Zoe was worried about Nina, obviously – she had had a friend with pre-eclampsia and knew what a terrifying experience it was, as well as a rather lonely and boring one, stuck in hospital and denied the pleasures of late pregnancy (which were, though, she recalled, mostly people prodding you without asking and wondering if you had twins in there and how could you possibly stand up without overbalancing and other less than helpful theories) and in fact it basically boiled down to sitting in the bath and feeling like a desert island and she had rarely felt lonelier than having nobody to help her put on her own socks.
Anyway, she was worried, but glad Nina was safe in hospital. As she bowled along in the stuttery green car, past the great smoke-belching coaches leaving Loch Ness for the day, under the lengthening shadows from the mountains on the coast, the flash of a white tail of a deer disappearing into a forest, and rounded the bend of the long drive where she could see the great house ahead, she felt something inside. She wasn’t quite sure what it was at first. But there was the tiniest possibility it felt like . . . a tiny bit like optimism. Like a little bit of hope. Like something – the tiniest seedling was, after so long in the gloom – starting to push its way out of the earth. Something could have turned disastrous that day. But it hadn’t. And she had the added bonus of a disconsolate-looking Hari charging towards her in delight when she turned up at nursery. She snuck a sideways glance at him now in the car, staring out of the window at the house, looking delighted to be home. She had asked Tara how the first day had gone and Tara had looked awkward, and elsewhere, but she had him now, and that was enough.
* * *
Zoe’s good mood lasted as long as it took to get through the back door. She could hear the yelling from miles off. It was actual, full-throated screaming.
The noise was horrific. It sounded like somebody being murdered. The sun went behind a cloud, casting the great house into shadow suddenly and Zoe dumped the car, told Hari to stay in his seat, exactly where he was and looked around for something to hit the murderer with. There was fortunately a hardback copy of The Hobbit lying in the back of the car, and she took it stealthily, heart beating, and advanced, carefully holding it up to the door, her heart in her mouth . . .
Zoe peered round the door frame. The screaming was getting louder.
‘Hello?’ she said, trying to make her voice sound low and threatening rather than, as it came out, loud and querulous. ‘Who’s there?’
The screaming stopped, abruptly, and Zoe felt her arms prickling.
‘WHO’S THERE?’ she yelled, and burst into the kitchen, her arms aloft.
All three of the children on the floor immediately burst out into howls of mocking laughter at the sight of her, white-faced and shaking, holding The Hobbit above her head. Even Mrs MacGlone, who was at the sink, turned round and Nina saw her lips twitch.
Mary, who’d been lying flat on the ground, her hair tumbled out around her, sat up from the position in which she’d been vigorously trying to kick Shackleton on the chin.
‘What are you going to do, elf us to death?’ she asked in ringing tones.
‘Bore us to death more like,’ said Shackleton. ‘Couldn’t you at least have used The Watchmen? It’s in the downstairs loo.’
Patrick gazed up at her severely.
‘Actually we were only playing,’ he said.
Zoe’s fear turned to fury, as it so often does.
‘That’s not playing!’ she said. ‘Look at you!’
Shackleton had a huge bruise on his chin from where Mary had kicked him; Patrick had scratch marks on his face.
‘Are they allowed to do this?’ she demanded of Mrs MacGlone, whose face turned to stone.
‘I’m just the housekeeper,’ she said stoically. ‘Nothing to do with me.’ She glanced pointedly at her watch.
‘It was Shackleton’s fault!’ yelled Mary hotly. ‘He started it!’
‘Shut up, you little vixen! It wasn’t, as if I could care what the hell you’re doing.’
‘You’re a lying prig and you can just shut up!’ screamed Mary, working herself up into a state.
‘You are both the stupidest people actually IN THE WORLD,’ yelled Patrick, careful not to be left out. All three started screaming abuse and insults at each other.
Zoe, still bristling, stood up on the nearest chair, and dropped the heavy book onto the flagstone floor.
The noise was extraordinarily loud. All three stopped temporarily.
‘RIGHT,’ said Zoe, in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘That is absolutely enough.’
‘But,’ said Mary.
‘Shut it,’ said Zoe. ‘Right now.’
‘Or what?’ said Mary. ‘You’ll leave? Fine by us.’
‘’Fraid not,’ said Zoe. ‘In fact, I found out today that I’m going to be here for a long time, whether you like it or not.’
They did not, and made this clear.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘In my car, there is a cake and some sausages.’ There were. The woman serving at the tiny village shop had stared at her in rude, open-mouthed silence for so long Zoe wondered if she had a disability. Zoe went on: ‘I brought them back for supper. I will make supper with those things. But there are a few things that are going to happen first.’
‘You’re going to bribe us with sausages?’ said Mary in a tone of utter disdain.
‘Sausages!’ said Patrick gleefully.
‘I’m not bribing you,’ said Zoe. ‘I’m feeding you. As soon as you all get up.’
Shackleton reluctantly got up off the floor. Mary aimed a good kick at his kneecaps as he went.
‘Oi,’ said Zoe.
She had them standing up, and then got down from the stool to go to fetch Hari, who came in shyly.
‘You help Mrs MacGlone put the cups away.’ She pointed to Patrick. ‘You –’ This was aimed at Shackleton. ‘– sweep this room; it needs it. You –’ to Mary ‘– put the laundry piles in everyone’s room.’
‘No,’ said Mary. ‘That’s not our job actually?’
‘Actually,’ said Zoe. ‘From today it is. From today jobs are everyone’s jobs. Because when you guys are just lying around you get in to trouble. So I’m going to make it my mission to keep you busy.’
Patrick padded over to the sink and obediently picked up one cup at a time.
‘Suck-up,’ said Mary.
‘You don’t need to have either sausages or cake,’ said Zoe mildly.
‘Good. They stink.’
‘But you do need to put your laundry away.’
‘No, I don’t.’
Zoe picked up the pile of Mary’s laundry from where it had been drying by the fire. They really had to get the kitchen sorted out; it was a mess, and uncomfortable and unproductive.
‘If it doesn’t get taken away, it gets binned.’
‘You’re not serious.’
Mary looked at Mrs MacGlone.
‘Mrs MacGlone, she’s completely crazy.’
Mrs MacGlone could not deny it. She loved the motherless mites, in her way and did the best she could by them, but they were totally out of control and she was not the person to control them. If this – the seventh attempt – if this peculiar person could manage it, then so much the better. Ramsay was scared of his own children, and she wasn’t much better; too wary of Mary’s whiplash tongue; too aware of the housemaid she had always been, and the place she’d always known.
Mrs MacGlone looked scary, but wasn’t. Zoe looked mild as butter, but wasn’t.
Zoe threw a sock of Mary’s onto the fire. Mary watched, absolutely outraged and horrified and secretly slightly impressed.
‘I hate those socks,’ said Mary. ‘I’ll go without.’
‘Put your laundry away!’
‘Shan’t!’
The entire room was silent now, everyone watching incredibly closely to see what the outcome was going to be. Zoe really wished she knew herself.
Well, she was in it now. This was the crux of it. If she backed down now, she might as well pack her bags. And she really, really couldn’t afford to do that.
Be consistent was the message, wasn’t it? Along with be firm? Was this too firm though? Burning socks? It wasn’t the most dignified situation Zoe had ever found herself in.
Mary was watching her with her arms folded, a smug expression on her face, as if daring her to go further.
‘There’s a sleeper train back down south you can catch tonight,’ she said saucily. ‘We won’t miss you.’
Suddenly the mist descended. Zoe couldn’t help it. She couldn’t manage like this, not with everything that had to be done. She cast around on the laundry pile and extracted a small cardigan – it had to be far too small for Mary; she must have grown out of it anyway. It had little foxes stitched into it. Zoe picked it up and advanced towards the fire.
The scream that Mary emitted now made the earlier noise seem like laughing.