‘That’s understandable,’ I say.

I don’t know what the right thing to say is. I often feel like the worst person in these awful situations. I laughed very loudly at a funeral once, not out of malice, but from sheer awkwardness. This time, though, I instinctively just know to sit close to her, our crossed-legged knees touching as I listen.

‘You know, a few years ago, I wasn’t actually sure I wanted kids,’ Isla says with a sigh, ‘until I realized that I might not be able to. And now I feel like something’s been taken away from me. It really wakes you up. How silly of me to think I could just click my fingers.’ I feel surprised hearing this from Isla, and guilty that I didn’t know. I used to have the ‘will we/won’t we’ conversation with Cec a fair bit growing up, but for some reason Isla and I never really discussed it. Isla’s attitude towards kids always felt like a mystery to me.

I feel a twinge of ickiness in my stomach. I technically have a choice still – babies could be in my future – and I’m choosing not to use it. I have access to something she wants. The big, fat, inappropriate elephant in the room.

‘It’s weird,’ Isla continues. ‘I think every one of us has a Sliding Doors moment, whether we know it or not. This is mine. I might never be a mum. Well, in the biological sense, I mean. It just makes me really fucking sad to say that out loud.’ Isla takes a bite of the baguette. She chews it with her mouth open, like she’s completely given up on the world. ‘I’m so lucky that my uncle keeps funding my treatments. It’s so pricey.’

I think about how much time Isla has spent in her bed feeling depressed, or suffering from endometriosis flare-ups over the years, plus the horrific tragedy of losing her parents at such a young age. Luckily her uncle has stepped in and done a great job and continues to help her financially. Poor Isla, spending her life suffering in more ways than one, and now fertility issues are unfairly being added to her pile. Making an active choice about motherhood is one thing, but having that choice taken away is another. How do you do the whole ‘Where do you see yourself in five years’ time?’ when you don’t even have free rein to choose? Every time someone we vaguely know announces their pregnancy in some elaborate way on Instagram, we all hold our breath and hope that Isla doesn’t see it. She has good days, and then is triggered all over again by seeing something online and then won’t be able to leave her house for ages.

‘I feel so lucky that my job is flexible right now. I don’t know how people do it if they are chained to a nine-to-five. How would you fit in all these fiddly doctors’ appointments?’ Isla says, propped up by her elbows.