Jessica opens her crate. ‘I’ve brought wellies,’ she says. ‘And waterproofs for everyone. What’s Katie’s size?’

‘A five or six should do it.’

She hands me the wellies and a red all-in-one hooded waterproof, ‘18-24’ emblazoned on the front in marker pen, with the Centre’s initials.

I nod at Mirosława’s box.

‘Cakes,’ she says with a quiet lift of her eyebrows. ‘It’s Ayo’s birthday.’

‘O-o-ohh.’ I raise my head in greeting to Ayo’s parents, both of them here today, standing slightly apart, smart in belted jeans and ironed shirts. They smile. His mum’s got an oxygen canister on her back, attached by a long plastic tube to Ayo’s nose, and his father pushes a holiday-sized suitcase. I smile at them and keep smiling as I let my gaze fall away.

‘His first trip to the sea,’ murmurs Mirosława.

‘Here are your train tickets,’ says Jessica. ‘And this is just a little activity pack.’

The Ziploc bag contains a small satsuma, three cheap crayons, a sheet of paper and a green sand mould in the shape of a starfish. She’ll like that.

Nancy, my Chinese friend, arrives, bumping her buggy up the stairs. She’s not normally late.

I go to help her. ‘You thought it would be cancelled?’

She laughs. ‘I waited for a text. It’s gonna piss with rain.’

‘Never mind, I’ve got Factor 50 sunscreen in my bag. They can share it.’

Nancy signs the clipboard, pays the balance, and gets waterproofs, wellies and a blue seahorse for Ava.

She shows it to me. ‘It’s nice of them, right? They don’t have to do this.’

‘Yeah. It is.’

Mirosława comes over to us. ‘We’re still waiting for six families. But we don’t want to miss the best of the day…’

Nancy catches my eye.

‘… So we’ll get on the train in one group now, and Jessica will wait for the others.’

‘Righty-o.’ I adjust my sling and heave my bag onto my shoulder.

‘Can I carry something?’ says Mirosława. It’s the guilt.

‘I’m alright,’ I say. ‘You look after those cakes.’

‘Cakes?’ says Nancy.

‘It’s little Ayo’s birthday. The twenty-four-weeker.’

‘O-o-ohh.’ She turns to stare at them. ‘Is that oxygen?’

‘Must be.’ I don’t look round, and try to push ahead a bit so they don’t hear us. But when we’re all on the platform I stroll over and crouch down by the buggy to say happy birthday. I don’t take his hand because I don’t know where he is with infection control, although I presume he’s alright if he’s allowed on an outing.

As the train approaches, Mirosława shouts out that we’ll all get in the last carriage. It’s almost empty anyway. No one with any sense is going to the seaside, not today.