‘That’s where I cry,’ Mimi says, and gazes out through her rain-streaked window to the sodden fields.

I drop Mimi at the entrance, then park the car and go to the farmers’ market and to have my hair done at Upper Cuts. Then I go to That New Place, for coffee, and to buy Mimi’s cake.

‘Anything piggy,’ she said, ‘and moist. One of their large slices of carrot cake with cream-cheese icing. Actually, no, make that two of their large slices of carrot cake with cream-cheese icing. Nothing will have passed my lips since midnight, so I think I can afford to be greedy. It’s so important to have something to look forward to.’

Then, an hour or so later, I go back to the hospital, repark and thread my way through doors and passages, following signs, until I find Mimi sitting wanly in a chair, with her bag, surrounded by women in a similar state and, I assume, condition.

We get into the car. I am very carefully and tactfully not asking her to tell me anything about it. I look to see whether she is walking gingerly. But she is walking fine, I notice. It’s only a minor procedure, I suppose. Then she starts talking, almost cheerfully.

‘It was quite comforting actually,’ she says. ‘Most women were there with men. I couldn’t decide whether they were showing moral support, or making sure that the women didn’t bottle.’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t come in, but you did say…’ I venture.

‘God, Rose, that’s not what I meant,’ she says. ‘I didn’t expect you to come into day surgery with me! You’re doing enough as it is! As well as men, several of the couples had babies already, which didn’t make it worse for me, but better, somehow, as if other women had known mother love and could still, you know, BE THERE.’ She gulps. I give her arm a pat, to show how brave I thought she was, and that I know. ‘There was a bad moment at the beginning, though.’

‘Oh yes?’ I say, still keeping it neutral, and let Mimi continue.

‘We were called, one by one we were called. There was paperwork. In my case this took ages as I seemed to be registered at Colville Crescent still, not Home Farm, and then I remembered I had the letter from Dr Ashburton, which luckily was addressed to me at Home Farm, and so I was then processed along with everyone else, which meant putting on one of those printed cotton gowns which do up the back and flap open with ties at the neck and hip and make you feel like a patient in Broadmoor.’