed, of course. I soon took over the walking and, as Monty learned to trust me, I grew to love him.
And now it looked like I was losing him, too. But I didn’t have the strength, or the right, I suppose, to argue. So I watched Duncan go, Monty trotting happily behind him.

After a while, a few minutes, possibly, or a few hours – I had no concept of time whatsoever – I made my way upstairs, took off the clothes I’d been wearing all night and had a
shower. Yesterday, the weather had been wet and blustery, but this morning there was sunshine streaming in through the windows, and outside, the pink cherry blossom lay like confetti on the
pavements. Spring was in the air; it was supposed to be a time of new life, new beginnings, but for me, it was all about endings. I put on a thin black jumper and black trousers that were now loose
around the waist and I looked at my reflection in the hall mirror: ‘Jo,’ I said aloud as I looked at myself. ‘Joanna.’ I sighed and shook my head. Would I ever really be Jo
again? I put my coat on and picked up my keys. The jangling sound usually brought Monty padding into the hall, tail wagging, to look hopefully at his lead, and I felt a fresh stab of loss as I
registered his absence. I locked the door behind me and set off to walk to the police station

At that point, I had absolutely no idea what would happen to me; I didn’t even know if they’d believe me – it sounded such a crazy story. But they did, eventually, and of
course they had to carry out a full investigation, which took months. It was a long, tense summer as I waited to find out whether there would be a trial. The most likely charge was
failure to
report a death;
they also talked about
manslaughter by omission,
but that raised the question as to whether I could have been said to have ‘a duty of care’ towards Eve. Jen,
my solicitor, thought not, especially given my age at the time. What I was most afraid of was being charged with kidnapping Hannah, but as my solicitor pointed out, I didn’t kidnap her
– Scott was her father and he had every right to take her.