‘Oh Mother! I’ve told you. Loads of people have kids in London. London is fine. More than fine. Lots of parks. Keep your voice down too, please.’

‘I have plenty of friends brought up in London,’ I say. ‘They turned out all right.’

Tiff nervously laughs. ‘Let’s hope Oscar becomes very streetwise then. Lots of crime here. Druggies,’ she lowers her voice, ‘lots of stabbings.’

‘Mum …’ Cecily rubs Tiff’s arm gently. ‘Please. Life is great here.’

Tiff gets distracted by her husband Todd, who has just accidentally dropped a glass and is shouting Tiff’s name loudly, an angry vein popping out of his head.

We sip our drinks and I am about to open my mouth to ask Isla if she wants to sneak off for a cheeky cigarette, when a woman appears out of nowhere and introduces herself to us all.

‘Hi girls, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Tiff. I work with Cecily. I’m Jool.’ She puts a hand out for us to shake. We do so, limply. ‘Apologies for butting in, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and, you know, woman to woman and all that, Isla, I want to say it also annoys me when people ask presumptuous questions about my situation. Gosh, it makes me angry that people are so insensitive.’

‘Thank you,’ Isla looks at me in a panic. Her face saying it all: Who is this woman? Why is she talking to us?

‘You know, it took me ages to get pregnant, just in case you wanted any consolation or to hear any stories that ended well. Years! I was getting grey hairs, wondering if my baby would ever arrive.’

‘Thanks, but it’s a long story,’ Isla replies politely, her cheeks turning pink.

‘Thing is, you just need to think positively.’

‘Jools—’

‘It’s actually just Jool.’

‘Whatever. Thanks for your help, but that’s quite enough,’ I say. ‘It’s not always helpful to share advice, that’s all.’

‘Wow, tough crowd. I was just trying to help,’ Jool says. ‘I had problems too. But everything changed when I changed my attitude. You should start manifesting. Start a mood board. It starts with you.’

Isla and I roll our eyes. Jool sighs at us in a patronizing way and then wanders off in search of a canapé. We go to the loo so we can reapply our lipstick and then wander back to find Bea and Cecily.

As I walk through the kitchen, I overhear Jool say to someone that ‘time away from her kid for a poo and scroll on Instagram Stories feels like a holiday in the Maldives’, and that’s the icing on the clitoris cake. We need to get out.

‘Can we go outside for a sec?’ I ask Isla.

‘Happily,’ she says, grabbing her scarf from one of the kitchen stools.

We go out into the front garden, streetlights twinkling; she declines a drag on my vape. She wraps her scarf round her shoulders to stay warm.