The Secrets We Left Behind (30 page)

As Eve grew larger, she left the house less and less, finding it increasingly tiring to make the long trek down into the basement then up the back steps and round to the front again. She
continued to make her jewellery and bags, and when, halfway through September, they discovered that not only was there a bumper crop of blackberries from the bushes that had all but taken over
their own garden, but there were yet more in the garden of the empty house next door, not to mention fruit trees heavy with apples, pears and plums, Eve duly went into production, making pounds and
pounds of jam – plum, pear, and blackberry and apple. She also used the damaged fruit and the last of the summer’s vegetables to make what she called ‘interesting and
unusual’ chutneys. Jo and Scott loaded up the shopping trolleys and sold the home-made preserves at local markets and at a stall they set up on the A21 just outside the town. With Eve’s
efforts and the wages Jo and Scott brought in – he was working in pub and hotel kitchens again now the season was over and the busking wasn’t so lucrative – they continued to
bring in a surprisingly respectable amount of money. Scott had started to talk about going back to finish his teacher training and looking for what he called a ‘proper job’, much to
Eve’s dismay. ‘We’ll be tied down, Scotty,’ she said when he mentioned it one night. ‘I don’t want us to have to live like that.’

‘It’s all very well living this way when it’s just us,’ he argued, ‘but once the baby comes, things’ll be different. And what if we get kicked out of the
house? We can’t doss down in any old squat once the baby’s here.’ Jo watched Eve’s expression change from defiance to compliance as she reluctantly agreed that things would
have to change. Jo, who hadn’t thought more than three months or so ahead ever since she moved here, began to wonder what would happen to her if they were kicked out of the house. Because if
Scott found a flat that he could afford to rent – he’d mentioned this a couple of times – Jo was pretty sure the arrangement wouldn’t include her, despite what Eve had said
about the baby having three parents.

*

One afternoon a couple of weeks before the baby was due – which was the first week in November, according to Eve’s calculations – Eve complained that she was
fed up and she wanted to go out. After the long, dry summer, it had rained almost every day for the last few weeks and she’d barely left the house. Now the rain had eased off, she felt
restless. Jo suggested they go down to the seafront for the Hastings Day celebrations. Hastings Day had been an annual festival since 1966 when it had first taken place in commemoration of the
Battle of Hastings. It used to always be on the Saturday nearest to the date of the battle – 14 October – but this year, for the first time, the celebrations were spanning four days.
There were marching bands, drum majorettes, live music, a medieval banquet – all sorts of things were going on and Jo had been dying to go and see what was happening, but Scott wouldn’t
be home until the evening and she hadn’t wanted to leave Eve on her own. She enjoyed feeling responsible for Eve, who, limited by her increasing size and crippling tiredness, had started to
rely on Jo more and more.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind coming with me, Jo-Jo?’ Ever since Jo had told her the childhood name her mother had used, Eve had taken to using it too. If anyone else had done
so, Jo might have resented it, but, in fact, it felt right somehow.

‘Mind? You’re joking – it sounds brilliant, especially the bonfire tonight – and the procession.’ But then she began to have doubts. She looked at Eve. ‘Do
you think you’ll be all right standing for so long, though?’

Eve smiled. ‘I’ll be fine, I’m sure. As long as I’ve got you to hang on to on the walk back – I can’t see myself making it up the hill too easily without
you!’

It took much longer to walk down to the seafront than usual, because Eve could no longer move quickly. As they walked, Jo stole a glance at her now and again, dismayed at the changes the latter
part of pregnancy had brought about in her friend. She looked older, and a weariness had settled about her features; she’d lost her glow and that spark of energy that made her seem as though
she was always on the verge of something – about to smile or laugh, about to sing, about to leap up and start painting a new mural on one of the walls. Jo hoped the change wasn’t
permanent. Then she remembered poor Pat, just eighteen and the mother of twins, careworn and frumpy. But she hadn’t known Pat pre-pregnancy, so maybe she’d always been like that.

The celebrations were in full swing when they got down to the front. They stood for a while watching a mime artist, then they wandered further along to watch the morris dancing and then a team
of junior acrobats. They didn’t fancy the re-enactment of the battle that was happening up near the castle, so they went onto the pier in search of tea and doughnuts before the main parade
began. Jo hoped the break would revive Eve enough to get her through the next couple of hours. They made their way to the part of the beach where the bonfire would be lit and stationed themselves
where they’d be able to watch the fire, but also have a good view of the parade. Over the last week or so, the organisers had been building the huge bonfire from broken furniture, driftwood,
bits of old fences and other unwanted materials. Because of the weather, they’d had to work under a tarpaulin, but now the structure was revealed, there was a great deal of excitement about
lighting it. The whole thing was cleverly constructed to resemble a ship; a galleon. Its size and shape couldn’t fail to impress – and it was all made from rubbish.

The parade was colourful, noisy and wonderful. Jo felt like a child again, out for a day at the fair or the pantomime. Enchanted by the spectacle, she watched what seemed like a never-ending
parade of morris dancers, brass bands, the Boys’ and Girls’ Brigades, the drum majorettes, and scores of children and adults in medieval costume on their way up to the castle for the
next re-enactment.

By the time the parade finally thinned out, it was beginning to get dark. The castle, illuminated against the sky, looked magnificent tonight, and Jo marvelled at the fact that it had stood
there, nine hundred years before, looking down on the proceedings just as it did now. The crowds lining the road started to disperse now it looked like there was nothing more to see, but as
pushchairs were wheeled away and fathers lifted tired toddlers onto shoulders, Jo could just make out a deep rhythmic thudding in the distance. ‘Listen,’ she said to Eve. ‘Can you
hear that?’ But almost before she’d finished speaking the sound had become much clearer and was unmistakable.

‘Oh goodness, I love the sound of drumming,’ Eve said, ‘especially when it gets really loud and you can feel it in your belly.’ She smiled and looked down at her bump.
‘Listen, baby, can you feel that?’ Then she looked up. ‘Oh, look, here they come!’ The drummers were part of a torch-lit procession that was snaking its way down to the
promenade and along the coast road. The flickering flames of the torches made a fiery ‘S’ shape in the darkness, and the smoke that swirled around the procession added a sense of drama.
The drummers were led by a tall, thin man wearing a black cloak and a top hat – he reminded Jo of the very first time she saw Scott. The man’s face was painted white and his long hair
flowed out behind him as he walked. The others, mainly men, were walking three or four abreast, beating drums of varying shapes and sizes. They all had wild hair and painted faces; some drummed
with their hands, others used drumsticks, but all were grinning manically and throwing their arms around elaborately as they passed, some of them dancing and making mad faces at the crowd like
demented court jesters. The drumming was so loud now that that Jo had to shout to tell Eve that she could indeed feel the sound reverberating in her guts. Behind the drummers, the torch bearers
followed at a slower, steadier pace. There were women as well as men, and all wore long white robes and solemn expressions as they held their smoking torches aloft. They too had white-painted
faces.

As Jo watched them making their steady way along the route, she was suddenly aware of a dark chill of sadness that replaced the excitement she’d felt only moments ago. There was something
about the drumming, about feeling it physically at her very centre, that stirred up a profound sense of grief, not only for her mum, but for her granny, for the cat they’d had when she was a
child; even for the baby she’d briefly imagined she might be carrying. But stranger still was the intense sadness she felt to be connected with the here and now, as though she was grieving
for something she had not yet lost.

Eve was still smiling, clearly enjoying herself. The drummers were spreading out to form a semicircle around the bonfire and the drumming was getting faster and louder. The torch bearers took up
position next to the drummers and held their torches high in the air, the orange and yellow flames flickering dramatically against the night sky while the drumming reached a fever pitch. Jo could
feel the adrenalin pumping around her body and she felt Eve’s hand grab her arm. She didn’t feel sad any more but the sound was again stirring something in her and she fought the urge
to cry. Then the drumming stopped. It was so sudden and so complete that the shock of silence was like a slap. Then, at a signal from one of them, the torch bearers all threw their flaming torches
into the structure amid shouts and cheers from the crowd.

At first, it was a bit of an anticlimax. Nothing seemed to be happening and people started to murmur that maybe the damp had managed to get in under the tarpaulin after all. But then the fire
started to catch, slowly at first, then more certainly as it took hold and began to warm the air. Before long the flames were streaming upwards and then out in all directions as they were caught by
the wind. ‘Wow,’ Jo said. ‘It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?’ Eve nodded as she watched with an almost reverent expression. Jo thought it strange to see a huge fire
in such close proximity to the sea. In fact, now it had properly taken hold, she thought how closely it resembled the enormous waves she’d seen crashing over the sea wall during a storm a
couple of days ago. There were huge, rolling waves of flame, pouring from the structure like seawater through a gap in the rocks. She looked up into the night sky and saw a blizzard of dancing,
swirling flakes of flame, like a million fireflies dancing on a summer evening. Then there was another, stronger gust of wind and the fire roared as though it couldn’t stop itself from
bellowing in delight as it consumed most of the main substance of the structure, leaving a black skeleton flaming and smoking against the sky.

The heat was becoming quite intense now, and Jo could feel it burning her face. ‘It’s fantastic, isn’t it?’ She turned to smile at Eve, then returned her gaze to the
fire.

‘Jo,’ Eve said, gripping her arm again. ‘I have to go.’

‘Oh, just a bit longer.’ She knew Eve was tired from being on her feet for so long, but she couldn’t bear to leave just yet.

‘Jo . . .’ It was a strangled sound, and when she looked at Eve properly, she could see that there was something very wrong. Eve’s face, clearly lit up in the firelight, was
full of tension; her eyes were screwed shut and her mouth was set in a hard line.

‘Oh God, what is it? Are you all right?’ What a stupid thing to say; Eve clearly wasn’t all right. ‘Eve?’ she said again. But Eve didn’t answer, didn’t
even open her eyes, she just carried on gripping Jo’s arm so tightly it was beginning to hurt.

Shit, Jo thought. This couldn’t be it, could it? It wasn’t due for another couple of weeks. Then at last Eve relaxed her grip and opened her eyes. ‘We need to go,’ she
said. ‘Now.’

They began to push their way through the crowd, Eve leading the way and Jo following close behind. ‘Excuse me,’ she could hear Eve saying. ‘Can we get through, please? Excuse
me.’ Her voice was clear and strong, and she sounded very much in control. Jo started to feel less worried as she followed Eve through the last clusters of people and out onto the main road
where there was more space. They crossed the road and began to make their way slowly up the hill towards the house. Just as Jo had begun to think that nothing more was going to happen, Eve stopped
walking and clutched Jo’s arm. She made a sort of ‘oooh-oww’ sound and her grip on Jo’s arm again tightened almost unbearably. Jo stood still and allowed Eve to hang on to
her. ‘Is it really bad?’ she asked. ‘Can’t talk,’ Eve said in a quick burst, and when Jo looked at her face, she was staring ahead with a really scary look in her
eyes.

When the contraction had passed, they started walking again. ‘I thought they were supposed to build up gradually,’ Eve said. ‘But that really bloody hurt.’

Jo tried to think of something encouraging to say, but she’d gone completely blank. Eve didn’t say anything else, either, so it felt strange as they plodded up the hill in silence.
It can only have been two or three minutes before another pain came. This time, Eve whimpered as they again stood still on the pavement while the contraction seemed to take over her body. The
whimper turned into a cry as Eve began to double over. Oh my God, Jo thought. Please don’t let it happen here. She glanced around. They still needed to get up the steps before they would be
in sight of the house. She wondered if she dare run ahead to get Scott, but how could she leave Eve in this state? She could feel the panic starting to rise when Eve straightened up again and said,
‘Come on, we need to get home fast.’

They managed to get up all the steps and almost to the house before the next contraction kicked in, and Jo started to feel more hopeful that this baby wouldn’t be born in the street. And
once they were back in the house, there was only one more contraction before everything stopped and they all began to feel sure it must have been a false alarm.

Eve went to lie down in the living room while Scott helped Jo to prepare dinner. He picked the last two cauliflowers from the garden; they were small and the heads were yellow rather than white
– a result of too much sun, Eve said – but they tasted fine, and after Scott had soaked them in salt water to kill off any cabbage worms, he cut them into florets and arranged them in a
dish with some shop-bought broccoli. Jo made the cheese sauce and topped the whole thing with more grated cheese and some breadcrumbs to make a crispy topping. Cauliflower cheese was Eve’s
favourite meal, and they ate it with grilled tomatoes and French bread, laughing at the fact that they’d been so convinced the baby was coming. ‘Daft of me,’ Eve said.
‘Because I was only reading a couple of days ago that Braxton Hicks contractions can be pretty powerful.’ She yawned. ‘I’m absolutely shattered. I think I’m going to
leave you two to the washing up and go and lie down again.’