We all laugh and I enjoy the sensation. I’ve been working on finding more joy. It’s the topic of a book I’ve been reading called Find Your Bliss. I hate the title, but the author makes some interesting suggestions. Every night before I go to sleep, I write down three things during that day I was grateful for. It’s supposed to make me focus on the wonderful gifts already present in my life and shift my thoughts away from the negative. It can be the smallest of things: the way light filters through the trees, the earthy smell after rain, a smile from a stranger. Mentally, I’ve added this moment to my list.

“How about you, Trish? Seen pie-boy lately?” Mags asks. “Or Pete,” she adds warily.

I exhale and feel the fleeting moment of happiness disappear with my breath. The mere mention of Pete has me gulping for air.

“I’ve been avoiding both of them as much as possible,” I say. “Elliot phoned me on Wednesday night and asked if he could come over.”

“And did he?” says Lily.

“No way. That’s done and dusted. Even if I did want him to come round, nothing would have happened. My boobs are way too sensitive. Even in the shower, I can’t face the nozzle. If the water hits them full on, it’s like a thousand tiny needles poking me. Just the thought of someone trying to touch these guys makes me shudder.”

I glance down at my large breasts. Boulders more like. The girls have all said to me at various times over the years how they wish they had big boobs like me. They have no idea. If there was one part of my body I could change – and believe me, there are a number of less-than-ideal areas to choose from – I’d shrink these two giant lugs to a quarter their size. Especially now. I remember Emma boasting about her bigger breasts when she was pregnant with Freddie, but I thought it wouldn’t happen to me, for some reason. I mean, she had room to grow. I was already at maximum capacity.

“Probably for the best, Trish.” Mags gives my hand a sympathetic squeeze. “At least until you find out who the father is.”

And there it is.

Sensible, ambitious Trish is not only pregnant, but she also has no idea who the bloody dad is. Well, she can narrow it down to two and she oscillates daily on who she’d prefer the father to be, but this wasn’t part of her plan. Wasn’t even on the radar.

If Pete hadn’t turned up again after two long years to try to break my heart all over again, and if I hadn’t had a moment of stupid weakness and fallen into the eager arms of pie-guy, I wouldn’t be stuck in this hellish situation to begin with.