‘So why did you invite them?’ she laughs.

‘Cause they’re the ones who planned it. As if I have time for this.’

That explains it, the drinks and food, the plastic flutes and organisation. It was all someone else’s work.

Even up to a year ago something like this would have fallen to Yvonne to organise, not some random new friends. Emma loved parties but was terrible at organising them, prone to under buying food, forgetting to invite essential people and even once, for Kiama’s fifth birthday, turning up with him two hours late. Yvonne smiles when she thinks about it now, because these are the stories they laugh about with each other.

‘You’re my only non-mum friend who showed up by the way.’

It had taken almost two hours to get here, swapping trains three times and then getting on a rail replacement bus which toured the dreggiest parts of East London. But Yvonne would do this every day for Emma, even if it was only to sit in a cold park with her.

Emma’s legs look blotchy from the cold and Yvonne tucks the blanket around them more.

‘This is so the wrong temperature for this shit,’ Emma says.

The mums laugh wildly at something and attempt to ‘clink’ their plastic champagne flutes together. Yvonne wishes none of them were here, that she and Emma could hang out alone together one last time. She looks at her friend and wonders if either of them are doing the right thing.

Emma catches her staring but says nothing, just smiles and wiggles her eyebrows until Yvonne laughs.

‘Babe,’ she says, ‘you look how I feel. Stressed.’ She puts her head on Yvonne’s shoulder, ‘I should have spent longer thinking about this.’

Yvonne bites her lip and shakes her shoulder gently till Emma puts her head up. ‘You were always going to do this.’

Emma nods, ‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Kiama’s going to love it there. All that outdoor space,’ she says convincing herself. ‘The school has loads of clubs as well, he can finally get into sports properly.’

‘Exactly. He’ll love it.’ There’s an image of Kiama Yvonne has been building ever since the Kenya move was first mentioned. In it, he’s older, happier, more confident. No longer this overly emotional little boy being ping-ponged between parents. It makes her feel good but also there’s a kind of sadness that comes with the realisation she won’t see him grow up. ‘Where is Kiama anyway?’

Emma checks the time. ‘Good point. Nana took the kids to the adventure playground ages ago. She could have had a heart attack in a basket swing for all I know.’

‘Julie’s here?’

‘Yeah. She’s trying to spend every last minute with him, she’s been round my flat four times already this week. Plus Dickhead is coming later to pick them both up,’ Emma rolls her eyes.