‘You can say whatever you like, Alice. Don’t ever apologise,’ she said, almost fiercely, because Jules could see it too. The delicate erosion of Alice over the last few years, the absence of Ted to support her. Jules realised she’d been watching her friend, in water up to her chin, drowning, not waving. The messages about her forgetting a school appointment, or another catty comment from a parent in the playground. All prefaced now, Jules realised, with a laughing or crying face emoji, to soften any irritation Jules might feel. And she had felt it on occasion; she’d wanted to be there in the water with Alice, managing the juggle of family life, the maelstrom of those busy days. That was why she didn’t know all the names of the mums at school, like Nina. She’d done what she could – like the ASD auction – but from a safe distance, paralysed on the shore.

‘The truth is,’ said Alice, ‘I feel like I’ve lost something. I’ve been cheated. Being a mother… it’s not… it isn’t…’

Rather than Nina looking awkward, as she was sometimes wont to do, her eyebrows moved together, like a bridge, perfectly symmetrical, her eyes full of understanding. Jules wore a similar look of compassion; of something clicking into place. It emboldened Alice to continue.

‘I know I’m so lucky to have them, all of them, but I feel like I’m letting each of them down in different ways. Charlotte’s a puzzle I keep trying to fix but I can’t… Phoebe and Wilf miss out because I’m so preoccupied with Charlotte and it’s frustrating – we’re all frustrated – because when I do get to spend time with the twins it’s so straightforward. And imagine having three like that! Three straightforward children. Yes, there’s scuffed knees and moaning about all the usual things, but it’s so easy. And there’s so much fun stuff we could do together. But nothing is easy, and everything is difficult and being a parent to an autistic child is much, much harder than I could ever have anticipated and I’m messing it up. I’m constantly messing it up.’ Tears rolled down her cheeks and on to the velvet top of the table. ‘I could’ve been a really good mum to a neurotypical child – or two or three of them.’ She sniffed. ‘Imagine the craft projects!’ she said, attempting a smile.

Jules leaned forward. ‘Well, maybe you could be a really fucking excellent one to an autistic kid,’ she said, squeezing Alice’s knee.

‘With two really excellent aunties,’ Nina added.

The women wrapped themselves around each other as Alice shuddered and rubbed under her eyes.

‘It’ll make them cooler people, you know,’ Nina said. ‘The twins. I know it’s tough for them, but they’re also learning. They love Charlotte, right? They’re going to be kind and compassionate.’ She smiled, then joked, ‘Once they’ve got all their angst out in therapy.’ And Alice laughed. ‘Oh Lordy,’ she said, head in her hands. ‘The therapy bills!’