Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [36]
She felt in her pocket for her car keys and was halfway out of the door when Pippa said suddenly, ‘I was at school with you, wasn’t I?’
Zoë turned back slowly. ‘I didn’t like to point it out.’
‘You were good at games and you were clever. Really clever. You used to win all the quizzes. Did you go to university? Everyone said you would.’
‘University? No. I dropped out. Travelled the world and ended up back here. Broke my father’s back financially, putting me and my sister through school, and look what I did to repay him.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘Went into the cops.’
‘I didn’t know you had a sister.’
‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘She went to a different school – softer than the one we were at. The sort that turns out good wives.’
‘How come you went to different schools?’
‘Oh, you know,’ she said evasively. ‘We couldn’t get on somehow. Like you said – amazing how you combine the same genes and get two totally different people.’
‘And you?’ Pippa said. ‘How about you? Did you have children?’
‘No.’
Pippa took a breath to reply – and in that second, in the slight pause, Zoë saw the cracks. The human being in there. As if the terrified Pippa Wood, the one who wouldn’t know where to begin or end dealing with this horror, had peeped out of her eyes. It was a flash, just a fleeting moment, a panicked, screaming Picasso face, a terror that Zoë was going to answer, Oh, yes. I have a beautiful daughter. Just like Lorne. Except mine’s alive. It was basic human envy – the envy that the sick, the grieving and the old have for the young and the healthy. And the living. Then the look was gone, and the calm mask was back.
‘Goodbye,’ she said, and turned away abruptly, closing the door behind her.
Zoë was left standing in the sunlight with the sound of Mr Wood’s saw, and the low chug-chug-chug of a barge going past on the canal.
17
All day at work people talked about Lorne Wood. Every place Sally cleaned someone would mention it, would shake their head and say how terrible it was – as if she was one of their own children. Sally didn’t much want to talk about it, she didn’t want to think about how easily it could have been Millie. This morning she’d taken the spoiled tarot card out of the pack and hidden it in a drawer. The remainder were wrapped in a cloth inside her tote bag because today she was working near the hippie shop, and there might be an opportunity to go in and show the cards to the owner. But in the end she couldn’t summon up the courage. Instead she locked them in the boot of the car and tried to stop thinking about them.
It was the day she sometimes picked up Millie from school, rather than let her take the bus. She parked in a street opposite, along with all the other mothers, their windows open to watch the gates. Nial and Peter came out and passed, holding up a hand to say hi to her, then, after a short interval, Sophie on her own. The moment she saw Sally she hurried over to the car. ‘Mrs Benedict, Millie’s still in the classroom. She wants you to go and get her.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. She’s upset.’
Sally locked the car and went inside quickly, hurrying down the vaulted-stone corridors. The classroom was at the other side of the school – it was very old-fashioned, lined with bookshelves, stuffed with books and learning aids. Light came through the tall mullioned windows. At one of the individual desks that faced the windows, Millie sat with her head drooping forward. When she heard the door open she turned. Her face was tight, as if a hand was holding it from behind and forcing her head to move.
‘Mum.’
She came and stood at the desk. ‘Are you OK? I saw Sophie.’
‘I don’t feel well, Mum. Can you bring the car in through the back entrance and pick me up next to the sports hall?’
‘What’s wrong? You should have called.’
‘Nothing. I mean – it’s my stomach. It’s just a bit—’
‘Your stomach?’
‘It’s crampy.’
‘Your period?’
‘No – just – I don’t know. It feels a bit squirmy.’
Sally examined Millie’s face. She’d never been good at knowing when her daughter was lying. But right now