‘We’ve all thought it, I bet,’ Em said, reaching out and putting a hand on Olivia’s. ‘I know I’ve had those moments where I haven’t been able to manage. Plenty of them. It’s hard – and I didn’t even have twins.’

Maggie felt sorry for Olivia too. There was something so young-seeming about her, so vulnerable. ‘Do you have much help at home?’ she asked. ‘Family nearby or friends you can lean on?’

‘Not really,’ Olivia replied. ‘My mum walked out when I was young – she’s dead now – and my husband works stupidly long hours. My dad and brother are great, but they both live miles away, I hardly ever see them. As for my in-laws . . . they think my place is in the home with the boys, and that childcare for under-fives means you’re a bad mother.’

‘Harsh,’ said Em indignantly.

‘What century are they living in?’ cried Maggie.

Olivia blew her nose. ‘I really wanted to be good at it, you know? Because of . . .’ She broke off, looking agonized. ‘I really wanted to be this great mum. I tried so hard to do it all myself. But I just can’t.’

Em got off her chair to put her arm around Olivia, and Maggie felt a pang for her too. ‘Sorry to hear about your mum,’ she said, remembering how much she’d always leaned on her own parents, especially in the early years. ‘That must have been so hard.’

‘I’ve always felt a bit . . . inadequate, with her leaving like that, out of the blue,’ Olivia gulped. ‘As if it was my fault, as if I somehow wasn’t enough for her to stay.’

‘Oh, love,’ Em said. ‘On a rational level, you must know yourself that isn’t true, but . . .’

‘It’s always been like a hole in me. A hole I tried to fill up with boyfriends and work and friends.’ Olivia wiped her eyes. ‘And then I hoped my own children would stop up the gap. That I could somehow prove something by being this great mother myself. Except I’ve failed at that, too. I’ve failed at all of it.’

‘It does get easier,’ Em said. ‘Those early years are gruelling, but I promise it gets easier. They sleep, for one thing. And dress themselves. And go to school for long periods of time . . .’

‘Lack of sleep is the worst,’ Maggie added with feeling. ‘It’s a form of torture. But you have to keep reminding yourself that it won’t be like that forever – it’s not a life sentence. None of it is.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Now it’s an effort to drag Amelia out of bed before midday at weekends and holidays. It’s all just a phase.’