Lauren nodded, sighed, and glanced at Cindy who pretended not to see the meaning in it. The other two had obviously been talking about her, but she didn’t mind. It only meant they cared. She looked back at Rosa. “How was your birth, in the end?”

“Oh,” said Rosa, throwing up her hands, “it was amazing. I feel for you ladies, I really do. The stories I’ve heard. I would totally recommend a C-section.”

“What about the recovery, though?” said Cindy. “Is it all healing up OK?”

Rosa grimaced, placed a hand tentatively on her belly. “It’s not too bad. I’ll get there.”

“My birth was bloody awful,” said Cindy. “What was all that bollocks they told us about at antenatal? Breathe the baby out? Try to avoid drugs?”

“I know,” said Lauren, beginning to enjoy herself.

“Breathe it out, for fuck’s sake,” said Cindy, “as if it’s a little cloud of oxygen, or something. Well, might work for some people but not me, I had to push it out and it was bloody painful.”

“Oh, so no interventions, or anything?” said Lauren.

“No. They were going to transfer me to the hospital but at the last minute she decided to make an appearance. Didn’t you?” Cindy reached into the sling on her front and squeezed her baby’s chubby cheek between thumb and forefinger. The baby stayed asleep. Must be used to the cheek-pinching by now.

“You were lucky,” said Lauren, “forceps are not much fun, I’m afraid.”

Rosa sucked air through her teeth.

“You know what, though?” said Cindy, “We’re all OK, aren’t we? We should be grateful. There are no bad births, when the result is a healthy mum and baby.”

There was a moment, then, as Lauren thought about the endless alternative lives they could be living, having been through this, had the outcome been different. Rosa’s baby sighed in her sleep.

“She’s so beautiful,” said Lauren. “It’s Stevie, isn’t it? Like the singer.”

“Yes. She’s Stevie Matilda.”

“Brilliant. Such a cool name. She looks like a bonny one—what was her birth weight?” The baby had three chins, and rippling rolls of fat on her arms. Fattest baby ever—one of those people who needed a crane to winch them to hospital for a gastric bypass, but in miniature. And cute.

“Ten pounds two.”

Lauren was impressed. “That’s a big baby. Mine were five-seven and five-nine.”

“That’s good, for twins, right?” said Cindy.