‘Every day is a bit mad, things can and do go wrong. It’s not perfect, but we just have a really good system in place. I wouldn’t have it any other way. You know, people say you can’t have it all. But you can! You can have whatever life you want.’

I watch Belle as she speaks: she doesn’t have any bags under her eyes; her nails are freshly shellacked, her hands look soft and perfectly manicured; her hair is glossy and clean; she smelt nice when I greeted her – of fresh flowers and clean linen. She speaks slowly, she doesn’t seem frantic at all: she is calm. I mean, what the fuck? I can’t even look after myself. How do you dress yourself and dress six kids, and go to work, and feel calm at home, and do all the kids’ admin, and your own admin? And the next burning question on my lips is: how do you make dinner for eight people every night? That’s effectively like running a small, inner-city restaurant! I can’t get my head around it. Belle is the living, breathing real-life version of the stock image photos that I scoff at, or the ‘mamas’ on the cover of Goop magazine. I didn’t know these women actually existed. But here I am, sitting across from one. I feel like David Attenborough, eyeing up a rare new breed.

‘How do you look after all your kids and still have good hair?’ I ask, tilting my head to one side.

Bea laughs, and rolls her eyes at me.

‘Ha-ha, you’re so sweet!’ Belle says, stroking her perfect hair. ‘But you know, there are so many apps now. You can basically order anything to your house – massages, pedicures, hairdressers. A total godsend when you are housebound.’

Belle has her shit together and there is no denying that it is making me feel a few rungs lower down the ladder in the race of life. Am I awful for judging another woman like this? Bad feminist. I should be happy that this woman has found a good balance that works for her. And yet I long to find a big ugly smudge in this perfect oil painting.

‘Anyway, enough about me,’ Belle says. ‘Bea has told me so much about you, Isla and Cecily. You’re a writer, aren’t you? I’ve heard some incredible things about your work. You’re practically famous!’

‘Ha. Well, I’m lucky that I find my job fulfilling. I love writing and telling stories, it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do and a great way to spend my days to be honest,’ I say, smiling. I do love it, but it does also get to me a bit that I’m often labelled as Career Woman™ in the friendship group, because I don’t have kids.

‘Wow, that does sound wonderful – not many people can say they make a living from writing. And you’re in a relationship? Married?’

‘Well, no …’ I look over at Bea who is mopping up a spillage on the table.