“Right.” Like hell it is.

Kate slipped into the bathroom. She was vigorously washing her face when there was a knock at the cottage door. Moments later, Tilly called her name.

Towelling her neck dry, she stepped out to find Molly hovering just inside the front door.

“I need to talk to you.”

Kate started. “Mol, what on earth are you doing back here?”

“I needed to speak to you so I took the ferry from Mornington.” As Molly’s eyes grew wide, worry struck Kate. “I think I’m about to have a panic attack.”

Instantly, Kate reached out and curled a hand around Molly’s elbow. “Come over here and sit.”

Together, the two of them sat on the edge of the lounge. For a long moment, Molly was silent as she pulled at the sleeves of her jumper. “I can’t go to Edinburgh,” she said.

The room stilled. This is what Kate had been anticipating for months. “Yes,” she said. “You can.”

Molly shook her head. “I can’t.” Her eyes welled. Instantly, she pressed the cuffs of her jumper to her eyes. “I’ve been texting with the girl from Sydney who won and I sent her my play and she sent me hers and…mine is so fucking shit.”

Sinking back into the lounge, Kate sighed. “It’s not, Mol. It’s brilliant.” She stole a look at Tilly. Across the room, her grip was tight on the back of the recliner. A little help here?

“Molly,” Tilly started, taking a seat on the recliner, “We’ve both read your play. It’s incredible.” She clasped her hands, emphasised each word with a gentle shake. “And you were selected.”

Molly pulled her hands from her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, the sleeves of her jumper darkened with tears. “But hers is so much better,” she ground out. Her glassy gaze fixed on the small nativity scene Tilly had set up beside the television. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Before Kate could speak, Tilly stepped in. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Molly.”

Kate’s eyes snapped up. “Don’t tell her that!”

“Kate, she’s almost an adult. She can make her own decisions.”

“Til, she wants this. You don’t know her.” God, it was exasperating. Where the hell did Tilly get off saying something like that? Letting an anxious, impressionable teenager think it was okay to keep that mindset? She turned back to Molly. “I’m not going to let you give up on this just because it’s hard, not when you’ve come so far. You’re going.”

Tears slipped over Molly’s cheeks as she dropped her head. “I’m going to be the shittiest writer there. I am. I mean, what if they only chose me because I’m the token Aboriginal?” she whispered.

Kate sat forward, elbows on her knees as she ducked her head to catch Molly’s eye. “I assure you, that is not true. And about the writing thing? Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but hear me when I say this: there’s always going to be somebody in a room who is better than you in some way. It’s how we grow—how we improve and become better learners, better people. You might get there and, okay, sure there’ll be more criticism for some more than others, but you’ll be in the smartest of company, and that’s going to make you better. You’re not there to blow your own trumpet. Like every other kid in the room, you’re there to be better. To learn. And let me tell you, you’re going to teach some other kid something, Mol, because you’re just so clever.” She paused. “But that’s not the hard part, is it?”