Freya plucked at her bedclothes. Steph knew her face was going to crumple even before it did, and she shuffled closer to hug her, stroking her back as she cried.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into her hair. “I love you so much, Frey.”

“What’s going to happen?” Freya asked. “You won’t go to prison, will you? You and Dad aren’t going to split up? Will I get into trouble for blackmailing Chris?”

“No!” Steph rushed to promise her. “None of those things are going to happen.”

She checked herself, remembering all the times she’d over-promised in the past, convincing both Freya and herself that their charmed life was untouchable.

“At least, I’ll try my hardest to make sure they don’t,” she amended carefully. “There might be some things out of our control. But Dad and I are solid. And all three of us made some mistakes but we’ve paid for them pretty thoroughly already, don’t you think?”

Freya nodded. “I . . . I did other stuff too.”

“What stuff?”

“The eggs, the banana skins, the stupid parenting book . . . Well, Zeb did them, but it was all my idea.”

Steph couldn’t stop her mouth twisting with this final shock.

“It was all part of my anti-Mum campaign,” Freya said, “once I’d got it into my head that . . . but I don’t think you’re a bad mum. The opposite, actually.”

It was one more thing to absorb. It made Steph’s limbs feel heavy. She sank down next to her daughter and Freya shuffled to make room for her on the bed. A rectangle of star-peppered night hovered above them. Steph pictured the sky rippling and churning, and her breathless teenage self, watching the turmoil without knowing her life was about to be thrown into similar disorder.

“I don’t want Zeb to get into trouble,” Freya said as they looked up. “But I just want to be completely honest with you, like you have with me. Get it all out in the open.”

Steph squeezed her hand. Her overwhelming feeling now was a desire to give in to a dreamless sleep. The stars were hazy and the wind was a lullaby. She remembered all those times, as a worn-out young mum, when she’d put Freya to bed and ended up dropping off beside her. Paul used to do the same on his turns. She’d discover him snoring peacefully, as he would no doubt discover her in an hour or so, creeping up to check where she’d got to.

Hopefully, he would leave them to sleep. When Steph woke, spring sunlight would be pouring through the windows, and Freya would still be close.

“I . . . haven’t been completely honest,” Steph murmured.

She closed her eyes, listening to the wind, the missing scenes of her guilt playing out behind the lids. But she had spoken softly, almost under her breath, and she knew Freya was already asleep.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS