The Secrets We Left Behind (20 page)

A few people turned round, and a man in light flannel trousers and a straw hat stopped in front of the stall. ‘Steady on, chum,’ he said. ‘There’s ladies present, you
know.’

‘Eve wrote you out a bloody list so you’d know exactly what to charge. And what do you mean, it “got lost”? Things don’t just get lost on their own.’

She explained about Andrew and how she’d had to grab the tin in a hurry and so maybe she’d dropped the list at that point, but Scott’s eyes got even wider. ‘You mean you
left the stall unattended?’ He looked back at the things that were still laid out on the table. ‘You’re bloody lucky nothing was stolen.’

‘The girl on that stall was watching it for me. And I couldn’t leave a toddler wandering around lost, could I?’

But his face didn’t soften. He spoke slowly, through gritted teeth. ‘Of course you couldn’t, but how could she watch two stalls? Look, she’s busy with her own.
Didn’t it occur to you that things could be nicked?’ He turned away from her. ‘Christ, Jo.’ He shook his head. ‘I honestly thought you had more sense, man.’

‘I’m sorry, I really am. But nothing
was
nicked, was it?’

‘More by good luck than good judgement.’

What a shitty day this was turning out to be. First she’d felt humiliated when Andrew’s mother had snatched him from her arms as though she was some sort of child molester, then
she’d been hoodwinked by that nasty, slimy man. And now this.

‘I’ve said I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.’

Scott picked Jo’s bag up off the ground and handed it to her. ‘Go.’ He turned away, shaking his head and waving in the direction of the beach.

‘But—’

‘Those earrings cost five quid a pair just for the materials.’ His voice was cold and he still wouldn’t look at her.

‘I’ll make up for it,’ she said. She could actually feel her legs beginning to tremble. ‘It’ll take a while—’

He glanced at her. ‘Please, Jo, not now. I don’t want to say something I might regret.’

She nodded, trying not to cry. ‘What about the packing up? Do you want me to—’

‘Just go. ’

Sheffield, 2010

It was four in the morning and I hadn’t slept a wink. I felt sick with misery, physically sick. Duncan was breathing deeply and heavily, so I slipped carefully out of
bed, then tiptoed downstairs and switched on the electric heater in the dining room. I paced the room for a while, wishing I still smoked. For the first time, I allowed myself to consider what
might happen if I did have to tell them. I remembered Granny Pawley saying that if you were worried about something happening, the best way to deal with it was to work out what you would do if it
did. So now I started to wonder how I might go about telling them. I tried to practise the conversation in my head, but I couldn’t make the words come. Maybe if I could see them written down
. . . I took a pen from my bag, grabbed a handful of paper from the printer and sat at the dining table.

I sighed; this was rubbish. And anyway, I was still avoiding the main conversation. I tore up the paper and started another sheet.

My darling Hannah,
I wrote, then I sat there for a full minute. This was ridiculous; I tore that sheet up as well and shoved all the pieces in my bag before reaching for the laptop. This
wasn’t something I was going to be able to do in one draft.
My darling Hannah,
I typed.
There is something I have to tell you, and I’m too much of a coward to tell you face to
face, so I’m . . . I
deleted what I’d written.
My dearest Hannah, this will come as a shock, and I am going to have to beg you to forgive me.
I deleted the second part of that
sentence.
As you know, your biological father left us when you were a baby to go to New Zealand. You soon began to regard Duncan as your ‘real’ dad, so we’ve never talked much
about . . .
I deleted that, too, and put my head in my hands. I had never imagined myself having to tell anyone this; I couldn’t find words that wouldn’t cause them pain. Telling
Hannah would be like physically hurting her.
I love you so much, and I need to tell you something, but I want to prepare you first.
I stopped, because tears were pouring from my eyes so fast
they were dripping all over the keyboard. I couldn’t do this, I
couldn’t.
I rummaged in my dressing gown pocket and found a screwed-up tissue to mop my face. There was a creak
behind me and my heart thudded, but it was only Monty, who’d just realised I was there. He was going a bit deaf. He yawned as he stretched his forelegs in front of him and went down on his
elbows with his rump in the air and his tail wagging ecstatically. It was like he was worshipping me. ‘Hello, Monty.’ I leaned down to press my cheek against his soft, warm fur and he
tried to lick away my tears, which made me cry all the more. I tried to control myself and sat back up at the table, while Monty settled himself at my feet, gazing up at me with a worried
expression. I blew my nose and turned back to the screen to read what I’d written, then I highlighted the whole thing and pressed delete.

I stared at the blank document for a while, marvelling at how easy it was to erase the words, to make it as though they had never been written. If only you could wipe out the past that easily. I
tried to imagine what life would have been like if it hadn’t happened, but then again, if it hadn’t . . . I closed down the program and switched off the laptop, then I knelt down on the
floor with Monty, whose tail thumped appreciatively as I put my arms around his silky neck. ‘Oh Monty, Monty.’ He licked my face once, then stared at me as if he was trying to read my
thoughts. His eyes were a deep, rich brown, like conkers, and they shone with trust, faith and adoration. ‘I don’t deserve it, boy,’ I said, and he thumped his tail again, then I
looked into his eyes and I whispered my confession.

‘What’s up?’ Duncan said, making me jump so that I bashed my shoulder on the underside of the table. I hadn’t heard him come downstairs but now he was standing in the
doorway looking at me. I froze; could he have heard me?

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I woke up and you were gone.’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

‘Hey, you’re crying.’ He came over and put his arms around me. He was warm and he smelled of sleep, and I hated myself.

‘No, it’s just a cold coming, I think. That’s why I couldn’t sleep – blocked nose.’

He pulled away slightly, looking perplexed as he searched my face with his eyes. ‘Okay,’ he said after a bit. ‘If you say so. You coming back to bed?’

I nodded. ‘In a minute.’

There was a question in his expression before he turned away. ‘Okay.’ He walked slowly towards the door and I could feel him hurtling away from me.

*

Even though I hadn’t finished the book, I went to my book group tonight – Duncan knew I rarely missed and he’d have thought it odd if I’d skipped it. It
was at Marina’s, and we were doing
Wuthering Heights
this time. Most of us had read it before, but we were all up for reading it again. Eve loved this story, and I remembered how
she’d romanticised Heathcliff, who was, after all, a cruel obsessive. ‘Just think, Jo,’ she said one evening, her eyes alight with the passion of it, ‘imagine a man loving
you so much he’d try to dig you up when you were dead.’ The idea gave me the creeps, but Eve had been moved and excited by the sheer intensity of Heathcliff’s love for Cathy. Eve
was a bit like Cathy in that she needed to live somewhere where she could be close to nature. She liked the idea of the windswept moors as much as she loved living near the sea, and when she talked
about how being out in the elements made her feel more alive, she made me want to be out there, too. Whenever I thought about that summer in Hastings, I thought of Eve as a sun goddess, but
I’d forgotten how she used to love going out in all weathers, how she’d climb up the East Hill cliff so she could stand at the top and feel the wind and the rain on her face. She often
talked about travelling to Yorkshire, to see Top Withens on the Pennine Moors, the place where
Wuthering Heights
was set. Now I thought about it, that was probably one of the reasons
I’d moved up north after Scott left – that and the incredibly cheap rent. I never did go to Top Withens, though, even though it was only a few miles from where I lived in Halifax.
Sheffield was more tame. Eve would have said it was Yorkshire for wimps; even Duncan sometimes called it Yorkshire Lite, but then he’d grown up near Harrogate where the winters were much
colder. The slightly milder climate was one of the reasons Estelle moved here after Duncan’s dad died, that and to be nearer to us, of course.

‘Thanks, Marina.’ I kissed her as I stepped out into the chilly night. ‘Good discussion.’

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Marina said, smiling as she saw us all out. ‘See you next time.’

It had been a good evening, and even though I’d been thinking about Eve, my thoughts had barely strayed to the Scott situation for the last two hours. But as soon as I was in the car, it
all came crowding back. I rooted around in my bag for my phone so I could tell Duncan I was on my way home, but then I had a sudden memory of seeing it plugged into the charger and lying on the
kitchen worktop.

There were no lights on in the bedroom as I pulled up outside, so I assumed Duncan was asleep already, but as I opened the front door I saw that there was a light on in the kitchen. He was
sitting at the table with a two-thirdsfull bottle of whisky in front of him, and my phone next to it. He took a swig from his glass and banged it down on the table.

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Having a bit of a nightcap?’ He didn’t look at me. ‘Duncan?’

He raised his glass again, and I saw his face shift as if he was grinding his teeth. He put the glass down without taking a sip. ‘How long has this been going on?’

‘What? What are you talking about?’

‘This “S” character, whoever he is.’ He nodded towards my phone. ‘Who is it? How long have you been seeing him?’ He stood, pushing the chair back roughly
behind him. ‘Christ, I’ve been so stupid. I should have twigged, shouldn’t I? The headaches, the late-night emailing, the days off when you couldn’t quite remember where
you’d been or what you’d done. Have you been with him tonight?’

I shook my head vigorously. ‘No, and, Duncan, it’s not what you think.’

‘Ha! Not what I think! God, that’s such a fucking cliché.’

‘I know it’s a cliché, but it happens to be true. This really isn’t what you think.’

He turned to face me; his eyes looked bloodshot. ‘How could you?’

‘I have been meeting . . . someone . . . but I’m not sleeping with him, I swear.’

‘What is it then? Cosy little dinners? Days out on the moors?’

I’d never heard Duncan use this sneering tone before and it felt horrible to be on the receiving end of it. ‘Duncan, please . . .’

He took a gulp of his drink and banged the glass down so hard I feared it might shatter.

‘I thought we were happy,’ he said quietly, looking into his glass. ‘I thought we had the perfect. . . ’ He flicked his head savagely and muttered something
unintelligible.

‘Listen to me!’ My tone made him start and he looked up sharply.

It’s . . . it’s Scott; Hannah’s father.’

‘For a moment he looked blank, then it appeared to sink in. It was a good ten seconds before he said, ‘Her father? But I thought. . . I thought he’d cut himself off
completely.’

‘Yes, so did I. But he’s changed his mind, apparently, and he’s been back in this country for a few years.’

‘So how long—’

‘Oh, he only contacted me a few weeks ago.’

He sighed. ‘How did he find you?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose it’s not that difficult these days – he’ll have searched my maiden name, found my married name—’

‘And now he wants to see Hannah?’

And that’s not all he wants, I thought, but I just nodded.

Duncan stood up and went over to the kitchen window, hands in his pockets. ‘Christ.’ There was another pause before he said, ‘Well, he can go fuck himself, can’t
he?’ He turned. ‘Those anonymous phone calls over Christmas—’

‘Yes, that was him.’

He shook his head, then he looked at me, his eyes searching mine. ‘What have you said? I hope you’ve told him to forget it?’

I nodded. ‘Of course. But he won’t let it go. Thing is, he’s ill. I mean, very ill. He says he only has a few months to live.’

Duncan made a ‘huh’ sound and shook his head dismissively.

‘No, it’s true, I’ve seen him. It’s some sort of cancer. I haven’t asked details but I can see he’s telling the truth.’

Duncan didn’t say anything for a minute, then he walked back to the table and poured himself another drink. He sighed as he sat back down. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

I looked away. ‘I . . . I suppose I thought he might give up and leave me alone. I didn’t want to let him into our lives.’ I turned back towards him, hoping he wouldn’t see
that this was only half the truth.

‘And you’ve been to meet him?’

‘Only twice.’

‘Twice?’ He shook his head again and sighed; it was a sad sigh. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this. Why didn’t you trust me to try and
help?’

I could hardly bear to see the pain in his eyes. We’d shared so much since we’d been together; I was desperate to let him know that this was no rejection, that I didn’t feel
any different. I should have just told him that Scott wanted to see Hannah; there was no reason he’d have thought there was any more to it than that. But I was deluding myself, thinking
he’d never need to know. ‘I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t know, I suppose I hoped I could just make him go away.’