Cate searches Hannah’s face for signs of stress, but can see none, instead finds that her gaze falls off it, as though Hannah is coated in something smooth and impenetrable, a rock face with no hand- or footholds, while she feels porous. More than that. It is as though there are great gaping holes in her that anyone might be able to see into, poke around in, and pass judgment upon the mess within. She is sweating, and Tom, when she lifts him out, is sweating too.

“Oh,” says Hannah, staring at Tom. “He’s wet.”

“It’s just sweat.”

Hannah nods. “But his chest, it’s soaked. It’s really chilly, isn’t it?”

Hannah is right. He has drooled all over himself. He is teething, and she should have brought a bib. Why didn’t she bring a bib? His chest is covered with sweat and drool and he is tiny and he is teething and Hannah is right, it is not warm—the season has changed while she was hiding inside the house. “Here, just a sec.” She thrusts him at Hannah, who takes him and puts him on her knee.

“Hey, Mister.” Tom twists round and stares at Hannah doubtfully, and Cate can see the momentary flash of panic on Hannah’s face.

“He’s fine. He’s just woken—”

“Don’t worry.” Hannah lifts her hand. “We’re cool.”

Cate bends to the stroller, rummages for a change of clothes. The bag again. The fucking bag is terrorizing her. “Here!” She has a clean sweater in her hands. She holds it up to Hannah, who nods and smiles. It is impossible to convey the sense of achievement inherent in this find, so Cate says nothing. Instead she begins to wrest the sweater over Tom’s head, then gives him a rice cake, which he takes happily as she shoves a hat on his head.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

“You OK? Can I get you anything?” Hannah’s thin fingers are laced around a cup of something herbal.

“Will you be OK with him if I go and get a coffee?”

“Sure. We’ll be great, won’t we, Tom?”

Tom kicks his feet and grins.

“You want anything?”

“No. Really, I’m fine.”

Cate stands, makes her way into the café and joins the queue at the counter, casting frequent looks back towards where Hannah and Tom sit, Hannah with her hand raised, pointing to something just out of sight. She scans the herbal teas, decides against them, orders a cappuccino and a pastry, dumps two sugars into the coffee, and carries them back out into the morning.

Breathe.

“Tell me what’s happening then.”

“There’s really nothing much to tell. I’m having a menopause right now. I’m sweating. I’m irritable. It’s pretty horrible, but it won’t last long.”