Chapter 2 Zoe Spring 2025 #3
‘I suppose by assets you mean Highdown?’ says Zoe, staring at the faint line of grey on Fiona’s blonde hairline. A chink in her sister’s perfect armour. She must have been due a hair dye before she left Singapore.
Fiona looks up. ‘It’s just a term, Zoe,’ she says. ‘We all know Highdown is your home, and that you did a fantastic job looking after Mum in her last years.’
‘And Dad,’ says Zoe.
‘And Dad,’ repeats Fiona, looking at Sara.
‘I suspect there will be some provision that Highdown has to stay in the family, be kept for the next generation,’ says Fiona.
But who are the next generation? thinks Zoe. Only Sara has children.
‘I bet she’s left something to the women’s refuge in Lewes,’ says Sara. ‘She was always on about the work they did.’
Zoe can’t remember Mum ever talking about a women’s refuge. She takes a sip of wine, feeling the warmth slide down inside her. Fiona opening the wine was a good call. She starts to read the legal paragraphs silently.
‘I don’t understand,’ says Zoe quietly, finding it hard to swallow. She flicks back a page.
‘What’s the matter?’ asks Steph, leaning forward, still gripping her envelope.
‘I don’t understand,’ Zoe repeats, her voice catching. She thinks back to the conversation with her mother about something that she wouldn’t like or understand. And here it is.
‘What is it?’ says Fiona.
‘Mum’s will—’ Zoe looks up, her eyes wide. ‘I’m not in it. Highdown goes to the three of you. But not to me.’ She drops her wine glass and the heavy crystal shatters across the floor.
Milly
1987
‘Jesus.’ Steph stands, her hands over ears. ‘You go on about our table manners, but Sara drinks better than you.’ At the end of the table, Sara looks up and gives her sister a toothy grin.
‘Steph, sit down. There’s no need to be so rude,’ I say, taking another sip of tea as quietly as I can. She flinches, but sits down. Thank God. There’s a faint twinge in my stomach and I tense. Please, no.
‘Now please can you lay the table for breakfast,’ I tell her, getting up to return to the Aga to stir the porridge, knocking the cats’ basket. Terry cracks open one eye, staring reproachfully at me for the interruption. His sister June doesn’t stir.
‘I thought you wanted me to sit down.’
‘Just do it, darling,’ I say in what I hope is a calm voice, without turning around.
She opens the drawer so violently the cutlery smashes together and Terry flees out the back door.
I grit my teeth. It’s not yet nine, and I already feel on edge.
Calm down, I tell myself. I wish I could have a quick ciggie, but it’s too great a risk.
Sara slides down from her seat and puts out the place mats, takes the cutlery from the drawer and lays the spoons and knives on top.
Steph sits in her chair staring into the middle distance.
If I reprimand her, it will only cause more tension, and today is supposed to be a good day. My hands are in fists at my sides and I try to release them. Breathe. There’s another twinge and I bite my lip. I’m a day late and I really thought— I keep stirring the porridge.
Small arms grip me round the waist. I turn and it’s Fiona. ‘Hello, darling. Have you been reading all this time?’
‘I’ve finished that one now. Can I get the next in the series?’
‘Of course. We’ll go to the bookshop in town on the way back today.’
‘Where are we going?’ asks Fiona, sliding into her chair.
‘It’s a surprise, a nice family day out,’ says Paul, coming into the kitchen with an empty coffee mug. He pulls me to him. Even after all these years, I love the feel of his body next to mine. The solidity, the safety. ‘Mum and I have decided we’re all going to the fair in town.’
‘The fair? Why d’you want to go there? It’s so babyish.’
We specifically chose it because Steph always likes it so much.
‘Oh, don’t be silly, munchkin, you love the fair.’ Paul ruffles Steph’s hair and she flinches.
‘I’m not going,’ says Steph scowling. ‘I’m meeting up with a friend.’
‘Steph, it’ll be fun,’ I say, in what I hope is a relaxed voice. ‘A family outing, as Dad says.’
‘I’m not going,’ Steph says again. ‘I have plans.’
‘You are going and that’s the end of it.’ I wish Paul wasn’t so combative with her.
There’s a massive smash behind me. My heart races and every part of me seems to tingle. I jerk around and the new honey jar is in splinters on the floor, the honey oozing out over the shards of glass.
‘Sorry, accident,’ says Steph, taking a sip of tea.
Sara has her hands over her ears, Fiona is beginning to cry.
‘Keep Woody out of here until I clean up,’ I say to no one in particular, and get the dustpan and brush out. Paul picks up the larger shards and mouths ‘sorry’ as he catches my eye.
‘The last time I remember seeing her was when we were all at that stall watching Fiona trying to hook the ducks out of the pond,’ I tell the policeman.
My heart is racing. This can’t be happening.
She was just there. ‘Sara was angry she wasn’t allowed to hold a rod.
D’you remember? I looked around and Steph wasn’t there. ’
Paul is white. ‘I just don’t remember. She just disappeared.’
The policeman is writing it all down in his notebook.
‘And you say five foot five; long, messy blonde hair; black jeans; black jumper. Was she carrying anything – a bag, say? Or anything else distinguishing?’
I can’t even picture her face. What if we never see her again?
‘I just can’t remember,’ says Paul.
The policeman mutters something into his radio. There’s a crackle back.
‘Follow me,’ he says.
I wait with Fiona and Sara in the back of the police car, listening to the radio traffic.
Paul is out there looking. I see him darting between rides, seemingly randomly.
My legs are fidgety. Why am I stuck in here?
I want to be out there, looking for her.
My little girl. Paul can’t see anything even when it’s straight in front of him.
‘Please, please can I look for her too?’ begs Fiona for the umpteenth time. I grip her arm, though I know there are child locks on the police car. She’s already tried to get out.
‘No, I can’t lose you too.’
Sara is asleep in my lap, the occasional hiccup a memory of her earlier tears.
The radio crackles more urgently this time and the policeman talks into it. My heart thuds.
‘Is this—’
He shakes his head. ‘Just some animal libbers,’ he says. ‘Stealing goldfish.’
‘Goldfish?’
He shrugs.
Later Paul comes back to the car. His breath is ragged, his eyes darting around. ‘I just don’t know where she could have gone,’ he says.
‘It might be best if you go home,’ says the policeman. ‘She may well have gone home or come home later.’
I shake my head. ‘There’s no way I’m leaving her here. It’s not safe.’ Why did I force her to come? She would have been safer with her friends. It’s all my fault.
Paul cups my face in his hands. ‘Take the girls home, darling, I’ll stay here and keep looking. Then one of us will be wherever she is.’
But what if she’s not here or there? Something tells me that she’s not here anymore. She was here, but she’s gone. What if she’s been taken? I try to push away the images of her being tied up in the back of a van, or worse. No, no, don’t think about it.
‘Is there really nothing you can do? Put up roadblocks? Search cars? Vans? She may have been abducted.’
The policeman shakes his head. ‘I know this is really awful for you both, but the reality is that she’s probably just wandered off with friends. Teenagers do that. The chances are she’s safe somewhere and she’s lost track of time and will come home later. Try not to worry.’
The chances are. But she’s my child. I don’t want to take chances. I want them searching every car boot leaving the fair, stopping all vehicles trying to get out of town. They have her, I know they have her.
‘I’ll walk you to the car,’ Paul says.
‘I can’t drive, not like this,’ I say, my whole body shaking.
‘That hurts, Mum,’ says Fiona, pulling at her arm. I loosen my grip slightly, Sara still asleep on my shoulder.
‘We’ll drive you,’ says the policeman. ‘And one of us will stay with you until Stephanie returns.’
‘Thank you,’ I say. Paul kisses me on the forehead and stands watching us as we pull away. Next time I see him, Steph will be with us. Next time I see him, Steph will be with us. Next time I see him, Steph will be with us. If I keep saying it, it will be true.
Fiona is silent, staring into space.
We draw up outside the house and the policewoman comes inside to check Steph’s bedroom. Thank God the crow healed a while ago.
I put the TV on in the drawing room for some background noise, and we sit there staring at it. The policewoman’s radio crackles and we all jump but it’s nothing. She turns it down.
Hours pass. The girls eat spaghetti hoops on toast but my stomach clenches at the smell.
I’ll never eat again if she can just come home.
Please God. Sara seems totally unaffected, but I can tell from Fiona’s darting eyes, the way she jumps at any sound, that she’s waiting for Steph.
Eventually I put Sara to bed, which feels like admitting defeat – a day is ending.
Fiona and I stay downstairs staring at the TV.
The policewoman is wandering around the hall.
Much later, car headlights swing up the driveway. I jump up, but it’s just Paul on his own. ‘The fair’s shut now. There was no point waiting around.’
The policewoman looks sympathetic. ‘She’ll come home, they always do,’ she repeats.
Fiona is curled up asleep on the settee. I put the kettle on. We sit together holding hands like we’re on a first date. Or meeting parents.
It’s after midnight when a figure starts forming through the darkness. ‘Steph? Steph? Thank God, thank God.’ I’m out of the house, running down the drive, half hugging, half shaking her. ‘Oh my God, we’ve been so worried. Are you okay?’
She shrugs. ‘I just . . . I just . . .’
‘Where were you? Are you okay? We thought you’d been abducted. You just disappeared.’
I put my arm around her and guide her back to the house. Fiona’s pale face looks out of the drawing-room window.
‘We’ve been worried sick. You’ve been gone hours,’ says Paul.
‘Ten hours!’ I say, the relief seeping into my bones.
‘Are you alright, love?’ The policewoman comes forward. ‘They always come home in the end.’ She smiles at me.
‘I’m fine.’ Steph pushes away from me, runs past the policewoman and into the house.
The police car edges down the drive, and Paul and I lead Fiona up to bed. The poor lamb is dead on her feet. I knock on Steph’s door and go in. She’s pretending to be asleep, her whole body tense, her beautiful hair spread across the pillow, her long lashes stroking her cheek.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask gently, but there’s still no reply. ‘We were so worried.’ I stare at her taut body and then walk out and close the door as quietly as I can. I’ll speak to her tomorrow. The main thing is that she’s safe.
In our bathroom, I brush my teeth and then realise I’ve bled through my trousers. Another month and no baby.