She answers the door in a red stretchy maternity jumpsuit and gives me a huge hug, excitedly taking the tub of macaroni cheese from my hands. I hang up my faux fur jacket on her wooden coat stand and kick off my trainers. Cec walks down the hallway; from the back, she doesn’t really look pregnant, then she turns to the side and it’s like she’s suddenly swallowed a giant beach ball. It amazes me how flexible she still is as she squats down to pick up a plate from the lower cupboard in the kitchen.

‘Want me to get those?’ I ask.

‘No, it’s all good. I’ve been going to this yoga class thing,’ she says, straining. ‘It’s good, except for the fact that it’s full of mummy bloggers.’

‘How do you know?’ I laugh.

‘I don’t. I’m just being a judgemental bitch.’

‘You’re allowed to be, you’re pregnant.’

‘What will be my excuse for being a bitch to people after I give birth?’ She winks.

‘You’ve had a whole nine months of getting away with anything and everything,’ I say, putting my arm around her.

‘Yep! And that is the only thing I’ll miss about pregnancy.’

She is so rotund now, as if the weight of the huge bump could topple her over, but she’s flexing and stretching and bouncing her legs on the floor in a sort of frog-like position.

‘Wanna see the Baby Room?’ Cec asks, excitedly.

‘Yes of course. And, look Cec, I’m sorry if I was a bit off at Bea’s at the weekend. I don’t mean to make it about me. I just don’t want to drift away from any of you.’

‘I understand, Ol. There’s a lot going on with all of us at the moment. I promise I’m not going anywhere, though. If anything I’ll be imprisoned in this house for months and will be desperate for grown-up chat.’ She laughs.

We walk down the corridor with her fluffy cream carpet beneath my bare feet and I can already see a big sign on the back wall of his bedroom, lit up, and spelling out OSCAR in pink neon writing. Piles of stuff are folded and stacked up by the cot: nappy bag contraptions and milk thermometers and some really techy-looking stuff.

‘Jeez, how much did all this cost?’ I say, doing the mental arithmetic, looking at all these miniature designer objects and freaking out.

‘Oh, I don’t know! Do you like it though?’

‘It’s very cute.’ It looked like an IRL Pinterest board.

‘I like the fact it’s pink. Fuck the “boy” and “girl” colour norms,’ she smiles to herself, admiring the room she’s created for Oscar.

‘It’s very cool. God Cec, I still can’t get my head around it. You’re going to be a mum.’ I reach down into the cot and pull out a small, soft bunny.

She puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s a new beginning for sure, but things won’t change too much.’

‘But who am I going to call now at 2 a.m. when I’m in the middle of a panic attack?’ I laugh. ‘And who’s going to try out the latest supper club with me? Go dancing and get filthy takeaways?’ I’m trying to sound upbeat, but my voice starts to shake slightly.