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On the final evening of the conference, Clara leaned against the railing of her fifth floor balcony and watched mist gather over the slow, brown river A dirty sunset tinted scattered clouds and backlit the bare trees on the promenade In the grounds of the hotel, a white plastic marquee had been erected and the first guests were making their way along lamp-lit paths for the conference’s closing party   Within the sliding doors, her phone shuddered on a squat glass table Tilly’s smile glowed on the screen, the only light in the dim room – Tom calling to see how her paper had gone and so she could kiss Tilly goodnight before heading down to the party She flicked on the bedside lamp, slipped in her earbuds Tilly was on Tom’s lap, facing the camera In her hair, she wore a little mauve ribbon that he must have tied especially for the call Look, Tilly, here’s mummy, he chirped, flapping a hand at the laptop camera, encouraging her to do the same Tilly wasn’t waving though She stared from the phone as if she had no idea who the strange woman smiling at her from the strange room was Look, it’s mummy, here she is, say hi mummy, Tom urged, and winked his hand She’s just tired, he said, she’s been constantly asking where’s mama But by now, Tilly was completely absorbed with her own image in the upper corner of the screen, pulling faces, chatting away in a private language of saliva and surprise    Even though it was only three nights, Clara had dreaded the idea of being apart from Tilly for the first time She’d been set on declining the invitation, but Tom assured her it was a perfect opportunity for her to ease back into work He’d be fine, as long as she left them enough tittie juice She hated when he called it that, but laughed obligingly and expressed milk into a dozen labelled and dated plastic bags Despite their efforts to wean her, Tilly was still breastfeeding at 15 months and Clara fretted over how