‘Just a lemonade please, love; I’m breastfeeding.’

When I came back out with Bea’s lemonade, baby Andrew was wide awake and Jacob was gently swinging him from side to side in his arms. The baby was gazing up at him adoringly, and occasionally taking a swipe at his face with a tiny finger, which made Jacob laugh. I loved it when Jacob laughed, the joy in his face exposed these deep crow’s-feet lines around his eyes, which have become deeper every year of knowing him. I always thought his wrinkles looked sexy, whilst mine were a sign of time running out.

‘Here you go, Bea.’ I passed her the fizzing plastic glass.

‘Thanks babe. Look how amazing your boyfriend is with babies!’

‘Very cute,’ I said, trying not to roll my eyes.

‘I wonder who’s going to be next then?’ Cec said, putting her sunglasses on her head.

‘Well, Ol and Jacob have been together the longest,’ Isla said.

‘That doesn’t mean anything, though,’ I said quickly.

‘I just need to meet someone first,’ sighed Cec.

‘You will, babe. C’mon, flirt some more with those hot lawyers at your work,’ Bea said. ‘It’s probably you next, Isla.’

‘God, I hope so! I’m due an egg check-up soon,’ Isla said optimistically. Mike squeezed Isla’s knee then and tucked her hair behind her ear.

‘You will all be great mums,’ Bea said.

‘I’m so excited for us to have one of our own one day, Ol,’ Jacob whispered, smiling at me adoringly, his finger being held on to tightly by baby Andrew. I took a massive gulp of white wine and offered a half-smile as a big black ball of darkness started to knot in my stomach.

‘My friend’s baby is the cutest baby in the whole world, which made me realize I don’t want kids. If meeting the BEST baby in the world can’t change my mind, nothing will. Unfortunately, when I phrased this to my friend I just said, “Your baby makes me want to not have kids.”’

Sofie Hagen, Twitter, July 2019

10

2019

A week or so later, hungover again to high hell after a few too many at the pub with Col, I message Cecily to see if she fancies a visitor. We haven’t heard from her for a while on the group, but maybe if I just offer to come to her, it’ll be easier. I am dying to meet Oscar. I also just read this article about ‘The Loneliness of Being a New Mum’ and how being at home on your own all day can start sending you a bit loopy. Cecily is an extrovert after all and has never been someone who likes having solo time. She never spent any time alone in her bedroom at uni, and always needed someone to chat to around the house. I couldn’t bear the idea that Cecily was cooped up with only some goo-goo-gah-gah noises and a few podcasts to keep her company.

When I arrive, there’s a note on the plant pot outside that says, ‘Let yourself in Olive!’ I open the door and hang up my scarf. As I walk into the kitchen, she is sitting in a vintage rocking chair, wearing a pair of stained jogging bottoms, and smiling sheepishly at me. I go over and hug her as she can’t move; she just puts her finger to her lips to warn me not to be loud. Oscar is asleep in her arms. Her usual swan-like demeanour seems a lot more ruffled. It’s like everything that was once stuck together by superglue is dangling by a single thread. She looks exhausted.