Emma pulls up a little denim dungaree and sleeveless shirt set. She flips over the Tesco price tag with the red reduced sticker on it and they both laugh. It’s good to see her lighten up. ‘At least Kiama has an outfit ready for when he joins the Village People,’ Emma says as she chucks it back in the bag. ‘I’m getting fed up of all this blue shit everyone’s bought. Look at it,’ she indicates over to a clothes horse covered in tiny blue vests. ‘I’ll never buy him anything blue.’

‘Glad I didn’t either,’ Yvonne says. ‘Except for the gift bag.’

‘Oh, sorry you brought something, didn’t you?’ Emma leans over and pulls out a stuffed giraffe.

‘Sorry, my mum did say you’re probably inundated with soft toys, but it’s a baby giraffe and I thought it was so cute.’

‘Thanks.’ Emma smiles and holds the toy to her face. ‘It is cute.’

The silence is heavy for a few moments and then Emma says, ‘The midwife told me that mixed-race babies have this spot at the top of their bums, a Mongolian blue spot it’s called.’

It is his baby then. Kiama is definitely Lewis’s child.

‘Don’t make that face,’ Emma says. ‘Look it up. I checked him, it’s true. He’s light now, but the colour will start at his fingertips and spread.’

The idea of Lewis spreading across the baby is unsettling. The bottle is almost drained and this time when she looks down at Kiama, into his large unusually coloured eyes, it’s obvious. Immediately she hands him back. ‘Here, let me go to the loo.’

The windowless bathroom smells of mould and white vinegar. It’s depressing. This whole flat is. She’s never been here before but there are some familiar things. The pound shop shampoo they both swear by, a bottle of Tommy Girl perfume and the Hard Rock Café beach towel Emma has had since uni. But there are also a few drab beige bras drying over the shower rail, far from the lacy stuff Emma used to indulge in, and then there’s the baby bath turned on its side in the main tub. How has so much changed so fast?

When Yvonne comes out, she puts the casserole dish in the freezer. ‘My mum made you a kidney bean casserole.’

‘She’s so amazing. Thank her for me.’

‘She says she’ll come and visit you one day. You know how much she loves a baby.’

‘I can’t believe your mum did this four times. It’s horrific. I already know I’m never having another one.’

‘Really? After how much you’ve complained over the years about being an only child. How have your parents been by the way?’