‘Stop being so dramatic. She’s thirty years old, Maxie. A grown woman. While we’re on the subject, I also think she needs to hear about that night in Carlton.’

‘What? Why? That happened long before Jeannie was even pregnant. It didn’t even go to court.’

‘No, but it will help us explain why Jeannie and her parents —’

A voice was audible in the background calling Maxie’s name.

‘Coming,’ Maxie called back. ‘Olivia, sorry, I’m needed. Thanks so much again. It’s wonderful news. It will make my wedding, it really will.’

‘Maxie, wait. Before she gets here, can you please try to find those postcards?’

There was no reply. Maxie had hung up.

Olivia put down the phone with a deep sigh. She sat still for a moment, staring out the sash window opposite her desk. It was raining, turning the rooftops of Edinburgh to a glistening sheen. At least there was a fuzz of soft green appearing on the oak tree outside her window. It had been a long, cold winter. Spring seemed to be taking forever to arrive.

She massaged the back of her neck, trying to ease the sudden tension. We tell her the truth, she’d insisted today. If only it was that simple.

She stood up and walked across the room. A large framed photo had pride of place by the window. It had been a farewell gift from Eliza, at the end of Olivia’s last trip to Australia. Maxie had received a copy in the post too. An enlarged version of the school concert photo taken all those years ago.

Olivia studied it again now. It always made her smile. Not least because of their terrible hairstyles. Admittedly, it had been the early 2000s, but what had she been thinking with those feathery waves? Thankfully, soon after that photo was taken, she’d decided on what was now her signature style: a sharp dark bob. Maxie was barely recognisable in the photo, her hair a mass of red curls for her Australian TV soap role at the time. Since then, she’d had multiple hairstyles, usually for roles, sometimes for fun. She now had a flattering pixie cut, dyed white-blonde. It was much copied by fans of her current hit TV series.

Eliza had changed the most since that photo had been taken, of course. The pale, red-cheeked eleven-year-old girl with long black plaits had slowly transformed via awkward teenage years into a tall, striking woman. In the photo she was wearing a cherry-red dress and bright-yellow cardigan. Jeannie had always dressed her in bright clothes. As a teenager, and then afterwards, at university, Eliza had kept dressing in colourful op-shop finds, wearing her hair long and loose. The casual near-hippy look had belied what a serious student she’d been.

All that had changed overnight once she started full-time work. Olivia had often wished her goddaughter hadn’t adopted Gillian’s bland corporate style of dressing so obediently, or started tying that glorious long hair into a too-tight low bun. At least she seemed to have finally grown comfortable with her height. Over the years, she and Maxie had often had to gently tell her off for hunching her shoulders, for trying to appear smaller than she was.