The Secrets We Left Behind (10 page)

‘Thank you,’ Jo murmured, trying not to cry. It wasn’t fair; just when she’d begun to feel a bit more settled. She took up the offer of a bath hoping it would make her
feel better, especially as she’d slept in her clothes. But it didn’t really help, and as she stood on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor to get dressed, she was overcome by a powerful
longing for her mum. It kept hitting her afresh: her mum was dead, she wasn’t coming back; Jo was on her own now, completely on her own.

When she went back to the dormitory, the supervisor and the hostel manager were both there, ready to escort her from the building, no doubt. She could hardly bear to look at them; she just
wanted to pay for the previous night and get out of there. She reached for her purse. ‘Oh my God,’ she said as she rummaged through her duffle bag. ‘I can’t find my purse.
It’s got over nine pounds in it.’ She could hear the edge of panic in her voice. ‘It must be here somewhere.’ She saw the hostel manager and dormitory supervisor exchange a
look. ‘I’m not trying to get a free night, honest,’ she said, taking things out of the bag and stuffing them back in again. ‘I’ve paid for all the rest, it’s
just I can’t find my purse.’ She slid her suitcase out from under the bed; maybe she’d put it in the zip pocket, but no, the pocket was empty, and anyway, she was almost certain
her purse had been in her duffle bag. She pulled everything out, tipped it upside down and shook it out onto the bed. Her hands were trembling as she went through her belongings more slowly, just
to make sure the little brown purse hadn’t got caught up in one of her jumpers.

She heard the hostel manager sigh heavily, then she felt the woman’s hand resting gently on her arm. ‘I know you’re not trying to get a free night. I think I know what’s
happened.’ She looked pointedly at Tina’s empty, unmade bed. ‘I think you’ve been robbed. It’s another reason we don’t allow alcohol on the premises. It’s
happened before, you see. An easy way to make money – they come into the hostel looking for someone like yourself, someone who’s new to all this.’ She gestured around the dorm.
‘They offer you a drink to make out they’re being friendly, get you so drunk you pass out, then once you’re unconscious, they pinch all your money.’ She picked up one of the
cider bottles and sniffed it. ‘Thought so.’ She passed it to the dorm supervisor, who also sniffed it and nodded. ‘No wonder you’re feeling rough; there was meths mixed in with
that.’

Jo sat down on the bed and bit her lip. How could she have been so stupid? But it was only after she went through her things one more time that she was unable to stop the tears; not only had
Tina stolen her purse, but her mum’s cameo brooch was gone, too.

The hostel manager was sympathetic and said she could stay for one more night if she liked, but she just wanted to get out of the place now. She still had almost five pounds
– there were three pound notes in the pocket of her jeans, which she’d been wearing because she’d been too drunk to get undressed, and there was well over a pound in loose change
in her parka which had been crumpled under her shoulder as she slept. But that was it. They said she could leave her bags at the hostel while she looked for work, but after several hours of going
in and out of shops and knocking on hotel doors, she still hadn’t found a job. None of the hotels had anything at the moment, though a couple of them did say she could try again next week. It
was late afternoon by the time she went back to collect her bags, and although her hangover had gone, her feet ached and she was getting a blister on her heel. She was hoping the hostel manager
would still be in her office, because she was dying for a cup of tea, and she was pretty sure the manager would let her have one. But it was the dorm supervisor who opened the door, and she left
her standing on the doorstep while she fetched the bags.

It was two and a half miles to the other hostel, but she didn’t dare spend any more money, so she walked, despite having to grit her teeth and make a conscious effort to ignore the pain
from the blister on her heel. She only had enough left to pay for another two nights, three at the most; what if she couldn’t get any work tomorrow? As a last resort, she could sign on, she
supposed, but she really didn’t want to do that. Not only would it be admitting failure after less than a week in London, but she probably wouldn’t be able to get anything anyway
– Rob said you could only get the dole if you’d paid a proper stamp, and you couldn’t get Supplementary Benefit unless you had an address. Rob knew about all that, because
he’d left home once after a row with his mum, and he’d ended up sleeping on the beach. He’d tried to sign on until he got a job, but they said he wasn’t entitled to anything
because he had ’no fixed abode’. She bit her lip now as she thought of the beach at home. Somehow, the idea of sleeping on the beach didn’t seem that bad at the moment. She tried
to remember the sounds she was so used to: the waves gently washing over the sand, the constant cry of the seagulls. Their shrieking often used to drive her mad; who’d have thought
she’d end up missing it? But she did, especially now when all she could hear was the perpetual noise made by the cars, buses and lorries that crammed the London streets.

By the time she got to Trafalgar Square, having got lost despite the map the hostel manager had drawn for her, she was limping and hungry. It was getting on for seven, and she hadn’t eaten
since breakfast, so she spent another 15p on a bag of chips which she ate sitting on a bench near Charing Cross station, then she bought a cup of tea to warm herself up while she counted out her
remaining money. She had £4.67 left, and this hostel was £1.40 a night. How on earth was she going to survive? She began walking along the Strand without really thinking about where she
was going. People had begun to arrive for the theatres. The women in their fur coats and high heels seemed to move around in a haze of hairspray and perfume, while in shop doorways, men and women
prepared to bed down for the night. She slowed her pace, watching as they spread their possessions around them, marking their territory, establishing a temporary home. They weren’t all scary
old tramps, she noticed. In fact, some of them were quite young. She spotted a girl who looked about the same age as herself sitting up in a sleeping bag with a plastic sheet spread over the
bottom, reading a small, grubby-looking book. ‘Hello.’ Jo tried to sound as friendly and nice as she could. ‘All right if I sit down next to you?’ When the girl looked up
from her book, Jo could see straight away that she was no more than fifteen, possibly even younger. ‘No,’ the girl said, reaching out and pulling her holdall closer to her. ‘Fuck
off .’

Jo was so surprised, she didn’t move immediately. ‘Go on,’ the girl said. ‘Fuck off away from me or I’ll make you.’

‘Okay,’ Jo said. ‘I’m going.’ Her legs felt shaky as she hurried away. There were homeless people back in Cornwall, but they weren’t so . . . so hostile. She
decided not to risk talking to anyone else, but the thought of spending almost all her remaining money on a bed in a hostel where she might end up getting her stuff nicked anyway was looking less
and less attractive, so when she found a tiny unoccupied doorway in Neal Street, just round the corner from Shaftesbury Avenue, she squashed herself into it, even though there was barely room to
sit down. It was starting to rain again, and she was cold and tired. This would just have to do until tomorrow. She huddled in the doorway, watching the rain hitting the dark pavements but too
nervous to actually close her eyes. Then she saw two police uniforms further along the road. They didn’t seem to be doing anything other than talking to the people in the doorways, but she
still didn’t fancy having to explain herself, so she gathered her stuff and, with her head down against the rain, walked back the way she’d come to find another spot.

She moved four times during the night, finally settling behind some parked cars at the rear of a building where warm air was blasting out of a heating vent. If only she could have a cup of tea.
But she hadn’t a clue where to get one, and even if she had, it would probably be stupid to give up her spot.

*

The city began to come back to life at around 5.30, and at last the rain had stopped. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually slept at all, but she got stiffly to her feet
and set off to find a public toilet. God, she was desperate for a wee. She’d been too scared to leave her warm spot so had been holding it in for hours. In Berwick Street, she found a public
toilet which had soap and hot water, so she gave herself what her mum used to call a ‘cat’s lick and a promise’ and then headed back in the direction of Trafalgar Square, which
was probably the only place in London she was sure she’d be able to find.

She was sitting on the steps of Nelson’s Column, eating a soggy Wimpy and wishing she had some gloves when she realised someone was standing over her. Her experience with Tina and Mr
Rundle’s warning about wooden-leg-stealing Londoners jumped into her mind and she pulled her suitcase and duffle bag closer as she looked up. The woman wore a long maroon velvet coat with a
floor-length chunky-knit scarf in bottle-green wound around her neck. Those long scarves had been all the rage at school a couple of years ago. You made them by using big thick knitting needles and
double strands of wool. Jo had made one herself, though not very well – it had somehow got wider as well as longer and had ended up almost twice the width at one end as at the other. The
woman’s hair was partly hidden by a crocheted hat, but dark strands poked out from beneath the mustard-yellow wool and her stripy shoulder bag matched the hat and the scarf, with one tassel
in green and one in yellow.

‘My name’s Eve,’ the woman said, crouching down. ‘Are you okay? You look so . . .’ She frowned and stroked a strand of hair away from Jo’s forehead –
her hands were encased in sheepskin mittens. ‘So very lost.’ She sounded quite posh, Jo thought, but she didn’t look well-off .

‘I’m not lost,’ Jo said. ‘I mean . . .’ She looked around the square. ‘I mean I know where I am.’

‘But you don’t really know who you are, do you? How old are you?’ Eve said, in an I-know-what’s-best-for-you voice that reminded Jo of her mum’s social worker.

When she looked more closely, she could see that Eve was younger than she’d thought, probably only three or four years older than Jo herself. Her skin was peachy-coloured and her
complexion was completely clear. She wore no make-up but there was a hint of rosiness to her cheeks, as though she was wearing blusher.

‘Nineteen,’ she said. She’d had to lie to Carol and Geoff when she’d started working at the pub, and it came out almost automatically now. People often took her for older
than she was anyway; Sheena said it was the way she talked and behaved, especially since she’d been running the house and looking after her mum. Her final school report described her as
a
sensible and responsible pupil who is surprisingly mature for her age.
Granny Pawley said it was because she was an ‘old soul’.

‘I sense,’ Eve said, drawing her dark brows together, ‘that you’ve been having a difficult time; I’d say you need some time to heal.’ She undid the toggle on
her shoulder bag and opened the flap. Jo’s instinct was to get up and walk away; her mum would have said Eve was
one of those airy-fairy hippy-types.
She did seem a bit weird, and
after the week Jo had had so far, she could do without any more weirdness. But there was something about her that made Jo feel safe, so she carried on sitting on the cold steps while Eve mumbled to
herself and rummaged in her bag. ‘Ah!’ she said, smiling with her wide mouth. ‘Here we are. Rose quartz.’ She pressed a little pink stone into Jo’s hand.
‘It’ll be perfect for you. Rose quartz can heal your heartache and ease your loneliness. And it’ll help you find inner peace.’ Her smile suddenly turned to a frown.
‘Oh don’t worry, it’s absolutely free. I can tell when someone’s in dire need of healing, and when that someone looks as frightened as you do, well . . .’ She looked
away and began fiddling with the woven-leather bracelet she wore on her wrist. ‘I suppose you remind me of myself not so long ago.’ Jo didn’t know what to say to that, so she just
stared back, then Eve started telling her all about how she’d discovered the amazing healing powers, not only of crystals but of aromatherapy oils, of meditation, and of course, of a healthy,
nutritious diet. She was reading up on crystal healing, she said, and was making a little money selling crystals for their healing powers as well as in jewellery. ‘Come to think of it, maybe
you should look into getting hold of some lapis lazuli, especially if you’re thinking of starting a new life.’ She looked right into Jo’s eyes. ‘Are you?’ she said,
and she brushed another strand of hair from Jo’s face. She’d taken her mitten off this time and her hand felt dry and warm. ‘Are you trying to start a new life?’

Jo nodded dumbly for a few seconds, like one of those stupid dogs they have in the back of car windows, then she burst into tears like an idiot. She felt Eve’s arms go around her and then
Eve began to rock her, and she was transported back through the years to when she was little, when she woke up with tummy-ache, or a nightmare, and her mum would rock her and stroke her hair until
she felt better and was able to go back to sleep. She could feel the silkiness of Eve’s velvet coat and the slightly damp coldness of the fibres against her ear, but there was a warmth too,
almost tangible, that seemed to seep through Eve’s clothing. It made her feel – she tried to pin down the feeling – soothed.

‘Come on,’ Eve said. ‘I’ll buy you a cup of tea.’

As they sat in a café near Charing Cross station, Jo admitted she’d come to London without giving any proper thought to what she was going to do and where she was going to stay. She
told Eve about not being able to find any work, and about Tina stealing her money and the cameo brooch, and about how she’d ended up sleeping in a doorway last night.

Eve listened closely and nodded sympathetically.

‘And I know it seems stupid,’ Jo continued, ‘and I really don’t want to go back there, but the noise and the fumes from the traffic are really making me miss the sea.’