‘You don’t have to take it.’

It’s a bit late, Isla thinks, brushing crumbs out from under her jeans. ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ she says.

The traffic going into Sydney, on the far side of the freeway, has ground to a halt. It stretches into the distance: trucks and convertibles, buses. The freeway heading west is clear, open road as far as they can see, straight and endless, featureless. Isla twists the radio dial on the dashboard but can’t find a signal.

‘It’s broken,’ Louisa says.

Isla sits back in her seat. She suspects her mother wants to make conversation. She needs a drink.

‘You know, I had a place at university,’ Louisa says. ‘I was going to study history, at Leeds. I’m not sure I ever told you that.’

‘No. I’m sure you didn’t.’

Across the freeway, from the midst of the congested traffic, a car sounds its horn, long and hard.

‘I was going to have a career.’ She laughs. ‘I wasn’t going to turn into my mother. Endlessly cleaning and cooking, looking after everyone else.’

Isla turns to Louisa, who is looking at the road ahead. A truck passes them in the outside lane and the car sways in the slipstream.

‘Dad must have been very persuasive,’ she says. ‘To change your mind, I mean.’

‘He was.’ Louisa fights a small smile. ‘He certainly was.’

‘And then he didn’t measure up.’

Her smile fades. ‘That’s one way to put it.’

‘No wonder you were—’ She daren’t say it in case her mum pulls over and leaves her at the side of the road.

‘Angry,’ Louisa says. She checks the wing mirror. ‘Miserable. Resentful.’

Isla looks at her hands. ‘I might have felt the same.’

‘That’s generous. Thank you.’ She lets another truck pass. ‘I’m sorry, Isla.’

‘It’s all right.’ She shuts her eyes so she won’t cry.

‘I don’t blame you for hating me. The things you saw.’

‘I don’t remember much.’

‘You were too young. You saw too much and you turned against me.’

Isla shakes her head. ‘Don’t.’ One day she will ask her mother about what she saw. She will wait until she’s ready, a day in the future when she is not so raw with it and her body does not scream for alcohol.

‘I wish I’d done it all differently,’ Louisa says. ‘I wish I’d protected you.’

The tears come then and Isla wipes them with her sleeve. ‘You should’ve gone to university.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘You’d have been a good student. I can see that. You’d have been happier.’

Louisa feels around in the side of the door for a pack of tissues and throws them to Isla. ‘I thought I’d be happy, running off to Australia with your dad. We were going to leave all the old ways behind in England. It felt adventurous, like anything was possible.’

Isla blows her nose. ‘How long did that last?’

‘I was pregnant with Scott when I realised my life was going to be shaped by my husband. His choices, his decisions. Anything was possible, but only for him.’