Chapter 8 Zoe Spring 2025
Zoe
Unity, unity. Zoe reads the piece of paper with the prayer for the funeral on it for the umpteenth time. This time tomorrow, the service will be over and Mum will be on her way to be cremated. A few more days and Zoe’ll be alone again.
‘C’mon, stop reading that, you know it by heart,’ says Fiona, looking up from her laptop.
‘Well, stop working then,’ Zoe retorts. ‘You’re always on your laptop.’
‘I was just seeing if the solicitor had got back to me.’ Fiona closes the lid and sighs. ‘He hasn’t.’
The sound of the vacuum cleaner drifts down from upstairs. Sara and Steph never stop cleaning. They’re all trying to find something to do to fill the time. And get the house presentable for the wake.
‘We need to get rid of these boxes so the caterers can use this space tomorrow.’ Fiona nods towards two cardboard boxes.
Missy is curled up on top of one. ‘Why don’t we get rid of the obvious stuff and then we can stack what’s left in the library?
I thought we could use the library for coats tomorrow, but nobody will notice if we have a few boxes in the corner. ’
Zoe dips her head, and lifts up the box Missy isn’t sleeping on. They start taking out more old receipts for long-forgotten clothes and some photos of Mum as a child. There’s a part of Zoe that doesn’t want to get rid of anything of Mum’s but she knows she’s being ridiculous.
‘Here are some more letters from Mum’s mum to her,’ says Fiona, unfolding the fragile pieces of paper and scanning the spidery text.
‘Let’s have a look,’ says Zoe, holding out her hand.
Fiona gives the letter to her and goes back to the box.
‘She’s talking about how lovely it was seeing you and Steph.
’ Zoe lets out a stream of laughter. ‘Apparently you pushed Steph into the pond in her ballet outfit. Granny seems to have found that hilarious.’
Fiona shrugs. ‘I don’t remember that. But look at this. Mum when she was at school. Look at the straw boater. How sweet does she look?’
Zoe smiles. It’s strange reading through all these letters.
Everyone is now dead, and it’s just the four of them left to carry on the history, the traditions, Highdown Hall.
Whatever happens to the house now is immaterial really.
It’s what happens in the next generation that matters.
Fiona, Steph and Zoe don’t have children, so it’ll likely be Sara’s children who eventually inherit the house. What a responsibility.
She flicks through another letter but it’s talking about family members she’s never heard of.
When everything’s over she’ll go through these more carefully.
Perhaps plot out a family tree to work out who’s who.
Mum had once said they could trace the family back to the late 1600s. That must be somewhere in the house.
She picks up another letter. This time Nanny sounds worried.
Stephanie did seem to be a little off at lunch. All that moaning about having to eat meat. Very strange. Just keep an eye on her, dear. Be as supportive as you can. Girls start to behave a little differently as they become women and it’s likely no more than that.
Poor Steph, she was clearly before her time. God knows what Granny would have made of Zoe being a vegan. ‘Granny seems like a right tartar,’ says Zoe.
‘Oh, she was lovely to us,’ says Fiona. ‘But she didn’t take any prisoners. She and Mum had a bit of a tricky relationship, I think. She never forgave her for marrying beneath her, as she described it.’
‘I only recall meeting her a few times,’ says Zoe. ‘Here and then in Scotland.’
Fiona shakes her head. ‘There was a bit of a falling-out between her and Mum and they rarely spoke to each other. It was all over Dad, I guess. Granny couldn’t get it out of her head that Dad worked on the land rather than owning the land.
They moved to Scotland when we were quite young.
That’s where Granny was from. We visited quite a lot when I was small, but after the falling-out, we only saw them occasionally. ’
‘Oh,’ says Zoe, opening another letter. Her eyes immediately fall on to the words Please don’t do it.
‘Listen to this,’ she says to Fiona. ‘I’ve just come off the phone from you.
I know you won’t listen to me, but I want to say it again.
Please don’t do it. It’s a terrible idea that will have far-reaching consequences for everyone involved, particularly Kylie.
Poor little Kai. We can help support you all if you don’t go ahead.
There is a much better way. Please, please don’t do it. Mother.’
Fiona’s mouth is wide open. ‘Bloody hell.’
‘Poor little Kai,’ Zoe repeats. ‘Poor little Kai.’
Fiona reads the letter over her shoulder. ‘Kylie and Kai. Who are they? And how are they linked to that key you found?’
‘We should show the others,’ says Zoe, taking out more letters and wondering whether there’s anything else in the box that can shine more light on it.
Sara comes in dragging the vacuum cleaner behind her. ‘Christ, I’m exhausted.’ She drops the hose on the floor and sinks into the chair, peeling off her rubber gloves and folding them in together. ‘There’s just so much to do. I can see how you struggled, Zoe, especially with Mum to look after.’
Zoe smiles at her. ‘It was pretty impossible.’
‘Mum must be the last person in the country to have bowls of potpourri – it’s everywhere.
I got rid of the stuff in the hall and the cloakroom yesterday but I’ve just found loads of it upstairs in all the rooms. I didn’t realise that they still sold it.
I hope you don’t mind, but I threw most of it away. It was all so full of dust.’
Mum would have a fit, but Zoe tries to smile. ‘Of course, it’s revolting stuff.’
‘What are you two looking at?’
‘Those letters and photos, from the loft,’ Zoe says. ‘But read this.’ She hands her the letter mentioning Kylie and Kai.
Sara pours herself a glass of water and drinks it in one. ‘Wow! I wonder what the terrible idea was? And who are Kylie and Kai then? And what’s the connection with that envelope with the key in it?’
Steph comes in with an armful of cleaning sprays and cloths. ‘Well, that’s the top floor done,’ she says, dropping all the stuff in the sink. ‘Funny being back in the playroom again. I remembered it being so much bigger. Some of our drawings are still on the walls.’
Sara hands her the letter. ‘Look what the others have found. All very strange. It mentions Kai again but also someone called Kylie?’
Two splashes of colour stain Steph’s pale cheeks as she reads.
Her gaze flicks to Zoe and then back to the letter.
‘How should I know?’ she says, getting up again and throwing it on the pile of receipts.
‘I might start in the library while it’s still light.
People are bound to go in there tomorrow.
’ She picks up the cleaning products and walks out.
Fiona rolls her eyes, but Zoe sees Sara’s questioning look. Steph reacted oddly when they first found the envelope with Kai written on it and the key inside. And now she is equally odd about the mention of Kylie. Kylie and Kai. She definitely knows something.
‘Let me help go through that box with you,’ she says to Fiona. ‘The answer must be in there somewhere.’ Zoe moves it across the table slightly and they pull out loose black and white photos of stiff, formal people in black suits and dresses. But there’s no further mention of Kylie or Kai.
They share a bottle of wine with the remains of the veggie chilli for supper.
Afterwards Fiona opens another bottle and they lie about in the sitting room, sipping wine and reading or looking at their phones.
Fiona reinstalled the Wi-Fi yesterday. ‘I can’t believe you managed to live without Wi-Fi,’ she said, as if it were on a level with shelter, food and clothing.
‘Do you remember Martha Stewart?’ Sara says to Fiona. ‘She was in my year at school. Red hair, load of freckles.’
Fiona looks up. ‘Yes, yes, I do. Her older brother was in my year, I think. Weird kid. Why?’
‘Oh, she’s just commented on my post. She’s mentioned about the time Mum decorated the treehouses, put all the lights up and—’
‘What post?’ says Zoe, feeling her jaw tense.
‘I put something up about Mum’s funeral.’
‘Why?’
Sara pauses for a moment. ‘Well, I just wanted people to know. I have friends who knew her, like Martha—’
‘When was the last time you saw Martha?’ asks Zoe.
‘Oh, I don’t know, a few years ago, I guess.’
Zoe rolls her eyes. ‘Let’s see what you’ve said.
’ She puts out her hand and Sara gives her the phone.
Sara’s post is inevitably saccharine, accompanied by photos, some of which she recognises from the boxes in the attic.
One of the photos is Mum with Sara’s children, which makes Zoe’s stomach twist again.
Another is the six of them together – Mum, Dad and the four daughters.
Sara has clearly spent time putting this together.
But why? ‘I can’t believe you posted about Mum dying just to get some attention. ’
‘I didn’t post about it to get attention,’ says Sara, a flush starting to rise up her neck.
‘And you included pictures of me without my permission. Without any of our permissions,’ Zoe says, glancing at Steph and Fiona.
‘I posted something about Mum too,’ says Fiona, shrugging.
‘You too? Bloody hell. Why?’
‘It just seemed like the easiest way to let everyone know.’
‘Why didn’t you just send out a press release? Isn’t that what you do? Carefully curate the truth?’
Fiona sighs. ‘There’s nothing wrong with posting on social media, Zoe.’
‘There’s everything wrong with it. What about you, Steph?’
Steph glances up and their eyes meet. ‘I don’t have social media,’ she says. Zoe sees herself reflected in Steph’s grey eyes.
‘Thank God for that.’
‘For God’s sake, Zoe, lighten up. I’m going to have a bath.’ Fiona stands up and walks out.