Chapter 13 Zoe Spring 2025
Zoe
After the public nature of the funeral, the interment is a quiet affair. Zoe invites Alice, and Mum’s old friend Mary from the village comes along, pushed in her wheelchair by her daughter.
‘Though we are dust and ashes, God has prepared for those who love him a heavenly dwelling place,’ the vicar starts.
‘At her funeral we commended Camilla Constance Wright into the hands of almighty God. As we prepare to commit the remains of Camilla to the earth, we entrust ourselves and all who love God to His loving care.’
A light rain starts to fall. The vicar is still talking but Zoe can’t keep her eyes off the small wooden box that he places in the ground. ‘We now commit her mortal remains to the ground: earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust: in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life.’
Somehow this placing in the ground feels far more final than the pomp and ceremony of the funeral service.
But also far more removed. It’s just ashes.
It might be Mum, but it’s not her in the same way as the coffin was.
Zoe wonders if she’ll visit the grave, as Mum visited her parents’ graves every week.
She always thought it was a strange thing to do – an ostentatious thing to do, perhaps.
A ‘look at me tending my parents’ grave’ when she could have remembered her parents at any time – just by looking at their pictures in the gallery.
Depending on what happens with the house, they should move the portrait of their mum from the library to the gallery, shuffle the paintings around.
That is when she will remember her, every time she passes by her portrait. Not standing at this old family plot.
Zoe watches Steph, her face closed off, far away.
‘Through our Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our frail bodies that they may be conformed to His glorious body, who died, was buried, and rose again for us. To Him be glory forever.’
It feels over before it’s begun and they say goodbye to Mary and her daughter and walk back to Highdown Hall, Alice with them.
In the library, they sink down into the leather armchairs. ‘I haven’t been to church since I left the village. Twenty-something years ago. And that’s now three times in two weeks,’ says Fiona.
‘Me neither,’ says Sara, and Steph also shakes her head.
‘The last time I went was with Mum, for one of her friend’s funerals,’ says Zoe.
‘It was a lovely send-off for your mum,’ says Alice. ‘She would have been proud.’
‘Thank you,’ says Sara. ‘The funeral was beautiful but this was really tough.’
‘I think all funerals and interments are tough, aren’t they?’ says Fiona.
‘There’s a difference, though, isn’t there? When a person like Mum dies at the end of a long life and when someone dies young. A child, say.’ Steph is looking out of the window and speaking so quietly that Zoe struggles to hear her.
Sara nods. ‘I can’t even imagine losing a child. I’ve found it hard enough being apart from the children for this fortnight. Video-calling them every night just isn’t enough.’
Steph glances at her and then looks away.
‘I’ve missed Charles too,’ says Fiona. ‘The time-zone difference has been hard.’
It feels like everyone is looking ahead to getting back to their lives. But what’s Zoe’s life now? Mum’s gone and somehow she needs to pick up the threads she dropped when Mum became ill. Move back into the oast house, contact her old clients, maybe drop Ben a text.
‘It was another beautiful service,’ says Alice again. ‘Just like your mum would have wanted. Like she planned.’
‘I’d definitely want to write down exactly what I wanted for my funeral, like Mum did,’ says Zoe. ‘I don’t want whoever’s left behind to choose it for me and mess it up. Play a song you always hated as you were going into the crematorium. That’d be bad karma.’
Fiona turns her hands up. ‘But you wouldn’t be around to know,’ she says.
‘Do you think?’ says Zoe.
‘Burials aren’t just for the people being buried or cremated. It’s for those left behind,’ says Steph. ‘To help them to start to get over the death of the person.’
‘And to celebrate their life,’ says Zoe.
Steph smiles slightly. ‘They’re for everyone, aren’t they? So what music would you go for, Zoe?’
‘Well, I have been thinking about it, actually. Just because Mum talked about it in the last few weeks. I thought “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” as they brought my coffin in. Then Sam Smith “Lay Me Down” and maybe something from Adele – “Someone Like You”.’
‘Oh, I’d go for a mix of classical and modern, I think,’ says Fiona. ‘Berlioz’s “Shepherds’ Farewell” and then Frank Sinatra singing “My Way”.’
‘You always did like your own way,’ says Sara, laughing.
Fiona makes a face at her.
‘I’d go classical,’ says Sara. ‘Elgar’s “Nimrod”, and “Ave Maria” then that piece that Dad had at the end of his funeral – what’s it called, Fi?’
Fiona shakes her head.
‘“The Lark Ascending”,’ says Steph quietly.
‘That’s right,’ says Sara, smiling at her. ‘“The Lark Ascending”. Beautiful.’
‘What about you, Steph?’ asks Fiona.
But Steph just stares out of the library window. ‘I don’t know who would organise my funeral. There isn’t anyone really.’
What a sad thing to say. There’s a long silence. ‘I’m sure we could all sort it out, if you died first,’ says Zoe.
Steph gives her a quick smile.
Eventually Alice turns to Fiona. ‘When are you going back to Singapore?’
‘Tomorrow morning,’ she says.
Alice starts. ‘So soon?’
‘Well, I’ve been here two weeks now. I need to get back to work, to Charles.’
‘I’m heading home tomorrow too,’ says Sara. ‘I’m so looking forward to seeing the children again but I’ve got used to us all being together. It’ll be sad when we all go back to our lives. Like the end of something.’
Zoe watches Steph fidgeting, her face unreadable. ‘I’ll head off then too,’ says Steph. ‘We’ve just had a new influx of animals so I really need to get back to sort them out.’
‘It seems a shame that you’re all leaving. You haven’t had much time to talk,’ says Alice, looking between them.
‘I feel like we’ve done nothing else but talk,’ says Fiona, laughing. ‘I’m not sure when we’ll meet again, Alice.’ She leans across and takes Alice’s hands.
‘It’s been rather wonderful seeing you all again, the wonderful women you’ve become,’ says Alice, her eyes full.
‘I loved being part of your childhoods, it was such a joy. But even more wonderful now to see you grown. And you with your own children, Sara. It’s a shame that you all have to part again.
And so soon. Without perhaps properly . . .’
‘Well, we still have to sort Highdown out, don’t we?’ says Fiona.
Zoe sees Sara raise her eyebrows at her.
Fiona turns to Zoe. ‘You need to take as long as you need here,’ she says. ‘When you’re ready to have a conversation about the future, let’s all get together on Zoom and chat. As soon as I get back to Sing I’ll speak to the solicitor in person and see what can be done.’
‘Like Fi says, as long as you need,’ says Steph, talking too fast. ‘And I was serious about you having my share.’
Zoe glances between them and imagines the conversations that must have taken place without her.
This time tomorrow then she will be on her own, Zoe thinks. After two weeks of the house being full, it will be silent again. Quieter than it’s been since when their parents moved in on their wedding day.
It feels good and bad. It feels like the end of something. But she’s not sure if she’s ready for it to be the beginning of something else.
Milly
1989
‘She’ll be back, Milly, she always is.’ Paul cracks open an eye and then turns over, burying his head under the duvet.
I grit my teeth and walk into Steph’s room. I’ll never get used to waking up and finding that she’s gone in the night.
Her bed is made – the duvet tucked under the pillow like only Alice does – so she must have left before she even thought about getting into bed. Terry and June are asleep on her pillow as usual, as if they expect her back at any moment.
I’ve tried to talk to her about it, to ask her to tell me when she’s leaving.
That I won’t try to stop her, but I need to know.
For my own sanity as well as her safety.
But she says she never knows, that it’s always a last-minute thing.
A phone call asking her to join them, though I never hear the phone.
On her pinboard above her desk is a picture of the two of them – Steph and Patrick – their arms around each other, staring straight at the camera.
One of those photo-booth shots. She looks wild and free and happy in that picture.
I never see her like that here. He looks, well, he looks like a man.
Not a boy who should be dating my daughter. I look away from the photo.
I know that he’s come to the house, though we’ve never met him. I’ve heard the owl hoot that isn’t an owl hoot when I’ve been lying in bed at night. Then the telltale creak of the landing floorboard.
She’ll be back. I repeat Paul’s words and go downstairs to make coffee for us both. I stroke my belly, imagining the tiny life growing in there at last. Eight weeks. In six weeks’ time, I’ll be safe.
There’s no sign of her in the village as I walk Fiona and Sara to school, but then I’m not sure what I was expecting.
I’m not sure where she goes when she disappears.
The police never found her when she was younger, never really bothered looking, so they’re definitely not going to make the effort now.
After dropping the girls off, I walk back to get the car and drive into town to Steph’s school to see if she’s there.
I know the office staff well – I’ve been in and out for the last three years with one thing or another.
Mrs Baker glances up from her paperwork.
‘Good morning, Mrs Wright.’
‘Morning, Mrs Baker. I just wondered if you’d seen Stephanie this morning? If she’d come to school?’