They talked late into the night. When Rose eventually asked the question, she was gentle.

‘Eliza, when Jeannie died. Was it —’

She stopped there. She didn’t need to say the words out loud. Was it suicide?

No, Eliza told her. There’d been an autopsy. A coroner’s report. Interviews with Olivia, Maxie, Eliza, the ambulance team, the hospital staff. All the facts of that night were analysed. The cause of death was drowning. Excessive alcohol was a factor. Jeannie had also taken a prescription-only sleeping pill. Tests showed she’d been eating very little. But there was no note. No proof of intent. She’d emailed Eliza to say how much she was looking forward to seeing her. She’d rung Olivia five times that night to say how excited she was that Eliza was coming home. She’d said how happy she was that Eliza was going to uni. How she couldn’t wait to visit her in Melbourne as often as possible. The coroner’s ruling was decisive. It was declared a tragic accident.

By the time Eliza stopped talking, she felt hollowed out. She was now regretting saying anything. It was as if Rose guessed. She promised never to tell anyone else. She said she was so sad but also grateful that Eliza had told her. Then she did something so special and so thoughtful. She asked Eliza to tell her what Jeannie was like.

It was the best eighteenth birthday present Eliza could have hoped for. An evening talking about her funny, naughty, wonderful mother. Rose listened to all of her stories. She laughed often. She studied the photo of Eliza with her mother and godmothers again. It was only towards the end of the night that she asked about Eliza’s father. Eliza didn’t go into detail. Those stories came later in their friendship. That night she simply said that he wasn’t in her life.

It was Rose who encouraged her in the following weeks to get the school concert photo enlarged and framed. She also insisted on a ceremonial unveiling, helping Eliza to hang it, then cover it in a scarf. She produced sparkling water and champagne glasses and insisted they make a toast as Eliza pulled off the scarf.

It was that day that she also realised who one of Eliza’s godmothers was. She leaned forward, inspecting the enlarged photo.

‘One of your godmothers looks just like that TV soap actress, doesn’t she?’

Yes, Eliza said, enjoying the moment. Because one of her godmothers was that TV soap actress.

It had been Eliza’s pleasure to get Maxie to autograph a dozen photographs for Rose and her family.

In the years that followed, Rose became the friend Eliza had always longed to have. It didn’t matter that they didn’t often see each other face-to-face now. They spoke on the phone, sent emails and photos, always knew exactly what the other was up to.

Rose had also appointed herself as Eliza’s matchmaker. She’d told Eliza that it was her civic duty. That Gillian worked Eliza so hard she had no time to socialise. Outside help was needed. After several excruciating first dates, there’d finally been a spark between Eliza and one of Harry’s friends. The tallest one. Eliza dated him for six months. Until he told her, kindly, that he’d been offered a job transfer to Perth. They mutually decided to call it a day. There’d been no one in the four years since, despite Rose’s best efforts, fully backed by Olivia and Maxie.