There had been so many moments during the past four weeks that Jess had wanted to sit next to her mum at the kitchen table, clear her throat, and tell her that she was sorry, she’d spoken precipitately, she should never have agreed to the trip. So many nights since the concert at the Albert Hall Jess had lain awake in bed wondering how five days in New York with her mum and Lily could be anything other than disastrous.

Mia sighed again, and Jess’s patience stretched like a rubber band on the brink of snapping. “What is it, Mia? You’ve been sighing in the back of the car ever since we left. I did say it was too early for you to come with us. You’re wasting the best part of a morning when you could be in the library.”

Out of the corner of her eye Jess saw her mum turn to look at Mia, glimpsed a silent communication pass between them. “Mia, what is it? Whatever it is, just tell me.”

Mia paused, and Jess detected another undecipherable look pass between them as her daughter fiddled with the silver stud in her ear.

“OK. Well, the thing is . . . there’s something I haven’t been entirely honest with you about. You know those Saturday mornings I said I was going to the library or studying at a friend’s or whatever? Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Granny and I . . . We’ve been going to that art class at the Royal College together, the one I told you about . . .”

As Mia’s voice trailed off, the words took a few seconds to find form in Jess’s head, like numbers in a color vision test emerging from a mass of dots. “You’ve been going to that art class together behind my back? I can’t believe you’ve been colluding in this, Mum. What on earth were you thinking?”

“Don’t be cross with Granny. She really didn’t want me to lie to you, but she didn’t understand any more than I did why you were so adamant I couldn’t do it. It’s just one morning a week.”

“Please don’t get angry, Jess. I know it was wrong of us to go behind your back but you can see how passionate Mia is about art. I honestly didn’t think that one Saturday morning a week was going to be such a big issue.”

“You and Mia both lying to me is a big issue. You know Mia doesn’t have time for hobbies this year. How can she expect to get into Cambridge if she doesn’t apply herself?”

Jess turned her head in time to see another surreptitious glance pass between her mum and her daughter: if she hadn’t had to look back at the road, she’d have sworn her mum had nodded at Mia.

“Well, that’s the other thing, Mum. You know I love art—I’ve always loved it—and this course . . . Well, the tutor seems to think I’m pretty good. Really good, actually. She thinks that if I got a portfolio together I’d have a really strong chance of getting on an art foundation course after my A-levels. And when I spoke to my art teacher at school, he said the same thing. They’ve even said they’ll write me references. So, the thing is . . . I don’t think I want to go to Cambridge.”