Tilly had returned late the night before. From the living room window, Kate had watched Sister Mary Monica’s bedroom light go out around nine, and it had been a good hour after that before the front door of the cottage opened. It had taken everything in Kate not to comment on the fact that Tilly had stayed in the convent long after the sisters retired. Kate didn’t have to ask to know that she had been in there cleaning up after dinner.

Kate lay still. Just twenty-four hours ago—minutes before leaving to pick up Tilly—she’d sat on the edge of her bed trying to calm her breathing. Ridiculous. Now, with Tilly across the house in her bathroom, she felt completely calm—maybe even a tremor of a thrill. Not knowing what to expect had caused yesterday’s anxiety, and her mind sympathised today. And see, it was fine. It all worked out. She’s fine, you’re fine. It’s not as uncomfortable as you thought it would be. She’s forgiven you for not keeping in touch; you’ve forgiven yourself for never seizing the day and clicking “Add Friend” on that pictureless “Matilda Wattle” Facebook profile.

She stumbled out of her room, her bare legs goosepimpling in just her pyjama shorts. As she boiled the kettle and made her first cup of the day, she stared out the kitchen window, slipping into a trance. Across the road, the tiny sandstone chapel shielded the fierce light of the morning sun, at least until nine when the sun crawled higher. She sipped her coffee, mentally preparing herself for the day. As exhausted as she’d be by the end of the week, she was excited to see the girls again, to be reunited for one last term together.

The bathroom door opened. The soft rays of light that warmed the cottage caught the cloud of steam lingering behind Tilly. With a towel wrapped around her head, she was already dressed for the day. Perhaps it was the length of her white dress, Kate thought, the fact that its hem brushed the ankle strap of her sandals, that made her look taller, almost Kate’s five-six.

Their gazes touched. Tilly adjusted her towel, her collar gaping at the movement and exposing the slightest glimpse of porcelain skin below her collarbone. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

“Good morning.” Kate smiled. “You get up early.”

“I wasn’t sure what time you woke and I needed to shower and I didn’t want to upset your routine…”

Kate shook her head. “This is your home too. You’re not going to bother me.” She gestured to the steaming cup on the sink. “I made you coffee.”

“Oh,” Tilly said. “I’m sorry, I don’t drink coffee.”

She looked down at the cup. “More for me,” she joked. “I can make you tea instead?”

“No, no,” Tilly insisted. “I can do it.” She paused. “Do you shower?”

“Do I shower?” Kate grinned. “On the odd occasion, I suppose.” She took another sip. “When the mood strikes.”

Tilly rolled her eyes. “I meant in the morning. Do you shower in the morning?”