‘I c-cannot t-tell you anything about the S-Spider Queen.’

‘Why in the world not?’

‘We are t-to b-be c-c-competitors.’

Beatrice told her about the invitation she had received herself and the plans that were already under way to open a garden of her own.

‘Oh.’ Rosa looked suddenly stiff and brittle, like one of the sugar figurines Beatrice had received at Christmas – a sparkling shepherdess who might snap in half, if not handled carefully. ‘And I cannot persuade you to withdraw?’

Beatrice couldn’t believe she’d heard correctly at first. ‘W-Withdraw?’ she repeated, feeling suddenly slow and stupid.

‘From the competition.’

‘But … the p-prize is a w-wish. It is t-too m-much to ask anyone t-to g-g-give that up.’

‘And yet, here I am asking you anyway,’ Rosa said. ‘Beatrice, please. I’ve explained how important it is. You know how much it means to me.’

Beatrice thought of her mother’s haunted eyes, the misery and loneliness of her death. She couldn’t give up the chance of making things right, she just couldn’t.

‘I am s-sorry,’ she said. ‘But I c-cannot withdraw. I h-have my own r-reasons for wanting that w-wish.’

‘But this isn’t fair!’ Rosa cried, her voice suddenly breaking. ‘You have the advantage. You’ve been to the Winter Garden before. You know the Spider Queen. You’ve already experienced the magic of the place. Why not let someone else have a chance?’

Beatrice looked at her sadly. Just a few minutes ago she had basked in the warmth of the regard Rosa felt for her but, beneath that, she’d felt something else too – something altogether less pleasing. She realised that Rosa felt she had had a safe, sheltered, pampered sort of life, one that did not involve any serious suffering or sorrow to speak of at all.

And Beatrice knew that was true, up to a point, but she also knew that she’d felt about as lonely, and misunderstood, and isolated as it was possible for any one person to feel. She did not have things as easy as Rosa believed, not by a long way.

‘There are th-things you d-don’t know,’ she said. ‘About m-me. H-hardships I have f-faced and—’

‘Oh, Beatrice, please!’ Rosa suddenly looked disgusted. ‘Are you really going to sit there and say such things to me now? When I’m in mourning for my child? To say nothing of—’ She broke off abruptly, as if she’d been about to say too much. ‘Well, never mind all that. Look, I’m not trying to say you haven’t suffered. Only that there are different types of suffering. Mine exceeds yours, that’s all, and it would be selfish of you to enter the competition under these circumstances, especially with all the advantages you hold.’