It is quite unnerving, this feeling when I am in the company of two – or more – women who are mothers. They have this unifying, unbreakable bond that I can’t compete with. It’s as if they have an invisible thread that ties them so closely together. A thing, a secret code, that they know about, and I don’t. Bea has only known this woman for a few months, I have known Bea since we were five, but it’s not a simple comparison or equation any more. In some ways, Belle and Bea clearly have a deep-rooted connection; they inhabit a different territory that I wouldn’t be able to elbow my way into even if I tried. Literally the closest thing I can compare to being a mother is cat-sitting for Cecily and having to put some food out on a tray a few times a day. I don’t even look after plants. I only have cacti and aloe vera, because you can ignore them and they don’t die.

‘Your names sound quite similar,’ I say awkwardly by the sink, struggling with what to say.

‘Ha, yes! “Bea & Belle” sounds like some cool restaurant, doesn’t it! One day eh? When we grow older and run away to Malibu?’ Belle jokes, taking a seat at the wooden dining table and de-robing her scarf. I smile through gritted teeth. As if you’re taking my best friend to Malibu. I look down at Flossy, who is sucking on a strand of her own hair.

‘Do you want to play with Amelia, sweetie?’ Belle crouches down and talks to her like she’s a puppy about to fetch a ball. Flossy nods.

Jeremy is apparently looking after the kids in the living room. On his days off from being a glamorous film director, Bea’s husband hardly ever leaves his armchair; reading the newspapers and watching the rugby. He’s quite quiet and reserved; I like him. I notice that Flossy is holding a baby doll by a clump of its faux hair.

‘That’s a cute little doll,’ I say to Flossy. ‘I used to have one just like it!’

‘You are the baby’s mummy, aren’t you, Flossy!’ Belle says. Flossy nods manically.

‘I used to feed my doll this weird powder and it would poo it out,’ I blurt.

‘Olive!’ Bea laughs.

Belle takes Flossy’s hand and takes her to the room next door where Jeremy and Amelia are playing with plastic bowling pins. The room is a mess.

‘Don’t you think it’s kind of creepy that we start programming little girls into being “mummies” from such an early age?’

‘Yeah I suppose!’ Bea says.

I do find it strange that little girls are given miniature pushchairs and fake kitchens. They have the rest of their lives to be adults and constantly do things for other people, but we start teaching them their ‘role’ as soon as they can walk.

‘How old is Flossy, Belle? Three?’ I ask.

‘Actually she’s four,’ Belle says, sounding affronted as she walks back into the kitchen.