‘I’m OK,’ she says, pulling her cardigan over her shoulders. ‘Just the world’s shittest day.’

‘Cec, this stuff happens, I bet everyone has done it, just no one really talks about it. Honestly. Don’t beat yourself up, you are doing brilliantly,’ I say.

‘Ol, I just can’t stop crying. Literally on the verge of tears the minute I go to bed and the minute I wake up.’

‘Oh babe. Have you tried taking anything?’ I say, not knowing at all what the ‘right’ thing to say is.

‘No, but you’re not the first to ask, or suggest that I could do with some help. I’m going to see the GP next week; it’s just been impossible to find the time – I never have a minute to myself.’ She looks down at her chipped nails and rubs one of her tired eyes. ‘Things between me and Chris are bad. I think he expected me to be this Superwoman Perfect Mum who could just adapt her entire life overnight and Do It All but … I can’t.’

‘Of course you can’t. It is not fair of Chris to expect that.’ I could go further and really bad-mouth Chris, but I hold my tongue. They are still married, after all.

‘I can’t breastfeed either. Too sore. But Chris doesn’t really get why that’s bothering me. Everything is a fucking mess and I can’t see a way out.’

‘Cec, it will get easier. It has to,’ I say, holding both of her hands over the table.

‘It has to,’ she repeats, staring into space.

When we leave the coffee shop, I walk Cec back to her front door. I hug her goodbye and tell her to call me whenever she needs to. I look her in the eyes and make her promise to call me if she needs a babysitter or someone to come and watch Oscar while she sleeps. I book an Uber home. In the back of the car, I stare out of the window as passing trees, parks and tall buildings whoosh past. Poor Cec – I feel so worried for her right now. Any element of self-care has gone out of the window and she’s clearly struggling badly, only beginning to open up to her friends. I feel helpless and suddenly really, really guilty about the horrible fallout at the baby shower.

An image of Cec kneeling on the grass and looking desperately at her front door comes back to me; tears running down her face as her baby waited on the other side. I never want to experience that level of fear for myself … I remember someone at work highlighting the dangers of sleep deprivation after birth. She said she was so exhausted that she left her baby in a car once. She said the lack of sleep had turned her properly mad and she had actually forgotten she even had a baby for a whole hour. Luckily a passing neighbour heard the baby cry and alerted her to it. She said it was absolutely horrific and gave her major anxiety attacks for years afterwards. How can your own brain betray you in such a way and make you forget such a vital detail about your life? Like, a very, very key detail.