‘I’m sorry guys. I just want everything to be perfect,’ Cec says innocently.

‘Just a bit of sensitivity, maybe Cec.’

Isla mopes into the room.

‘Is that true, Isla?’

‘Cec just leave it,’ I say.

‘I don’t know. I’m just finding this baby overload a bit much right now.’ Isla looks down at the floor.

‘I understand. Sorry …’ Cec pauses and looks down. ‘Oh god, I’ve been really self-obsessed.’

‘No you haven’t, Cec,’ Bea pipes up. ‘You’ve just had a baby. You’re allowed to be centring everything around that right now. Isla, I’m very sorry you’re finding things so hard right now, but this day is also really important to Cec.’

‘Of course you would side with Cecily, Bea,’ I say irritably.

‘I’m not siding with anyone, Olive.’

‘I’m just saying: there are more important things than this baby shower,’ I say.

Cec’s mouth drops to the floor. ‘You can go home now Olive,’ she says, in a monotone, not looking at me.

‘Oh Cec, don’t be like that darling,’ says Bea.

Then the baby monitor goes off, and Oscar starts screeching.

I feel as though some sort of invisible battle line has been drawn.

19

I’m in the bath with avocado-flavoured shampoo in my hair. My laptop is balancing on a towel on top of the toilet and the soothing voice of a mental health themed podcast where famous authors discuss their lowest moments is playing in the background. My phone pings. It’s our WhatsApp group again. What now? Usually I crave hearing from them, but I’ve been stewing on the fallout at Cecily’s all week, getting the fear about whether or not I was too outspoken, and now I’m terrified of the situation getting worse.

Cec: Hi guys

Cec: So I’m going to be organizing the baby shower myself now.

(10 minutes pass)

Cec: Guys? That OK??

Me: Fine by me

Isla: me too

Bea: OK, love! xx

I sink further into the water. Really, she should have just done it all herself from the start. She was micromanaging us anyway. It looks like she’s been curating a Pinterest board of pastel-coloured inspiration for this party (room dressings, food, decor and invitations) for months. Her hen do was a slap-up meal for ten people in a sticky pub, for God’s sake. Where has my friend gone?

By the time the big baby shower day arrives I can feel my nerves jangling in my belly, a sense of impending doom. I’m wrapping some presents in my kitchen, and Zeta is sitting at my kitchen counter, drying some plates. I accidentally get some very sticky Sellotape stuck to a small blister on my hand and shout expletives.

‘Big day today then,’ Zeta says.

‘Yep, I’m still a bit annoyed with Cecily, to be honest.’

‘Has she been bossing you all about?’

‘Yeah – well, it’s her bossing Isla about that bothered me. Imagine getting your mate who’s struggling with IVF to spend all day Pritt-sticking your “It’s A Boy” bunting for you. I don’t know, I just thought it was quite cruel, and so not like Cec.’