You Never Told Me Read online

  Sarah Jasmon

  * * *

  YOU NEVER TOLD ME

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Sarah Jasmon lives on a canal boat in Lancashire, which is also the setting for her two novels – The Summer of Secrets and You Never Told Me. She has written short stories for a wide selection of publications, and in 2018 was shortlisted for the Harper’s Bazaar Short Story Competition. She is an Associate Tutor in Creative Writing at Manchester Metropolitan University, and is currently studying for a PhD in Creative Geography.

  Also by Sarah Jasmon

  THE SUMMER OF SECRETS

  and published by Black Swan

  For Jo, and for Katy

  (In an ideal world you’d have had a book each for your fabulousness, but I didn’t want to count on how long that would take … Bird in the hand and all that. Love you both xx)

  ONE

  The bar on the ferry was packed. Charlie hitched her bag more firmly onto her shoulder and began to push her way through the crowd. She’d got enough cash for a drink, but food would have to wait until she was back in Bangkok. If she ever wanted to eat anything ever again. An overweight tourist pressed against her, the sour waft of his BO making her gag. She wasn’t going to be sick, not here, not now. She just needed to get to the bar, get a cold Coke. A Thai man banged into her as she paused to take a deep breath. The impact sent her sideways, her bag falling to the floor. Automatically she apologized, even as she heard him calling out some comment that made his friends laugh. Sometimes there were plus sides to not knowing the language, even after a year of living here.

  There was the breath of a breeze at the bar, though it was hard to tell where it was coming from. Charlie turned towards it, landing her arm in a puddle of beer. No beer towels, of course, or serviettes or anything useful. She lifted a hand, trying to catch the bartender’s attention. He took no notice, ignoring the shouts of other customers as well to tend to the blonde girl on the far side. She was leaning towards him, one hand pointing at a particular type of beer. Charlie couldn’t see her face behind the shining sweep of her hair, but she knew she hated her. She hated everyone just at that moment: the bartender, flirting away as if he had a chance, the crowd shoving behind her, the sweaty tourist. But she especially hated little blonde backpacker girls, floating around with their smiles and their entitlement and how they didn’t even know how lucky they were.

  The girl looked around as if she could hear Charlie’s thoughts, and flashed a sudden beaming smile. A perfectly nice kid probably, full of notions about how her gap year was going to change the world. It wasn’t her fault the people around her were old and cynical and disillusioned. Charlie picked up a cardboard beer-mat, flapping it in front of her face. Behind her, someone opened the door to the toilets, and Charlie waved the mat faster, as if the small action was enough to keep the stink away. Another surge of nausea began to build. When she finally got a drink, she’d have to see if she could find somewhere to sit on the outside deck. If she ever got out of here.

  ‘Yes, what you want?’

  The barman’s voice startled her. She turned, reaching for both her purse and her few Thai phrases. The swell of impatient voices behind and around pushed at her, and she fought to get her order heard.

  The deck was as packed as she’d expected, every corner jammed with backpackers, locals, traders. What did the Thai passengers think about the noisy crowds of Westerners? Did they resent having to share their space with them, wherever they went? Charlie paused at the top of the open metal stairway, picturing a parallel scene back home. A commuter train at the end of the day, with the last few people trying to squeeze into an overcrowded carriage. Jammed bodies ignoring the unwelcome contact of others, the odd rolled eye sharing frustration at the general discomfort. Charlie could almost taste the condensation, the heated fug, and the memory brought sudden tears. Not for the rush-hour squeeze, but for the familiarity. She wanted, with a sudden and physical need, to be cold. She wanted the edge of frost on her bare fingers, the need for layers and wool. The heat here was heavy, hallucinatory, leading her into bad decisions. What had happened over the weekend was just the finishing touch. She was the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Go home? But to what?

  From the corner of her eye, she spotted a boy edging his way out. Trying not to stumble over the lines of outstretched feet, she reached his vacated spot just before the crowd shifted enough to fill in the gap. The island was disappearing behind them, its tree-lined slopes blurring into a solid, green mass. Only two days since she’d seen the process happen in reverse. Two days and another world, a different timescale, an alternative future. She squeezed herself down into the tiny space on the metal deck. It wasn’t much, but it was better than staying inside. By the time she looked up again, the ferry had shifted course and the island was out of sight. Koh Chang, sold to them on the booking website as an island of dreams. The irony.

  The others would all still be in bed. Briefly, she let herself picture the scene. Was Dan even a bit sorry that she’d left? Or was he lying back in relief, laughing as everyone agreed that everything would be a lot more fun now? She didn’t want to think about it, any of it, but the memories kept playing. The arrival at the beach and the first day of giddiness. Swimming in the miniature pool, lounging, drinking. All the time the anticipation that something would happen with Dan. His eyes catching hers at every turn, his hand brushing against her thigh. Her smiling back at him, complicit in the game. Then Kelly turning up, with her long, shining hair and her entitlement. Throwing herself into the middle of the group, throwing herself on Dan. You’ll let me stay, won’t you? I’m literally here with a sarong and a lipstick. Dan looking round with that little shrug as if to say, What can I do? And all she, Charlie, had been able to manage was a fake smile, pretending that it was all fine. Such a long way from that night in Bangkok.

  * * *

  They’re all sitting in a bar, flopping over their drinks in an exaggerated response to the day they’ve had at the language school. A normal day, in reality, despite a higher than average number of timetable clashes making the shortage of classrooms even more of a problem. The language school pays them a pittance, someone moans, even though the owners must be raking the money in. Someone else suggests they go on strike, but everyone knows there are dozens, if not hundreds, of other backpackers just waiting to step in. It’s Heather who starts off the idea of a team-building weekend away. ‘We need to do this,’ she says, tipping her head back to drain her beer in one long swallow before slamming the bottle down on the table. It’s one of the things Charlie likes the most, being part of the gang, the only worry who’s going to buy the next drink. Never mind that she’s a decade older than the rest. This is something she missed out on when she was the ‘right’ age. Her eyes meet Dan’s, and they share a hidden smile. She’s almost certain that something’s happening between them, and sh
e’s as giddy as she was with her first ever crush. She feels reckless and young, and in a permanent state of fizzing desire. ‘Never mind a hostel,’ she says, cutting in over Jack’s rambling description of some place on the Laos border. ‘We should go for luxury. Room service and a pool.’

  * * *

  She should have just gone along with the basic plan. They’d have been cramped and sweaty, yes, but it would have been a joint effort. And the attraction of joining them would have been less. Though Kelly had always had Dan in her sights; it was always going to be when and not if. Charlie squeezed her eyes shut, the sun burning a red light through eyelids that weren’t thick enough to get rid of the pictures. The windows would be open in the bungalow, muslin drapes shifting in the soft breeze from the sea. It was about time for the girl to bring in the huge platter of fruit that started every day. Dan would be sprawled across the main bed, indistinct through the floating draperies. Was Kelly there with him?

  ‘Excuse me, would you mind if I joined you?’ A voice broke into her thoughts, English and with a Home Counties tone. It was the girl from the bar, already sinking down next to her, even though there was no space there at all. She was still talking. ‘I’ve been all round and there’s just nowhere! But I’d die rather than stay inside.’

  Charlie’s head was thumping – from the heat, from her hangover, from everything falling apart. It was easier to give in than argue. Without a word, she shifted across as far as she could, ignoring the sharp comment from the Thai woman seated next to her. The girl leaned forward to make an apologetic-sounding remark, and the woman nodded, waving her hand in acceptance, smiling. Charlie had to hand it to her; not many gap year kids bothered to learn any Thai, let alone with that fluency. She hadn’t learned any to speak of herself. The girl was still burbling away.

  ‘I won’t talk if you don’t want to, I promise. I know what it’s like to get stuck with someone when all you want to do is think.’ She flopped back against the bulkhead with a sigh, pushing her sunglasses up to rub at her face. ‘I’m always so conflicted when I leave the islands. I mean, they’re so beautiful, but real life doesn’t actually happen there, does it?’ She gave Charlie another radiant smile. ‘Isn’t there a little bit of you that’s glad to be going back to the city?’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ Charlie shifted, trying to find a different way to distribute the pressure of her weight against the hard deck. What was she going back to, after all? She didn’t think she could bear the language school on Monday. Already she could hear the whispers spreading round the staff who hadn’t been there, the ones who were already sore from missing out on the fun. She tried to get Dan into bed, you know. Yes, I know! And then, when Kelly turned up, she just flipped out, was so unreasonable! Kelly, you know, that cute little blonde girl? There was plenty of space, none of the rest of us minded. And she’d only brought weed with her, nobody minds weed. You’d have thought she was dealing smack, the way Charlie went on. It’s her age, she just doesn’t fit in. And they all still owed her money for the bungalow. Fat chance she’d ever see that again, which would mean problems until the language school decided to pay up for this month’s wages. A throb of pain sliced into her temple. ‘I might’ve had enough of Thailand altogether for now.’

  ‘Really?’ The girl’s bright-eyed optimism was so loud. Charlie took a moment to swallow a mouthful of Coke, trying to convince herself that it was settling her queasiness. It went down the wrong way, making her cough, but not enough to interrupt the girl’s flow. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it. Freya, by the way.’ She stuck out a hand.

  ‘Charlie.’ She gave Freya’s hand a quick clasp. ‘My mum’s from Norway,’ she carried on. Why on earth was she sharing that? The last thing she wanted was a conversation. It was the heat making her babble. ‘But she went full English with me and my sister. Charlotte and Eleanor.’

  ‘Your mum?’ Freya looked confused. ‘Oh, you mean my name! We’ve got no connection to Norway, sorry. Mummy just wanted something unusual.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘My sister’s called India. At least Mummy had been there.’

  Mummy. India. That confident tone and easy assumption of her place in the world. Had she ever had to question her path through life? Charlie felt a burn of jealousy starting to compete with the acid in her stomach. When had she got so judgemental? It was as if her father’s voice was being channelled through her head, and she wasn’t going to be like him, ever. ‘Have you been here long?’ she asked, forcing herself to smile. ‘Your Thai is impressive.’

  ‘Do you think?’ Freya giggled. ‘I wouldn’t rate it as much more than adequate, really.’ She rummaged in her bag, pulling out a reusable bottle full of still-cold water. Charlie could see the condensation as she flipped the lid and took a tiny sip. ‘I spent a year working in an orphanage up in Chiang Mai. It was so much fun with the children, it honestly didn’t feel like I was having to learn it at all.’

  She couldn’t be more than twenty and she’d already done a year at an orphanage. That had been one of the things she’d planned to do, Charlie thought. Volunteer for something worthwhile, use her time for making things better. She remembered telling people about it, making it sound as if the trip wasn’t for her but for the greater good of the world. That had worked out well.

  A runnel made its way down her back. She’d be sitting in a puddle soon. The ferry was moving at a steady pace now, the air a too-warm hand pushing against her face. The high chatter of the women along the deck mingled with the churn of water metres below. Beside her, Freya was rubbing sun cream onto her arms with slow, deliberate sweeps. Being totally mindful, presumably. Maybe that was the answer, to take the emotion out of decisions, do things for the right reasons. What were the right reasons, though? She had been so convinced of hers in those months leading up to her departure. Now she wasn’t sure about anything.

  ‘How long were you on the island for?’ she asked, not because she wanted to know, but because she didn’t want to be alone in her head any more.

  ‘Just the weekend.’ Freya moved on to her legs and gestured at the bottle next to her. ‘Do you want some?’ Charlie shook her head as the girl chattered on. ‘I was there to meet someone, friend of a friend of the family, you know?’ Charlie didn’t know. She couldn’t imagine having the sort of background that included contacts all over SouthEast Asia. She half listened to how India’s godfather had been at school with this lovely guy who was really into ancient Thai manuscripts, remembering her own family’s reaction to her plans. She’d driven up to say goodbye, the boot of the hire car loaded with possessions she’d hoped to leave at the house. There was plenty of room, after all, with the empty garage space if they didn’t want it inside. Bella had been with her, their last weekend together. Charlie had had some ridiculous idea that she could rest, take Bella for walks in the hills, recover a little from the emotional wringing of leaving her home. It hadn’t turned out anything like that, of course. From her father’s refusing to agree to any kind of storage arrangement to his banning of Bella from the house, they’d fallen into an argument uncovering every slight and disappointment of the past thirty years. Her mother hadn’t reacted to any of it, had just sat there, looking out into the wet garden. There had been something about her expression, though, a quick glance that had made Charlie think she was about to say something. And then Eleanor had paused from her constant state of wiping mouths and clearing away toys to add her contribution. What was it she’d said? No one’s saying you can’t do these things, Charlie. But why go to the ends of the earth?

  To get away from you lot, was her first thought about that. And then Jon, her sister’s husband, had caught her with that little glance of knowledge, as if he knew exactly what was on her mind. ‘Anyway, he might have a lead for me, some work across the border in Cambodia.’ Charlie struggled to reconnect to what Freya was talking about. ‘Can you imagine? I’m so happy! What about you?’

  ‘Me?’ Charlie’s mind was a blank. For a brief second, she imagined spil
ling it all out. How her future had been so unnervingly fixed: the house, the dog, the safe long-term boyfriend, the wedding date chosen. The suffocating assumption that Charlie would change her mind about not wanting children once she and Max were married, even though she knew she’d been slowly falling out of love with him, that the only part of her life she truly wanted was Bella, the little, shaggy rescue terrier who liked to snuffle her way under the quilt in the night. That since she’d left she’d worked so hard on not feeling guilty that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in contact with anyone at home. That the freedom had gone to her head and left her with nothing but … No, just nothing. She had nothing. But she had to say something. Freya’s head was tilted, almost as if she was genuinely interested. ‘I don’t know, to be honest. I had this idea when I set out, of what I was going to do, then I fell into this teaching job and, well, you know …’ She ran to a halt. How did you say that the one thing you couldn’t forget was the way your dog had looked as you’d left, head on one side with a question in her eyes you couldn’t answer? And then, suddenly, it all came together. Of course she knew what she wanted to do next. ‘Actually, I’m wondering if it’s time to go home.’

  At that moment, the sound of shouting made them both look round. A man’s head came into view at the top of the metal stairs. He was holding a beer in one hand and using the other to pull himself upright. Swaying, he bent forwards to bellow again at someone below before making a grab for the upper handrail. Charlie held her breath as he swung backwards, surely on the verge of plunging down. He got his balance just in time and took an uncertain step forwards, tripping over some raucous Aussies. There was a chorus of good-natured jeering and Freya let out an exclamation.

  ‘Ethan!’ She was already on her feet, sweeping her possessions back into her bag. ‘Ethan, over here!’