‘We get it, Cec. And look, I’m sorry too. I feel like these past few months I’ve been a total self-obsessed monster. I’ve been awful to you Cec, especially when you were pregnant with Oscar,’ Isla says.

‘You weren’t that bad,’ Cec says.

‘And I’m sorry Isla,’ I say, ‘for being insensitive to what you’ve been going through. I’m sorry I called you selfish at my house. Bea, I’m sorry for pushing you away when you were trying to help. Cec, I’m sorry again for making a scene at the baby shower.’

‘It’s OK. I often assume you are doing fine, Ol, and I shouldn’t,’ Cec says. ‘You can stop calling the baby OAP, now though,’ she adds, with a half-smile.

‘I’ve been the worst,’ I sigh.

‘Olive, we understand. You really don’t have to make it into a huge deal that you don’t want a kid. It doesn’t change how we feel about you – it really changes nothing, as long as you’re happy,’ Bea reaches for my hand.

‘I know. I see that now. And I am happy. I really think I am,’ I say, relieved.

‘Have you ever questioned that maybe nothing was wrong with you in the first place? That nothing needed fixing? That you are right where you are meant to be? There are so many ways to live a fulfilled life. What you do, the people you impact, it’s all so valuable.’

I reach for a napkin, lean my head back and blot away my suddenly runny mascara. ‘I guess I’ve just been on a bit of a rollercoaster and it was difficult to reach you all because it felt like there was this ginormous chasm between us. I just don’t want to drift away from any one of you.’

‘Ol. None of us want that either.’

‘I am feeling so much better in general now, though, and I want to just say sorry and put all that icky stuff behind us.’ I really believe what I am saying for the first time in ages. I am happy with who I am. Where I am. With my life choices.

Bea is now holding my hand over the table and squeezing it. The girls reach out and squeeze it too.

Our food arrives. The atmosphere finally settles. The air feels clear. Or at least, clearer. I am starving. All of that confrontation has made me ravenous.

Just as we start chatting normally, with the dark cloud lifted, my phone starts buzzing in my bag. I’ve been ignoring it during our heart-to-heart. I have a look before tucking into my pizza. Eighteen missed calls! Jesus. It’s Caitlin. My stomach lurches.

What’s going on?

My heart pounds and I call her back straight away. No answer. I ring again. Still no answer, so I text her:

Me: You OK? Have you sat on your phone?

My throat is suddenly dry. Bea pours me some water. They all notice something’s up.

My phone pings and it’s a text from Caitlin: