Their flat was on the third floor of a narrow terrace with a bright blue front door. She let herself in and took the steps to their level. She opened the door, deactivated the alarm and looked around.

It was compact but light-filled, with a galley kitchen, living room and bathroom with a big bath. One double bedroom, another small room being used as a study. An extremely messy study. There were bright paintings on every wall. Framed photographs too. Dozens showing Hazel and Maxie in different places – in restaurants, on beaches, in cities. The photo Eliza had sent Maxie, the one taken after her school concert. Every shelf was crammed. Every cupboard full.

A lot of work needed to be done. It would take her two full days at least. She couldn’t wait to get started.

By lunchtime, she’d already made good progress. She’d begun in the kitchen, photographing items for Maxie, sending them and getting swift replies about what belonged to her and Hazel and what needed to stay in the flat. Crockery. Glassware. Vases. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. No. No. She stopped for a quick lunch, before taking down the paintings in the living room then starting to pack the books.

Sunshine was streaming through the windows, shaped into slices of light by the wooden shutters. She’d turned the radio to a classical station, enjoying the gentle music and smooth-voiced presenters. It was only when she checked the time on her phone that she saw she’d missed two calls from Olivia. She phoned her back, apologising.

‘Is everything okay? Is Maxie all right?’

‘She’s fine. I’m at the hospital with her now. She’s waiting to see her surgeon.’ She hesitated. ‘Eliza, when you start packing up Maxie’s study, you’ll come across something. And Maxie and I both want to . . . not warn you, but prepare you. It’s to do with Jeannie. Something Maxie was putting together for you. As an eighteenth birthday present.’

Eliza remained quiet.

‘Photos of the three of us. School reports, that kind of thing.’ A pause. ‘Eliza, you know your mother wasn’t like everyone else. She really was one in a million.’

‘Yes,’ Eliza said.

‘She loved socialising. Flirting. Men loved her too. It was a bit of a game for her, I think, when she was travelling. She loved writing to us about them all. Look, for all we know Jeannie was making it all up, to amuse us. She loved telling stories. You know that better than anyone. She used to send us postcards about her adventures. A few every week. She must have sent dozens —’

‘Dozens of postcards?’ Eliza interrupted. ‘You’ve had them all this time? And not shown me?’

Olivia hadn’t expected that reaction. ‘We were waiting for the right time, Eliza. We wanted to —’

In the background came Maxie’s voice. There was a brief exchange between them, then Olivia put the call on speakerphone.