‘Oh, hi Ol. It’s our IVF – the first round, it hasn’t worked … my body hasn’t responded very well to it.’ Isla looks down at her lap. ‘We’re going to give it another go, but, well …’ She trails off.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.

‘Oh Isla, love,’ Bea says.

Isla puts her head in her hands and starts crying.

I sit there wishing I hadn’t asked – I hate seeing my friend in pain – but, then again, she needs to talk to someone about this and we’re her best friends. She’s been keeping everything so quiet.

We all feel like we are trying to do an impossible thing: comfort someone through a screen.

‘It’s OK, guys. I just need some … time, to wallow. Alone.’

‘Of course you do,’ Cec says.

‘Darling, you can’t beat yourself up about this,’ Bea says. ‘It’s not you.’

‘It feels so … personal,’ Isla says. ‘Like my body is betraying me.’

‘But it’s not your fault. I have plenty of friends who have had such positive results from their second or third time. I know it’s expensive but please don’t lose hope.’

‘Thanks Bea,’ Isla sniffs.

Bea and Cec seem to know exactly what to say to Isla in these scenarios. I feel helpless and muted. How can I not know what to say to one of my best friends?

‘What have you got planned for tonight – something relaxing?’ Bea asks softly.

‘Nothing. Mike is just cooking a lasagne.’

‘Nice. We’re just gonna curl up and watch a shit film, can’t move much …’ Cec says, holding her back.

‘Cool. I’d better go now. Food’s ready actually. Have a good time though, guys, I miss you,’ Isla says, sounding forced. She hangs up.

‘Poor Isla,’ I say.

‘I feel terrible for complaining about how uncomfortable I feel in front of her,’ Cec says, rubbing her bump.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Bea says, snapping her laptop shut.

We snuggle back into the sofa. ‘So, guys … I …’ I take a deep breath, gearing myself up to get a few things off my chest. The break-up with Jacob has been swirling around in my brain and now seems like a good time to get their advice, or at least a little pep talk. Round two.

‘Aw, I just felt a kick!’ Cec yelps, stroking her bump with both hands, her mouth curved upwards with glee.

‘No way!’ Bea rushes over. ‘Let me feel!’

‘Come and feel this, Ol,’ Cec says, laughing.

She lifts up her jumper, revealing her soft, silky skin. I place my palm on her tum alongside Bea and feel a little upwards push.

‘I think it’s a foot,’ Bea says, smiling.

I smile and stroke her belly, feeling unexpectedly bottled up.

Later in the evening, we settle down to watch a Drew Barrymore film on Netflix and Bea gets out a bottle of red from her fancy wine cabinet. I end up drinking mine and Cec’s share. It goes down so easily these days. Bea has ordered us so much takeaway pizza and the boxes are spread out all over the floor. Jeremy, Bea’s husband, is looking after their kids in the next room, but Arnold keeps wandering in to show us his new Lego set and six-year-old Amelia wants to play her violin to us. No offence, Amelia, but you’re not very good. Arnold, the three-year-old, wanders in and hands me a Lord of the Rings action figure that has some sort of dried crust on it. I love you, I think, but please don’t touch me with your snotty face and hands.