Chapter 7 Zoe Spring 2025 #3
‘I see,’ says Alice, and takes a long sip of tea, though it must be too hot. She puts the mug back on the table and looks up at the ceiling. ‘That must be very difficult for all of you.’
‘You could say that,’ says Zoe. She knows she sounds like a petulant child, but she can’t help it.
There’s a long pause.
‘As you’re here, I – we – wondered if you could shed any light on it. You knew Mum for years and years. Can you think of a reason why she would set up her will like that? The local solicitor was hopeless,’ says Fiona, leaning forward.
Alice gives a quick, high-pitched laugh. ‘No, I can’t think why your mum would do that. She loved you all very much, you were her world.’
A longer pause. ‘She desperately wanted a fourth child, Zoe. She talked about you for years before you came along – even by name.’ Alice shakes her head.
They sit in silence for a while, Alice deep in thought.
‘How’s your husband?’ asks Sara.
‘Good, good.’
‘And your children?’
‘Yes, they’re very well. I’m a grandmother now.’
‘Oh, congratulations,’ says Sara. ‘And you’re still in the same place?’
Alice nods and takes another sip of tea. She rubs her hands together and then stands up. ‘Well, I’ve just remembered I promised Mary I’d pop in and see her for lunch. I’d completely forgotten . . .’ Her voice trails away.
The four sisters stand with her.
‘Do count me in for the baking for your mum’s wake. And anything else.’ She glances around. ‘I’m happy to come and help you clean for a few hours. No charge. You’ve got quite the task sorting this place out. It was tough for Zoe to manage it all alone when your mum was so poorly.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Fiona says, walking with her into the hall. Sara follows her, but the front door is already closing behind Alice.
‘That was odd,’ Sara says, coming back into the kitchen. ‘She seemed so happy to see us but then in such a hurry to leave.’
‘Very odd,’ says Fiona. ‘Do you think she knows something?’
‘What could she know?’ asks Zoe, a shiver running down her back. First the key disappears and now this. Highdown Hall seems to be holding so many secrets.
Milly
1988
Out of the corner of my eye I see Emma coming and turn to avoid her, fiddling with Fiona’s school bag.
‘Woo-hoo, Milly,’ she shouts, waving her hand. As if I could possibly miss her in that turquoise tracksuit.
‘Hi, Emma.’ I smile and then turn back to Fiona’s bag, pulling on the straps.
‘Mum, what are you doing?’ she says. ‘That’s way too tight.’
‘Sorry,’ I mutter, grateful for something else to do. ‘Take it off. It’ll be easier to do without it on your back.’
She slides the bag off her shoulders. ‘It’s okay, Mum, I can do it in school.’ She slips her arms around my waist and hugs me. I don’t want it to end, but then she’s off, running across the school playground.
‘Milly, I was thinking of going to the coffee shop after I’ve dropped off the twins. It would be lovely if you could join me. I haven’t seen you for so long.’ Emma’s perfectly made-up face smiles back at me, even her ponytail swings jauntily.
‘Thanks for the offer but I’m a bit busy this morning,’ I say. ‘I have to get back to help Paul.’
Behind me, Sara clambers out of the car. ‘C’mon, Mummy,’ she says, pulling at me.
‘Sorry,’ I say to Emma, following Sara towards her nursery classroom.
‘That’s okay,’ she smiles. ‘I’ve got to have a quick word with Mrs Hickey anyway.
’ Behind her, her twins wait, standing side by side like dolls.
We walk together. How am I going to ditch her?
The last thing I want is to go for a cup of tea.
Everyone will know about Steph. There was even a picture in the paper that some reporter had snapped – Steph, rock in hand, in front of another shop.
They hadn’t named her, but everyone knew.
And I know they loved talking about it. The DeProses cut down to size.
I give Sara a quick kiss and turn away, walking at double pace back to the car. But Emma jogs next to me, unhindered by her perfect pregnancy bump. ‘Gosh, you’re in a hurry today,’ she says. ‘Come on, come for a coffee. I miss your company. We haven’t caught up since before the summer holidays.’
‘I would really love to,’ I say, my hand on my car door. ‘But I have to get back. Paul needs me.’
Emma’s face colours. ‘It’s Paul I want to talk to you about, actually,’ she says.
Oh. ‘What about Paul?’
Emma looks around her as if the other mums, busy with the routine of dropping off children, might eavesdrop. ‘I think it might be better in the privacy of the coffee shop.’
I sigh. If I go to the village coffee shop with her, everyone else will be there.
I really don’t want to get caught up with them.
I know they’re supposed to be my friends, but right now, it’s just easier on my own.
She grips my arm over my cardigan, on a bruise, and I wince.
She glances at my arm and withdraws her hand.
‘Please, Milly. It’ll just be the two of us.
Ten minutes. And I haven’t heard about your trip to France.
Fiona told the twins about the train, it sounded like a real adventure. ’
I drop my head. A real adventure was a polite way of putting it.
‘Okay,’ I say, and follow her like a dog across the road and into the steamy village coffee shop.
There’s a group of farm workers having full Englishes in the corner but no sign of anyone familiar.
We slide on to a table on the other side.
‘You’re brave, taking three children on the train to France on your own.’
What does she want to say about Paul? I want her to get to the point so I can escape before anyone comes in who we know.
‘Well, Paul had to stay here to deal with some issues on the estate, so I didn’t have much choice really.
But the girls were pretty good.’ That was a lie and I wonder how much Emma knows about what Steph did on the train.
It was awful for Fiona and she might have talked to her friends about it.
‘How was the weather? It rained the fortnight we were in Norfolk, so I’m very jealous if you had sun.’ She rubs her bump and I look away.
The waitress, the same one who’s been here for decades, comes over and takes our order, taking her time to write it all down. I grit my teeth. Hurry up.
‘It was glorious.’ I lift the corners of my mouth into a smile. ‘The girls loved it.’ Or rather Fiona and Sara loved it. Steph largely stayed in her room, oscillating between hiding under her bedcovers and shouting – and worse – at me.
‘Milly, I want to talk to you quickly before anyone we know gets here. In private.’ She readjusts her ponytail, making it slightly skew-whiff, and then taps her fingers on the table.
The waitress comes over with two black coffees and two teacakes and lays them out in front of us.
When she’s gone, Emma starts talking again but doesn’t look at me.
‘This is a really difficult thing to bring up, but I’m really worried about you, Milly.
I’m your friend. And I’m not the only one to notice .
. . but . . . well, you’ve had a few bruises over the past few months.
’ She puts her teaspoon in the coffee and starts stirring.
She can’t meet my eyes. ‘I’ve seen bruises on your arms, and a few weeks ago you seemed to have a black eye . . .’
Oh God. I pull my cardy down over my wrist. Please stop talking.
‘With everything you’ve got going on with poor Steph, is everything okay between you and Paul? You really need Paul to be supportive . . . and I’m really worried for you.’
I look up. Paul. I guess that makes sense. Because who would even guess that your teenage daughter is hurting you? That would be unthinkable.
I finally catch her eye and she gives me a small smile. ‘I want you to know that I’m here for you, to help you in any way I can. We all are.’
We all are. So the school mums have all been talking about me, talking about me being a battered wife. I can’t have them thinking it’s Paul. Obviously I can’t have them thinking it’s Steph either. But poor Paul, he doesn’t deserve this. He’s trying his best too.
‘It’s really not what you think,’ I say, low enough that no one else can hear. ‘Paul’s not hurting me.’
‘I thought you might say that,’ Emma says, leaning in.
‘Women in your position are often in denial. I read a leaflet about it in the doctors’ surgery when I was in for my antenatal check-up.
’ She fiddles around in her bag and slides a pale-green piece of paper across the table.
The corner of it soaks up some spilled coffee, the stain drawing through the paper to blur the words.
Women. Are you at risk from violence? Do you need a safe place to go? If you are threatened by physical, emotional or sexual violence in the home, Women’s Aid can give you advice and help.
I shake my head. This is awful.
‘There’s a women’s refuge in Brighton. If things got really bad.
They accept children too.’ She takes a sip of coffee, her eyes darting from the cup to me to the builders having their breakfast and then back to the cup.
She picks up the sugar shaker and lines it up with the napkin dispenser.
‘But we don’t think you should leave Highdown.
It’s your family home. You should kick him out. ’
This is what happens when you tell people too much.
I should never have mentioned the pre-nup.
I pick up the leaflet and stuff it in my bag as I stand up.
‘It’s not what you think,’ I mutter. ‘Paul’s not hurting me, I promise you.
’ I walk as quickly as I can to the door, without looking back.
As soon as I’m on the street, I run to the car and start the engine, pulling away before Emma has the chance to get out of the coffee shop.
How awful that they think it’s Paul. But it would be more awful if they knew it was Steph.