‘You’re basically paying for new mates,’ Oscar had joked when I first told him about joining the group.

‘No, I’m learning how to have a baby!’ I had protested.

Despite owning a sizeable number of pregnancy and childbirth books, most of them had remained unopened. And I had joined the group to grow a network here on my doorstep. I hadn’t found it particularly easy to build strong connections with the women at work and many of my old friends, including Katie, had moved out of London in recent years. I was still making up my mind about some of the others in the group, but Aisha had surprised me and was so far the lead contender for a new buddy.

It was a beautiful evening that felt properly warm, and as I strolled to her house in my flats and a long, clingy black dress – the only dress that still fitted me – I marvelled at how pretty this part of South London was. Most of the homes on the streets around here were well looked after, with pruned roses and the odd palm tree in the front gardens, white slatted blinds at windows and shiny gloss finishes and brass trimmings on front doors. You had to earn a substantial amount to afford one of them.

Oscar and I had only moved to the area two months ago. But our fling had begun two years ago. At first it had been exhilarating. I had never quite been sure if there were other women too and, initially, I hadn’t cared. It had all been part of the fun – stolen evenings in hotels during ‘business trips’ or booty calls after nights out. The sex had been intoxicating. But as time had gone on, my heart had started to yearn for his full attention, just as much as my body longed for his touch. I was falling in love with Oscar. He crept into my thoughts more often, although I questioned whether he was as into me as I was into him.

Then, one evening in January last year, Oscar had called to ask if he could come and stay with me that night. When he came over, there had been something different in his voice. He’d seemed willing to discuss the ‘us’ that had so far been off limits. ‘I’m ready to focus on the future now,’ he had said, before kissing me passionately all the way to the bedroom. The thought that he might want to be with me officially had been electrifying.

We had decided he would still live half the week in his Marylebone bolt hole, and the rest of the week he would spend at my Brixton flat. But my dreams of him and I going the distance, which, in my mind, involved having a family together, had soon become unfounded when he continued to make it crystal clear that he had already done the marriage and babies thing, and he didn’t want to do it again. Not getting married I could live with, but I had been devastated he didn’t want children with me.