The Secrets We Left Behind (2 page)

While I waited in the queue, I glanced around to see which tables were free. There was a blast of cold air as a figure in a huge dark coat opened the door and disappeared out into the greyness
of the street. I did a double take. For a moment, something in the walk seemed familiar, but no, it couldn’t be.

‘The butternut squash and walnut risotto, please,’ I said when it was my turn. I put the plate on my tray with a bottle of water and carried it over to the cashier. I was about to rest the
tray on the counter when I heard a male voice exclaim, ‘Jo!’ I dropped the tray, and it crashed to the floor, flipping the plate of risotto upside down. The plate broke into several
pieces and the risotto splattered over the floorboards. For a split second I froze, unable to breathe. I looked around in a panic, but the voice belonged to a bearded, rotund little man who was
greeting a young woman with purple hair enthusiastically.

Briefly, the background hum of conversation stopped. ‘Are you okay?’ someone said.

‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘Yes, thank you. I’m sorry about the mess; the tray slipped.’

Shakily, I tried to help to pick up the broken plate, but the girl behind the counter insisted I sat down while they brought me another risotto. ‘Not your fault, love,’ she said.
‘Them trays are always wet.’

It was years since I’d been that jumpy; an old reflex I thought had long gone.

*

I’d finished most of my Christmas shopping but I wanted to buy something special for Hannah, some earrings, perhaps, or a bracelet. I told Duncan I wanted to mark the fact
that she was now a mum herself, but if I was honest, it was more a celebration of the fact that she’d got through the birth and she was okay. People didn’t realise how dangerous
childbirth can be, but I did. As I sat on the packed bus into town, I wondered whether she’d have another baby in a year or two, and how I’d cope if she did. Duncan hadn’t wanted
me to go to the hospital when she was in labour. ‘Marcus’ll call as soon as there’s any news,’ he’d said. ‘There’s nothing you can do so why not stay here
and watch a DVD or something rather than pacing up and down a hospital corridor?’

‘If I want to pace, I’ll bloody well pace,’ I told him, more sharply than I meant to. I just wanted to be there; I needed to at least be near by. And so I sat on a plastic
chair outside the delivery room, praying to every god I could think of and somehow managing to keep from beating the door down. Poor Duncan; I knew he was worried too, but I was in such a state I
couldn’t even talk to him until I knew she was going to be all right. In the end, after a long night of worrying, it all went reasonably well, thank God, and now we were looking forward to
our first Christmas as grandparents.

After I got off the bus I cut through the glass-roofed Winter Garden with its huge cacti, exotic ferns and giant palm trees, and I realised there were quite a few little children around who
appeared to be showing an interest in the plants. What I hadn’t noticed before were the larger-than-life-sized models of snakes and lizards skulking in the undergrowth – a good way to
attract kids. I came out of the Winter Garden and walked past the Peace Gardens where, in the summer, children in swimming costumes and sun hats ran squealing in and out of the fountains. It was a
shame that none of this was here when Hannah was little, but I couldn’t wait for the time when she and I would be able to bring Toby here so we could picnic on the grass and watch while he
played with the other children in the foaming jets of water.

It was Christmas Eve and the city centre was predictably busy with some shoppers looking anxious, others looking plainly bad-tempered. Although most of the students had now gone home for
Christmas, some were still here, working in the shops and bars or just enjoying the town, like the group of Chinese girls wearing Santa hats who were queuing for the Sheffield Eye, holding hands
and giggling while they waited. The Wheel had gone up in the summer, and I had to admit, now it was all lit up for Christmas it looked spectacular, especially at night. Next to it was a giant
Christmas tree decorated with blue lights and looking very pretty with the snow still on its branches.

As I walked along Fargate towards Marks & Spencer’s I noticed a woman a few feet ahead pushing a buggy laden with shopping. A child of about four tottered along beside her, trying to
hang on to the handle, his little arm stretched up high to reach past the carrier bags bulging from the sides. As I watched, the little boy stumbled and fell smack onto the icy pavement. The mother
turned, hand on hip. She was heavily pregnant and I was just about to step forward and help him up so that she wouldn’t have to bend, when she said, ‘For fuck’s sake! I
haven’t got time for this, Aaron, I really haven’t. Get up!’

The child, bundled up in a blue padded coat and red woolly hat, was still lying face down on the ground, the soles of his Spider-Man wellies facing upwards. He began to wail.

‘I said get up,’ the woman yelled. ‘Now!’

‘For God’s sake!’ I scooped the poor thing up by the armpits and set him back on his feet.

‘Mind your own fucking business,’ the woman snarled, letting go of the pushchair and coming towards me. I braced myself but then the overladen pushchair tipped up and the baby inside
began to cry. The mother turned. ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ she shouted, though it wasn’t clear who she was shouting at. She grabbed the little boy by the sleeve and
yanked him towards her, making him cry even harder. ‘Come on, you little bastard,’ she said, righting the pushchair. ‘And don’t think you’ll get any Christmas presents
if you keep up wi’ that roaring,’ she shouted, her voice hard as a slap. Then, dragging the crying boy alongside, she walked right in front of a tram, causing it to brake and sound its
horn, before she headed off across the square and down towards Castle Market.

I stood there for a few moments. The sound of crying became fainter and the red hat got smaller as they disappeared into the bustling crowd. I felt my throat constrict and hot tears threatening.
For a second I fantasised about sweeping the child away from his wicked witch of a mother and taking him home to a proper, warm, happy Christmas. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have
babies. But I remembered the training I had before I started at the Young Families Project: don’t make judgements; you don’t know the background; you don’t know the circumstances.
And it’s true, some of the families I supported had huge and complex problems, but if I was honest, I knew that the majority of them loved their children, and sometimes they just needed help
and guidance to get back on track. It was hard, though; sometimes, I wanted to pick all those poor kids up and take them home with me so that I could make it all better.

The automatic doors to Marks & Spencer’s glided open and I felt a puff of warm air as I stepped inside out of the cold. In the Christmas section mothers were buying shiny, glittering
things, watched closely by wide-eyed children at their sides. I paused there for a minute, trying to wipe the memory of that horrible woman from my mind, but I couldn’t seem to shake off a
feeling of gloom. I shouldn’t be feeling like this; after all, Hannah would be coming on Boxing Day and staying until the following evening. It’d give me a chance to look after her and
pamper her a bit. I stayed with them for a few days after Toby was born, but Duncan was worried I’d outstay my welcome. ‘They need to find their feet as parents,’ he said.
‘If you’re there for too long, it’ll make it all the more difficult when you go and they’re on their own again. And we’re only a phone call away if she needs
us.’ Maybe he was right. I knew I had a tendency to overprotect Hannah – I always have. But she looked so tired.

In the Food Hall there was quite a queue of people collecting their pre-ordered organic turkeys. That reminded me – I needed to ask Duncan to call into the butcher’s to pick up the
turkey crown I’d ordered. I couldn’t go into those places myself. I could just about cook poultry even though I no longer ate it, but I couldn’t deal with butchers’ shops or
meat counters, and I especially couldn’t bear the blood any more; the sight of it on the butcher’s apron and on his hands; the dark smears on the wooden chopping block, and the thought
that behind the counter or out the back where you couldn’t see it there would be blood pooled on the floor, sticking to his shoes and making the sawdust stick together in clumps.

I wandered along the aisles, throwing crystallised ginger and Turkish delight into my basket but resisting the pack of chocolate tree decorations because last year Monty, who doesn’t care
that chocolate is bad for dogs, snaffled the whole lot up, foil wrappers and all, and had sparkly poo for two days afterwards. As I made my way to the check-out, I sported a man disappearing behind
a display of mince pies. A jolt of recognition shot through my body; he was almost bald and he was wearing a huge dark coat that looked too big for him, but there was something so familiar about
that walk. He appeared briefly at the end of the aisle. I only caught a glimpse of the side of his face but I could see that he was wearing heavy framed glasses and that his skin was unusually
pale. Scott had had an olive complexion; he had long dark hair and he didn’t wear glasses, but there was something about this man that reminded me so much . . . The man half turned towards me
and for a moment I was unable to move. It was him; it was Scott and he was here in Sheffield. I couldn’t hear anything except a rushing in my ears; I couldn’t feel my own body. Then
someone touched my arm. ‘You all right, love? Here, come and sit down for a minute, don’t worry about your shopping, duck. We’ll sort that out.’ I wasn’t sure what she
meant at first, then I realised I’d actually dropped the shopping basket, and now I could see a shop assistant and another woman picking everything up as I was led, by an elderly lady, to the
chairs they put along the wall to be sat on by elderly ladies.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m fine. Really.’ Then I was sitting down and someone was offering me a glass of water. The old lady had her arm around me. ‘Do
you want us to phone anyone, duck? My daughter’s got her mobile if you—’

‘No, I’m all right now, but it’s very kind of you.’ I gulped the water and took my bags from the shop assistant. ‘Thank you. I felt a bit faint, that’s all
– didn’t have any breakfast.’

I looked around for the man as I joined the queue for the checkout but there was no sign of him now. It couldn’t have been Scott, I told myself. Scott’s in New Zealand. He was
taller, anyway. And heavier; and he had long hair. But then, the last time I saw Scott was when Hannah was eight months old and that was over thirty years ago. Of course he’d look different
now; I looked different too. Back then, my hair was dyed red and I’d cut it short soon after Hannah was born because it was easier when I was looking after a baby all day. Now it was back to
its natural colour, not grey enough yet to warrant regular treatments, but not the rich, velvety brown it was when I first met Scott and Eve. I paid for the items in my basket and went out into the
street. I couldn’t think about present shopping now, so I’d have to pop back later. I started to make my way home, eyes darting around, scanning the crowd for a balding man in a big
dark coat. I felt raw and exposed and I was shivering so much that my teeth were chattering. As I waited for the bus, I remembered that Duncan had an early surgery today – it was only routine
vaccinations, mostly cats and dogs, so he’d probably be home by now and he’d wonder why I was back so soon. I could have said I had a migraine coming on, but I didn’t want to lie;
I’d never lied to Duncan, only about things that happened before.

I was up early on Boxing Day morning and by seven o’clock I was showered, dressed, and in the kitchen making coffee and toast. Yesterday had been nice; Duncan cooked
– beef Wellington for himself, caramelised onion tart for me, followed by home-made chocolate truffle ice cream. Then we watched Christmas telly, drank port and ate mince pies. It was a good
day, and I was touched at the trouble he’d taken to make it feel festive. But today was the real deal; the proper Christmas.

I ate my toast standing up and drank my coffee as I took things out of the fridge. There was a lot to do. I had to prepare the turkey crown for Duncan and Marcus, make apricot and parsley
stuffing and finish the cashew nut and almond loaf for Hannah and me.

‘Okay.’ Duncan came into the kitchen, hair still damp from the shower. ‘Give me a job.’

‘Peeling, please.’ I handed him the peeler and a carrier bag full of potatoes and parsnips, and he kissed my cheek before setting to work. ‘Cheer up,’ he said.
‘We’re going to have a lovely day.’

I’d felt a bit down yesterday. I knew it was selfish of me, but I wanted them here, my daughter and grandson. ‘I don’t begrudge Marcus’s parents.’ I added cranberry
jelly and a pinch of ground cloves to the red cabbage and grated apple as it simmered on the back of the hob. ‘But I thought, you know, Toby’s first Christmas . . . And it’s not
even two weeks since she gave birth. Wouldn’t you think tha—’

‘Darling.’ Duncan cut the potato he’d just peeled into four. ‘They’ll be here soon and they’re staying until tomorrow night. Can’t we just enjoy having
them? They were only at Marcus’s mum and dad’s for a couple of hours, so I think we got the better deal, don’t you?’

‘I know, but—’

‘Oh, come on. You’re not saying you’d rather have had them here for Christmas lunch than staying overnight?’

‘No, I suppose not,’ I sighed. ‘I’m just a bit worried about her, that’s all. I get the feeling something’s not right. Do you know what I mean?’

‘She was a bit quiet when I saw her, but that was just after she’d had him. And when you think of what she’s been through . . .’ He paused and looked up at me, his eyes
suddenly dark with concern. ‘Do you really think there’s something wrong? Seeing the look on his face reminded me of how much Duncan cared for Hannah. He loved her, as he promised he
would, as though she were his own child. I sighed. ‘Probably not. I expect I’m worrying over nothing.’ I kissed the top of his head. ‘Sorry.’