“Yes,” said Lauren. “Kind of lonely. Even though you’re not technically alone.”

Cindy said, “I don’t know if it’s the same for you, but it’s as if he’s left me with this little person who I don’t really know very well, that I have complete responsibility for. He says he’ll ring me every lunchtime, but still. If I feel like this after one day, with just one baby, you must be tonnes worse than me. I was OK yesterday, because I went out to meet Rosa. I thought—I hoped—you’d be there too.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Is it something we’ve said or done?” said Cindy.

“No, it’s not you. The truth is, I haven’t been out yet.”

“At all?”

“No.”

“Not even to the registry office?”

Patrick had started bringing this up, too. They had six weeks, didn’t they, to register the birth? There was no hurry. He’d said, I just want them to be legal. At the moment, they don’t exist properly in the eyes of the law. They’re in limbo. Lauren had said nothing, thinking, that is such bullshit. They’re more real than you are.

“No,” said Lauren, attempting breezy, “not yet. We’ve time. I’m not quite ready to face the world, I suppose.” She indicated her stained joggers, fiddled with a strand of her drooping hair.

“Babe,” said Cindy, “that’s nothing a nice bath wouldn’t fix.” She looked at Lauren from under her mascaraed lashes.

“I don’t know how you do it, how you look so great after only two weeks.”

“The make-up doesn’t take long. You should see me without it, it’s a horror show.”

In the car seat, Lucy woke up with a small cry. Cindy rummaged in her bag, pulled out a bottle and a milk dispenser. “Can I use your kettle?”

“I’ll do it,” said Lauren, jumping up. Lucy’s cries were getting louder, and Cindy bent to pick her up. It took a few minutes for the bottle, once made, to cool enough to give it but once it had, the room exhaled in calm as the hungry baby fed. Both the women smiled down at Lucy, dressed in a pink baby vest and matching socks.

“How are the nights?” said Cindy. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

Lauren realised after a few seconds that she hadn’t responded, that she’d been thinking about sleep, how she craved it. How much was enough sleep? Occasionally she totted it up and all the little bits made up five, sometimes six hours. That was enough, wasn’t it? She shook her head, forced a laugh. To keep from crying. “Well, I do all right, I think. Does anyone get to sleep with newborn babies? How about you? Please don’t tell me she’s sleeping through the night already.”