‘I’m so sorry, Mila. Lin sometimes gets over-excited about the wonders of the human body and all the different options available to us,’ she said, on behalf of her partner.

‘So this is when I tackle her to the ground, is it Susie?’ I added, making everyone – including Mila – chuckle. It was swiftly becoming apparent that Lin was the non-conformist amongst us.

Later on, Mila enlightened us that the ‘foghorn’ was actually a breast pump contraption and we should all get one. Thankfully no displays of actual nudity were necessary during the class, which did something to ease my anxiety. That was what the fairly ancient-looking knitted boob was for. I couldn’t help but notice the crocheted nipple was particularly well-crafted. I pondered for a moment, about whether there was a circle of grannies, perhaps living in a nursing home in a remote Scottish village, who spent their days knitting boobs for breastfeeding classes like ours. Someone had obviously lovingly made this one. The thought tickled me, and I noticed that I was smiling. The class had lifted my spirits after the argument with Jason, and despite the disastrous start to the evening with bruschetta-gate, I now wasn’t in any hurry for it to end. I was really enjoying myself. Hosting wasn’t as bad as I first thought and they were certainly an entertaining and supportive group of people.

When she had brought the class to a close, with a sage reminder to stock up on savoy cabbage, Mila hurriedly packed up her bits. ‘Got to get back for my sitter,’ she announced, clapping the lever-arch file shut and shoving in a few rogue bits of paper. ‘Well done all of you. Feel free to email me at any time, should you have any questions.’ She dropped a small pile of business cards onto the coffee table, before leaning towards me a fraction. ‘And special thanks to our hostess, you did great this evening.’

Lin put her hands together and led everyone into a small applause. ‘To boobs and milk production!’ she said, cherishing the role of class joker.

Mila picked up her empty mug from the coffee table and glanced in my direction. ‘I’ll leave this in the kitchen, shall I?’

‘You just head off,’ I told her, ‘there’s hardly anything to put away.’

Soon after her, Lin and Susie left too, then Helen. When it was just Lucy and me left in the flat, she offered to stay and help me clear up. We gathered up the Pringle crumbs and left-over chocolate fingers in silence for a few moments, until something seemed to catch her attention on one of our book shelves.

She was staring fixedly at a photograph – a framed one of Jason posing with the Bristol University football team. I hadn’t looked at it in any great detail for some time myself, and now I realized its silver frame looked in dire need of a polish, almost turning black at the corners. I felt embarrassed about that.