‘It wasn’t a deliberate thing. I mean, I didn’t intend to keep it from you, I just… did.’ I pause. I know now why I’m here, why I’m sitting next to her in this car. It’s like the clouds have parted after rain, and I suddenly see what’s going to happen. I know we won’t leave the car until the truth has been spilled, and the thought is almost a relief. I take a breath. ‘Okay, I was cross with you.’

She glances at me, and then back at the road. ‘Why?’

I hesitate, then rip off the plaster. ‘Because you were choosing to go to your work event rather than Léa’s tennis competition.’

She nods, as though I’ve confirmed her suspicions. She indicates and pulls out to overtake a car ahead. I glance at the speedo; we’re going significantly over the limit. I want to tell her to slow down, but I don’t.

‘D’accord.’ She gives a short laugh. ‘I understand. You think I’m a terrible mother and I should stay at home with my kids like a good Swiss Hausfrau and not go to work?’

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Unless you want to, of course.’ I want to. I’d have given up my job in an instant to stay home with my children if I was lucky enough to have them and could afford to. But I know it’s not fashionable to say so. It’s like my guilty secret, something you’re not allowed to admit to these days. ‘But I think you should tuck your children into bed occasionally, and be there on the weekends when your daughter has an event that’s important to her.’

I think of Mum, always on the go, but still there – usually – to kiss me goodnight and watch me fail at three-legged races. A memory tugs at my brain: a row with Dad, angry whispers that stopped when I approached, a cancelled work trip, Mum’s smile a little too bright.

Julia gives a brusque laugh of exasperation. ‘You think I don’t know that? Of course I do. Of course I’d rather be with my family than at work. But these things happen. It’s a busy time and I can’t avoid it if I want to get ahead in my career. And I do, Jess. I don’t want to be aimless, achieving nothing, floating through life without focus. That’s not an example I want to give my children.’

I feel the dig as though she’s stuck her flawless painted fingernail into my arm.

‘And anyway,’ she continues, her voice strained. ‘I don’t know why you want me around more. It’s clear you think you can do a better job at being their mother than me.’