Chapter 14 Zoe Spring 2025
Zoe
‘I don’t know how you have so much baggage. When you arrived from Singapore you barely had anything,’ says Zoe, helping Fiona down the stairs with a huge suitcase.
‘Well, I have been here two weeks now,’ says Fiona, panting.
‘I could hardly wear your clothes all that time. Especially for Mum’s funeral.
’ The word lingers in the air between them.
‘And I wanted to buy some things to remind me of here, of home.’ Zoe realises it is the first time Fiona has referred to Highdown as home in years.
Fiona wheels the suitcase to the front door, just as the knocker clatters against the door. ‘Oh, the taxi’s early. I better say my goodbyes now,’ she says. Missy wanders up to the suitcase, brushing her face against it.
‘Sara! Steph! Fi’s leaving,’ Zoe calls up the stairs. But as Fiona opens the front door, it’s Alice waiting on the doorstep, her chest heaving.
‘Oh, you’re still here. Thank goodness,’ she says, resting her hands on her knees as she struggles to catch her breath.
‘Alice, what are you doing here?’ says Fiona.
‘I need to talk to you,’ Alice gasps. ‘To all of you.’
Fiona takes a step back. ‘To say what? I thought we said our goodbyes yesterday.’
‘Come on in, Alice, what’s up?’ says Zoe.
‘I need to talk to you all,’ Alice repeats, glancing between Zoe and Fiona.
Sara bounces down the stairs. ‘Are you off, Fi? Oh, hi, Alice.’
Alice nods to her and then looks up the stairs as Steph walks down, her bare feet silent on the marble steps.
‘Alice wants to talk to us,’ says Zoe. Steph stops on the bottom stair and looks directly at Alice.
Zoe glances between them. ‘What?’ she says. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’ve been worrying about it ever since you told me about your mum’s will. I hoped you’d all have talked, but . . . you didn’t. When you all mentioned you were leaving today . . .’ Alice shakes her head. ‘I’ve hardly slept for thinking about it.’
‘Thinking about what?’ says Zoe.
‘You must tell them, Steph,’ says Alice. ‘It’s surely what your mum wanted. You can’t leave it like this.’ Her voice is soft and low. ‘After everything that was said the other day.’
Steph’s eyes widen. She shakes her head and looks at her feet.
Alice goes towards her, the others parting to let her through, and takes her elbow. ‘It’s time, Steph,’ she says, guiding her into the kitchen. ‘It’s time to tell the truth. I’ve waited to see if you’d do it in your own time, but—’
‘What’s going on?’ says Zoe, her voice trembling. She follows the others into the kitchen, catching the anxious faces of Fiona and Sara looking at each other.
The four sisters sit around the table as Alice makes a pot of tea, and brings out mugs and the milk bottle. Steph’s eyes are fixed on her hands in her lap; Fiona watches her. Nobody speaks until Alice sits down next to Steph and touches her arm. ‘Do you want to start?’
Steph doesn’t move.
The doorbell rings and a voice calls, ‘Taxi.’ Fiona glances towards the kitchen door.
‘You need to tell them now,’ says Alice. ‘It’ll be too late otherwise. They deserve to know.’
Steph looks up finally, flushes of pink in her usually pale cheeks. She swallows. ‘I know why you didn’t get your share of Highdown,’ she says, her eyes flickering over Zoe. She taps her fingers against the side of her mug.
Fiona glances at her frowning. ‘How do you know? Have you spoken to a solicitor?’ There’s a note of panic in her voice.
Steph’s nails are tapping repeatedly on the mug. ‘No, I haven’t. But I think it’s all about the pre-nuptial agreement between Mum and Dad,’ she starts.
‘Yes, yes, we know about the agreement,’ says Fiona impatiently.
Alice rests a hand on Fiona’s arm. ‘Let her speak, Fi,’ she says.
Fiona swallows and stares at Steph.
‘I think there was something in that agreement that meant that the house couldn’t be handed down to anyone who wasn’t—’
The doorbell rings again.
Steph looks up at Alice, who nods at her.
‘Who wasn’t one of Mum’s own children.’
Zoe closes her eyes. A negative of the bright kitchen imprints on her eyelids.
Not one of Mum’s own children. What does that mean?
If you’re not your mum’s child, then that makes you nobody at all.
Of course she’s Mum’s child. But even as she says it to herself, somewhere deep inside her it suddenly feels untrue.
Zoe opens her eyes and looks at Steph, whose face is pinched. She looks much older than when she arrived a fortnight ago.
‘Steph?’ says Sara, her head tipped to one side. ‘What do you mean? Of course Zoe is Mum’s child, so she should get a share of the house.’
Zoe closes her eyes again, and even with them closed can feel the others looking at her. Sara is still talking but Zoe can’t hear what she’s saying. ‘Zoe?’ Sara’s voice. A soft hand on her arm. ‘Are you okay?’ Her stomach turns.
‘What I mean is—’ starts Steph.
Zoe flicks her eyes open and stares at Steph. Her oldest sister is breathing loudly, almost hyperventilating. Steph. The thought flits across her brain bouncing off all the other thoughts. Steph?
Fiona turns to her, her eyebrows raised. ‘What is it, Steph?’ She sounds impatient. There’s something about the way that Steph’s eyes are darting between the three of them, the way she’s twisting the bottom of her shirt in her hand, that says she has the answer.
They wait and Steph swallows. She glances at Alice, who inclines her head. ‘You’re not Mum’s daughter. Biologically, anyway.’
Zoe stares at her, willing her to look at her properly. Fiona and Sara are shaking their heads.
‘But that’s simply not true,’ says Fiona, banging her palm on the table, tea sloshing over the side of her mug.
‘Fiona,’ says Alice, holding up her hand.
Steph looks her in the eye. ‘You’re not Mum’s daughter,’ she repeats. She takes a breath. ‘You’re mine.’
Mine. The word silences the table. Zoe is holding her gaze and sees all the emotions flit across Steph’s face. Joy, fear, pain and then a tiny filament of hope.
‘Oh God,’ says Zoe, covering her face with her hands and squeezing her eyes shut. A sickness rises to her throat.
The doorbell rings again.
Steph
November 1990
The first light came on just after 6 a.m., throwing a golden sheen across the frosty lawn.
Thank God. I tried to wiggle my numb feet and hands, careful not to wake Kylie who, despite the sub-zero temperature, was still asleep mummified in the shawl and blanket.
Only her tiny nose was visible, pink with the chill.
There wasn’t one part of me that was even slightly warm.
I edged closer to the house, certain that it would be Mum up so early, but wanting to make sure.
I couldn’t face Dad. Not yet. Near the kitchen door I saw her for the first time.
She was yawning, pushing her hair out of her eyes as she spooned coffee into two mugs.
Mum. She looked different somehow, like her skin had been filled out.
There were grey streaks in her hair instead of the usual blonde.
Maybe it was just that I hadn’t seen her for eight months.
As I touched the door handle, she started and her face drained of colour.
But her eyes widened when she saw it was me, and she covered her mouth with her hand.
For a moment we both stood there, staring at each other.
Then she rushed forward and pulled the door open.
‘Oh, Steph! Thank God, thank God.’ She smelt of Mum.
She clasped me hard and it was then she realised I was holding something.
Someone. ‘Oh,’ she said, moving the blanket aside gently to see Kylie’s face.
‘Oh my God, it’s a baby.’ She covered her mouth with her hand again, her eyes wide.
‘Oh my God. Is . . . is it yours?’ She looked down at Kylie, stroking the top of her head.
I nodded, my throat full.
‘Oh Steph, is this why you ran away? You didn’t have to leave. Not because you were pregnant.’
I started to shiver then, and she guided me to the table and sat me down as if I were a child.
She sank on to a chair next to me and gripped the tops of my arms. ‘Thank God, thank God you’re home. I’ve been so, so worried. Are you okay?’ Her words fell over one another. ‘Is the baby okay? Is it a boy or a girl?’
I looked down at Kylie, a sleeping witness to this homecoming.
‘We’re o—’ But I started to cry before I could finish, big sobs rising from deep inside of me.
It was a long time since I’d cried in front of someone.
Mum leaned even closer towards me and hugged me, rubbing my back, Kylie an awkward lump between us.
‘Oh Steph,’ she said again. ‘It will be okay now. You’re home. Everything will be okay.’
It suddenly all felt okay. This was home.
Safe. And warm for the first time in weeks.
Why hadn’t I done this before? She gently eased Kylie from my arms and laid her carefully on the kitchen sofa, wedging her in with cushions.
‘You look exhausted,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you sorted out and then we can focus on the baby. ’
‘It’s been really hard,’ I said, still shaking with sobs. ‘With her, outside.’
Mum closed her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry about whatever we did to make you feel you could never come back.’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘Whatever happened between us, this was always your home.’ She held my hands. ‘I love you, Steph. I will always love you, whatever.’
‘I love you too, Mum,’ I said, sagging against her body. It felt such a relief to be held, to be looked after.
On the sofa, Kylie mewled. ‘What’s her name?’ said Mum, getting up.
‘Kylie,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘Like the pop singer?’ She unwrapped the outer and inner blankets and then slid her hand under Kylie’s head and lifted her up.
‘Hello, baby girl,’ she said, bouncing her against her body and staring at her face.
She looked at ease with her in a way I never felt.
‘She’s beautiful. She looks so like you did as a baby, that same little frown between her eyes, like she’s thinking important things. ’