“It’s now or never,” says Sorrel. She is standing on the foot of Celeste’s bed, staring down at her, fully dressed and arms akimbo. “Either you tell her today or you forget about it. You can’t keep waiting for the perfect moment. Trust me, it’s never going to come.”

Celeste opens one eye. It’s still dark outside. “I know. I know,” she mumbles. “But it’s Saturday. I just want to stay in bed a little longer.” And promptly rolls over so that her face is in her pillow.

It was generally agreed that the Christmas concert was an unqualified success. The orchestra’s half of the programme and the individual performances of the second segment all came in for praise, but so, too, did the set design and presentation. Even Mrs Snowbird, the principal, a woman who doles out approval as if it’s a dwindling resource, said it met professional standards. Indeed, only one person who attended the concert failed to show any enthusiasm for the event, and that one person is Lilah Redwing. How could she be expected to enjoy an evening that brought her nothing but embarrassment and humiliation? That’s what she’d like to know. How? There she sat, surrounded by people she’s known most of her life – by friends, colleagues, and people to and for whom she has sold houses (some of them very important people) – while the father of her children swanned to the front of the auditorium with “that man”, flaunting their relationship in front of the entire town. She’s convinced that even people who had never known Tylor when he was a respected professional and family man, knew who he was. Who else could it be? After all she’s done for Celeste, this was the thanks she got. She’s grateful they don’t live under a fascist regime or Celeste would probably turn her into the secret police. And then, to add a whole lot of insult to a truckload of injury, and ignoring all of the distress and unhappiness she’d caused, Celeste abandoned Lilah and Astra to go off with her father and his whatever-you-want-to-call-him. To eat pizza! That’s what betraying her mother and sister is worth to her, two slices of pepperoni with extra cheese and a diet Coke.

Since that fateful night, the relationship between Celeste and her mother has made the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union look like a Utopian dream. There are no walls and no spies or double agents, no shoe banging or aerial reconnaissance, no stockpiling of nuclear weapons or unveiled threats, but there has been a certain amount of sabotage (on Lilah’s part) and a definite coolness and difficulty with negotiations. Celeste’s mother doesn’t yell and scream as Sorrel’s mother did, and she doesn’t go in for long sub-Arctic silences like Officer Gwinnet or (also like Officer Gwinnet) sudden outbursts of violence. Lilah Redwing is a tactician who would make Machiavelli proud. She acts as if nothing is wrong. She is sweet and pleasant, she smiles and smiles as if she is lit from within, she answers questions, she gives instructions, she asks Celeste about her day – but she does it all from very far away, as if she is no more than an image on a computer screen. The virtual mother; you can see her and hear her, but you can’t get close.

Which is why Celeste hasn’t managed to tell Lilah what she’s decided about college. Celeste has been waiting for a good time, but because Lilah is avoiding her while pretending not to, there hasn’t been even a not-so-bad time, let alone a good one. Lilah is always distracted. Always busy. Always in a hurry. Always on her way somewhere, or not yet returned.

“Don’t go back to sleep!” orders Sorrel. “Get up. You have to be waiting for her or she’ll be out of the house before you get your mouth open.”

Celeste groans, but rolls onto her back. “Maybe I should wait till tonight. You know, when she’s relaxed.”

“Maybe you should wait till you’re ninety and she’s dead,” says Sorrel.

Celeste sits alone in the kitchen for over an hour, silently rehearsing what she’s going to say. She appreciates all her mother’s done for her. She knows her mother only wants what’s best for her. The last thing Celeste wants is to hurt her mother or cause her any pain. And she has applied to all the colleges her mother suggested – the ones near home, the ones with sound teaching programmes – but she’s also applied to one college in the city. Her first choice; her only choice, really. The plan, made during the Christmas visit – suggested by Tylor before Celeste could bring it up, and seconded by Jake – is that she will live with them and try to get somewhere with her music while she studies, though not for a teaching degree. Maybe music history; something that actually interests her.

Celeste is on her tenth run-through of this speech when Lilah bustles in, her handbag and briefcase in one hand, her shoes in the other and her coat over her arm, muttering to herself about being late and so much to do and not enough hours in the day.

Celeste looks up with a smile. “Morning, Mom,” she says as Lilah bustles past her. “There’s coffee and toast. And I made you a lunch.”

“Thank you, darling.” Her mother doesn’t look at her, but drops her shoes on the floor, her bags on the table and her coat over the back of a chair, then goes over to the counter to pour herself a coffee.

“I could make you eggs, if you want,” says Celeste. If she were a servant she’d be bowing and scraping. “It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

“No time, darling.” Her mother sits down, taking her tablet from her handbag, and flips it open. “Busy day. Appointments until the afternoon.”

“When will you be home? You want me to fix supper?”

“Not for me, darling.” Lilah lifts her mug with one hand and swipes the screen with the other. “I have a date.”

“A date?” Celeste fails at not sounding surprised; Lilah hasn’t had a date since the Autumn. “You mean with a man?”

Her mother looks in her general direction. Slyly. “Well, it wouldn’t be with a woman, would it?”

“I didn’t mean… I only meant—”

“I won’t be back till late,” says Lilah, her eyes on the screen once more.

“Oh, right.” Celeste lifts her own mug, then puts it down again. “It was just that I thought maybe you’d have some time to talk. You know, you’re always so busy. And I have been trying—”

“Oh, I know you’re trying, Celeste,” Lilah says to her tablet, “but I don’t suppose you can help it.”

As if someone called her, Sorrel appears in the chair across from Celeste. “She’s pushing your buttons,” says Sorrel. “Don’t let her do that. Make her talk to you now.”

Celeste clears her throat. “Mom, I really need to talk to you. I know you’re still mad at me about the concert and everything—”

“I’m not mad, darling.” She shuts the Notepad and puts it back in her bag. “Why should I be mad? After all, no matter how badly he treated and hurt you, he is your father. There’s nothing that can change that.” More’s the pity. “I understand that.” She finishes her drink and gets to her feet. “And you are almost eighteen. You can make your own decisions. You don’t have to worry about my feelings or what I think.”

“And she doesn’t have to worry about yours. Only, like always, she’s not going to listen to your decisions.” Sorrel leans towards Celeste. “Don’t let her get away.”

“Mom.” Celeste stands up, too. “Just ten minutes. I really—”

“Not now.” Lilah puts on her coat. “I absolutely have to go. My life is important, too, you know. Not everything’s about you.” She picks up her briefcase and handbag. “You have a nice day.”

Celeste stands there, watching her mother walk out of the room, without once having looked at Celeste.

“Maybe it’s a good thing I got hit by that stupid car.” Sorrel is speaking very loudly. “Because if you can’t even tell your mother you want to live with your dad and go to college somewhere she doesn’t approve of how on earth would you ever have told her about us?”

“I would have.” Celeste is whispering. “I would have.”

“No you wouldn’t. And you’re never going to make anything of your music, either. You’re going to go to college forty miles away and come home every weekend and become a teacher and marry some guy your mother thinks is a good provider and have two kids whose lives you can make as miserable as yours – and a whole lot of regrets.”

Her mother’s car is just clearing the garage when Celeste comes tearing out of the house, yelling at her to stop. Surprised, Lilah does stop.

Sorrel stands on the porch. Looking pleased.