Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [68]
‘Hey.’ She kissed Millie’s head, smoothed her hair. ‘You know what I’ve always told you. It’s not what’s on the outside, it’s what’s on the inside.’
‘Don’t be stupid. That’s just crap. No one looks on the inside. You’re just saying that because you’re old.’
‘OK, OK.’ She rested her chin on Millie’s head. Looked out at the fields and the trees and the clouds piled up like castles in the sky and tried to span her memory across the distance between fifteen and thirty-five. It didn’t seem an eternity. But when she put herself in Millie’s shoes and thought about her own mother fifteen years ago she saw how honest and clear that comment was. She let Millie cry, let her soak the front of her blouse.
Eventually the sobs died down to the occasional hiccup and Millie straightened up, her bottom lip sticking out. She wiped her nose with her sleeve. ‘I don’t really like him. Honestly. I really don’t.’
‘Is that it? Is that all that’s upsetting you?’
‘All?’ Millie echoed. ‘All? Isn’t that enough?’
‘I didn’t mean it was nothing. I was just thinking – you’re so unhappy. Unsettled.’
Millie shivered. ‘Yeah – it’s been such a bloody horrible day. Everything’s wrong. It’s been just pants.’
‘Everything?’
She nodded miserably.
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t think you want to know that.’
‘I do.’
Millie gave a long-suffering sigh and stretched her blouse so the cuff came down over her knuckles and drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them. ‘OK – but I warned you.’
‘What?’
‘I saw Auntie Zoë.’
Sally had opened her mouth to reply before what Millie had said sunk in. When it did she closed it. It was the last thing she’d expected. Zoë hadn’t been mentioned in their house for years. Years and years. In all of Millie’s lifetime they’d run into her twice – once in the high street, when Millie had been about five. That time Zoë had stopped and smiled at Millie, said, ‘You must be Millie,’ then looked at her watch, and added, ‘Well, got to go.’ The second time, two years later, the two women had simply nodded in acknowledgement and carried on their way. Afterwards Sally had been quiet for hours. These days, sometimes, she dreamed about Zoë – wondered what it would be like to see her again. Now she pushed the hair gently out of Millie’s face. She hadn’t even realized she knew Zoë’s name. ‘You mean you – uh – saw her walking down the street? Or you spoke to her?’
‘We went to see her at the police station. The head said we could take the morning off to do it. Nial and Peter and Ralph had something to tell her.’
‘Ralph? The Spanish one?’
‘He’s half Spanish. And he was seeing Lorne.’
‘Seeing her?’
‘Yes, and he tried to keep it secret. But it’s out now and it’s no big deal. I mean, he was seeing her, but he didn’t kill her, Mum. He didn’t have anything to do with it.’
So Isabelle had been right, Sally thought. About the secrets. The whispering. She wondered how it could be that the children they’d given birth to could have gone from curly-haired toddlers sitting on their laps to complete human beings with secrets and codes and plans.
‘He stayed at the station. With Auntie Zoë. She was, like, so nice to him. So nice.’
Sally heard the admiration in her voice. Unmistakable. She knew what it felt like to admire Zoë. ‘How is she? Zoë, I mean.’
‘She’s fine.’ Millie sniffed. ‘Fine.’
‘Fine?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘How did she look?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know.’ Sally hesitated. ‘Is she tall? Years ago she always seemed quite tall to me.’
‘Yeah,’ Millie said. ‘She is. Really tall. Really, really tall. The way I’d like to be.’
‘What’s her hair like? She had amazing hair.’
‘Still has. It’s like mine – sort of reddy colour. A bit mad, actually – and it looked wet. Why?’
‘I don’t know. Just wondering.’ She gave a small, rueful smile, then said, ‘She’s doing well in her job, I suppose. She’s really clever, you know. You’d never think we