I sit on a garden bench in the damp night, staring up at the stars. Lachie is snoring lightly by the time I return half an hour later. At some point during the night, he tries to spoon me, but the distance between us is real, and not just because we’re in separate sleeping bags.

The next day, five children pile into our makeshift bedroom at seven in the morning and we manage to feign excitement as we vow to come straight in and open, or, rather, dish out our presents.

Once they’ve left us to get dressed, Lachie meets my eyes directly. ‘I don’t fancy Fliss,’ he states adamantly. ‘I fancy you. Only you. Just… chill out, okay?’

I try to, but the tension between us doesn’t dissipate.

A merry, merry Christmas that year it ain’t.

‘Say hello to Bronte!’

‘Hello, Bonty,’ a sweet little voice comes in reply before Bridget’s face is obscured by a small, chubby hand.

It’s a Saturday evening in late March and Bridget and I are FaceTiming.

‘Give that to me, you cheeky monkey,’ Bridget chides, wrestling her phone back. ‘I’ll get you one of these when you’re twelve and not a year younger.’

I smile at my friend’s face, lit up with love as she grins down at her daughter. It still feels surreal, but Bridget is, without a shadow of a doubt, this tiny person’s mummy, now. They haven’t quite completed the adoption process, but April has been using the moniker for months.

‘How are you?’ Bridget asks once April has run off to amuse herself with some toy or other.

‘I’m okay.’ I nod.

There’s sadness in her eyes, which I know mirrors mine.

Things haven’t been right between Lachie and me, not since Christmas, and, if I’m being honest, not for some time before that. Bridget is as clueless as I am about a solution.

‘So he definitely can’t make the wedding?’

I shake my head. ‘Aside from the fact that he refuses to let people down, we can’t afford to both fly over at the moment.’

‘Is today’s wedding with Fliss?’ she checks.

‘Yep. And the two in July when I’m over with you. She sees more of him than I do.’ I miserably put my feet up on the coffee table. ‘He reckons we should be thankful to her for getting him so much work.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure her heart is in the right place.’

I love it when Bridget is sarcastic.

I grin at her. ‘Miss you,’ I say.

‘I miss you, too,’ she replies seriously. Her expression suddenly becomes anxious. ‘Am I making a shitty mistake asking you to do the pics?’

Now I’m worried. I haven’t managed to line up any other weddings since she asked me to do hers. Lachie said Fliss could ask around – she is very well connected, apparently – but I decided to cut off my nose to spite my face, where that one was concerned.