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“And you’ll learn, just like everyone else does. You’ll be a brilliant mum, Jules. You’re kind, you’re smart, you’ll do alright.”
She smiled weakly at her sister. “Thanks.”
Amelia shrugged. “It’s just the truth.” She hesitated a second. “Listen, we can try again, if you want? I can call that detective bloke and get him on this and see if he can dig up anything else.”
Jules stared down at Amelia’s hand on her leg, then she shook her head. “No.”
“No? You sure?”
“A hundred percent.” Jules looked up now. “I need to let go of all this stuff. It’s all bullshit. You’re right. Mum was never good at much other than persuading people to feel things, and I don’t want that anymore.”
“What about being a mum yourself?” asked Amelia.
“Well, I know what not to do, don’t I?” Jules said. “As long as I don’t walk out halfway through, I’m already a step ahead.” She looked at Am’s familiar, sharp face and couldn’t believe she’d ever thought she needed more in the way of family. “And I had better than a mum, didn’t I?”
“Did you?” Amelia asked, looking amused.
“I had you.”
For a long time they sat on a cold bench on a small street in the middle of the big city and held each other. Right up until Am’s phone buzzed and she moved to pick it up.
“Bugger. That’s Cass. We’re running late.”
Jules laughed. “Best go then,” she said, thinking that there was no one she wanted to see right now more than Billie.
She took one last look at the house where at some point a woman who had given birth to her and yet remained a stranger had lived. Then she turned her back and walked away, taking Amelia’s hand.
???
Billie saw Jim push a bundle of five pound notes into his trouser pocket with a shifty look. She stopped on her way down the stairs to the foyer of the concert hall. “Where did you get that then?” she asked suspiciously.
Jim grinned. “Well, I read that that old Tchaikovsky concerto takes on average thirty nine minutes,” he said. “And then I read that your boy in there is a fast one. So I took a few bets and—”
“You bet on the length of the concert?” Billie said, shaking her head.
He grinned again. “Made a fair amount too. Which reminds me, you still playing that Vivaldi in the village hall with your band on Saturday?”
“It’s a string quartet, not a band,” Billie said.
“Right, right,” said Jim. “Only, if you could get it in in under twenty one minutes, I’d give you ten percent off the top of any winnings.”
Billie opened her mouth to answer when a figure in black appeared in front of her.
Jim looked from one woman to the other, then muttered something about seeing a man about a dog and rushed off down the rest of the stairs to where half the village was chattering in the foyer.
“Hello.”
Billie’s stomach cramped. This wasn’t what she’d planned, not at all.
Cora smiled a little. “You booked the tickets under your own name,” she said softly. “That many tickets, I was bound to notice. And you don’t forget a name like Billie Brooke.”
“I didn’t know you were conducting until too late,” Billie said hurriedly. She was watching Cora, studying her, trying to see what feelings she could provoke and finding herself satisfyingly calm. Emotionless even.
“Ouch. Not a compliment that, I’m guessing,” said Cora.
Billie sighed. She didn’t have time for this. Below, she could see Lilian feeding Agatha gummy bears until the rest of the kids in the party were clamoring for some. Great, sugar high kids on a bus. “What do you want, Cora?” she snapped.
“To apologize.”
