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I tune out their mutual fussing, which, in the week since Mum has been here, has turned into a passive-aggressive battle of wills I definitely don’t need to add to.

Darya, curled in a chair in the corner, winks slyly at me as she sips a glass of champagne.

“You need to pour me another one of those,” I say, eyeing the bottle longingly.

“Not a chance I’m sharing.” She pokes her tongue out at me. “Rosa is babysitting, and I’m no longer breastfeeding. I plan to enjoy every last drop while you watch.”

I shake my head. “You’ve developed a mean streak in my absence, Darya Borovsky.”

“Just wait until you move in next door.” She gives me a particularly evil smile. “Once you’re available to babysit twenty-four seven, you’ll learnexactlyhow mean I can be.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see your new house, Abby!” Mum takes her attention away from the dress for a minute, no doubt to Madeleine’s passionate relief.

Darya, catching the dressmaker’s eye, hurriedly pours a second glass. “Why don’t you sit here beside me, Susan,” she says, patting the chair next to her, “and I can show you some pictures?”

“Ooh.” Mum’s face lights up, and she takes the champagne glass, despite the fact that it’s barely after midday.

Wonders will never cease.

Mum in Europe, it seems, is much different to Mum in Leetham, Australia.

“Abby tells me it’s an old farmhouse?” She leans in to look at the photo on Darya’s phone.

“Just like ours.” Darya nods. “It came onto the market a few months ago, and Roman called Dimitry right away.”

“We bought it the same day,” I say, smiling at Mum. “Although it’s going to take ages to get it how we want it. But it’s perfect—only forty minutes from Dimitry’s gallery in Malaga, and close enough for me to walk to Darya’s anytime I want to.”

“And you’ll have an art studio, Dimitry told me.” Mum beams. “So you can paint as much as you want.”

I nod, swallowing on an odd surge of emotion. It still amazes me that Mum is so unconditionally happy about this part.

“Not just paint, either.” Darya smiles at my mother. “Dimitry’s gallery has an exhibition area out back, so we’re going to make her show her work, as well.”

“Amazing.” Mum sits back in her chair, a beatific look on her face. “I cannotwaitto see Spain.”

I widen my eyes at Darya behind her back. I have a funny feeling my mother is planning to spend alotof time in our new home. I’d be lying if I said I’m not happy about that, but her unequivocal support of my new life is something that’s still taking some getting used to.

Darya stifles a very unladylike giggle in her champagne glass. “Tell me about your son, Susan,” she says hastily, seeing my mother start eyeing the dress again. “Does he mind looking after the farm while you’re away?”

“Oh, not at all.” Mum waves her hand airily. “I think he’s happy to have Pete out of the way, if I’m honest.” A faintly wistful look crosses her face. “And it’s time we took a step back,” she says quietly. “Farmers like us are only ever caretakers of the land. All we ever hope to do is leave it slightly better off for the next generation. I’d like to think we’ve done our job. Now it’s Jamie and Belinda’s turn.” She smiles at Darya. “You’ll meet them when you fly over for the wedding.”

“And are they planning to come over to visit Abby in Spain?” Darya asks, pouring more into Mum’s glass when she isn’t looking and shooting me another wink.

“No.” There’s a rather abrupt finality to Mum’s voice that arouses my curiosity. “Belinda isn’t really one for travel.” My curiosity must be apparent, because she reddens slightly, then gives me a defiant look.

“Between you and me,” she says, in the kind of hushed tone that implies she’s about to tell a state secret, “I find Belinda just a bit...boring.”

Darya’s face is buried in her glass, red with the effort not to laugh.

Unfortunately, I have far less control, and no prop to help, so I explode in a very undignified snort.

Mum looks between us. For a moment I think she’ll resort to icy dignity, but then she relaxes and starts laughing herself. “Don’t get me wrong,” she says finally. “I like her, of course, and she’s a wonderful mother. But she’s never left Leetham for longer than a shopping trip in the city. Not likeus,” she says, with a self-satisfied smile that touches me somewhere deep inside.

Mum has embraced travel in a way that my father no doubt finds terrifying, but which she richly deserves, after years of putting everything ahead of herself. They’ve spent the past three months on an extended tour of Europe, and as far as I can tell, my mother is just getting started.

“There.” Madeleine steps back, eyeing the dress in satisfaction. “What do you think, Mrs. Chalmers?”

My mother waves her hand, beaming. “Oh, call me Suze, darling. Everyone else does. And I think it looks wonderful.”