It felt like something had shifted. I felt another stab of guilt for judging Bea’s life decisions so harshly. But we all know the fear that once your friends start to grow their family, you might become less needed and, then, fully redundant.

4

2019

The office is full to the brim today with extra bodies as our largest meeting room has been turned into a makeshift studio for a shoot. We have partnered with a huge fashion brand for the issue and we’ve roped all the interns into being the models. Gill’s idea, as she says it’ll save us money and shows ‘diversity’. I pop to the sandwich shop directly below the office to get lunch, and to get away from all the hustle and bustle in the office. Bit lazy of me, but it’s nice enough – I just need some peace and quiet. I sit by the window, looking out at all the frantic Londoners, people smoking while speaking on the phone; with stressed-out faces, shouting at cyclists. As I go to take a bite of my crayfish sandwich, a baby starts howling behind me. Howling. Wailing loudly and then choking on its own cries. I turn around and see the red-faced baby is in a pushchair, seemingly discarded right in the middle of the café.

‘Whose baby is this, please? Whose baby?’ cries a waistcoated woman with an Australian accent and short hair. I glance at her chest – ah yes, she has a big badge that says ‘manager’.

People look around, confused.

Short-haired Australian woman shouts through to the kitchen. ‘Hi Rodge, we have a pushchair here in the middle of the caff and I’m not entirely sure where the mother is. Seems to have been abandoned.’

‘The parent, you mean, Rach,’ a stern disembodied voice from the kitchen replies.

‘Eh?’

‘You assumed the gender of the primary care-giver.’

‘Rodge – not now. I haven’t got the time for this.’

‘OK, I’ll be out in a sec,’ says Rodge.

Suddenly there is the sound of running feet coming up the spiral staircase that goes down to the extra seating area below, and a tiny woman with a long swinging blonde ponytail appears, panting.

She suddenly takes the reins of the buggy, keeping her head down, not making eye contact.

‘Excuse me – is this your baby?’ Rach asks.

‘Yes! Sorry, I was desperate for the loo,’ she says in between breaths. ‘I couldn’t get the buggy down those stairs … and—’

‘Madam, you can’t just leave your baby alone like that.’

‘It was only for a few minutes!’ she gasps.

‘Long enough to terrify all of us,’ Rach says sternly. ‘Please make sure you don’t do that again.’

I shudder. Imagine that, not even being able to go to the loo without causing some sort of chaos?

I check my watch and realize I need to get back to the office.

Back at my desk, I lean back on my fancy chair, kick off my shoes and tuck into a huge wedge of carrot cake to calm my nerves after the baby fiasco. I’m going to Bea’s this weekend with the girls – after much back and forth with calendar checking and WhatsApp chasing. I have my overnight bag underneath my desk and I keep accidentally kicking it and stubbing my toe. I’ve packed face masks, thick socks, chocolate and a bottle of Pinot Noir. I can’t deny my disappointment after the failure of our last meet-up so I’m excited to be having a girly sleepover: a cosy night in, where we can all be together, with no distractions or stresses.