‘I mean, I’d probably do the same.’

‘I just can’t help thinking that I’ve made a huge mistake. How terrible is that? My husband barely looks at me now that the baby is here. I don’t even get a cuddle or a kiss. It’s all about the baby. Which is fine, but – like – I exist too!’

‘That must be weird.’

‘I recommend not having one, or at least waiting for another ten years.’ Rose knocks back another huge mouthful of her drink and I follow suit, getting more and more tipsy.

‘You know, you should speak to Cec. She hasn’t said too much, but I’m noticing that she seems to be finding it hard too. I think that is totally normal. I know she looks like a swan swimming around on the surface, but her legs are really splashing around underneath.’

‘Oh, maybe I will. Sounds like me. We mums have to stick together.’

‘Indeed,’ I say.

‘I’m guessing you are a godmother then, Ol? Cec is lucky to have you girls around to help.’

I feel slightly wounded, a pang in my chest. ‘Oh, we’re not actually … I don’t think she decided to do the whole godparent thing.’

‘Ah, fair enough. Just assumed you girls, as you’re so close, would have been given that sort of role. Well, thanks Olive. You’ve actually made me feel so much better. Just being able to talk to someone who won’t judge me makes a change.’

‘You’re welcome. You’ve given me a lot to think about too.’

She air-kisses me, and excuses herself, making her way over, reluctantly, to one of the many men bobbing babies up and down on their chests.

I neck half of my drink and look again at this odd assortment of people I don’t recognize. I then spot Cec standing with Bea and go bounding over, knocking a wine glass off a table and onto a man in a papoose.

‘Hey Cec, I have a question for you!’ I say, tugging on Cec’s arm. I realize my breath smells of champagne.

‘OK, Ol,’ Cecily says, eyeing me suspiciously.

I am swaying a bit, now.

‘Why are we not godparents? Are we not good enough for you any more? Is that why I feel like I barely see you?’ I’m right up close to Cecily’s face. Bea’s mouth is hanging open.

‘Sorry, what, Olive?’ Cecily hands Oscar to Tiff and shoos away all the nosy people standing around, including Tiff.

‘I just think … Isn’t a baby shower about godmothers and stuff?’ I am slurring now.

‘We’ve decided not to do it, actually.’ Cec watches as I step backwards. I realize one of my bra straps is showing because my jumpsuit has come off my shoulders.

‘OK. Fine. I’m heading off now, then. I just … I thought I’d be godmother material, to be honest, considering all the history we have.’ I pick up my bag and stagger – with as much dignity as I can muster – out of her £1 million home, scuffing my shoes as I walk.