He picks the baby up right away and burps him on his shoulder.

‘Cool,’ he says, leaving the room. ‘I’ll leave you to get dressed.’

God forbid he sees me naked.

Ruby

Arriving at the nursery, Bonnie yells at me like I’m a wild bear she needs to scare away. I unstrap her from the hell of her pushchair. Almost as soon as she is free, she runs inside with a huge smile on her face, and straight over to a teacher. She hugs her. I have to look away.

‘They’re always hardest on their mums,’ says Miss Tabitha behind me. I had no idea she was there. I try to collapse the buggy, but something is stuck in the wheel and it won’t fold properly.

‘She’s good as gold when she’s here,’ she continues, twisting the knife further into my heart. I carried her in my belly. My body was sliced open to get her out. I’ve kept her alive for three and a half years. I sacrificed my work, I lost a husband. How does she think it is reassuring to hear that I am the only person to whom she expresses hate?

The buggy won’t close. I want to get out of this nursery and away from Miss Tabitha’s nonchalant and unhelpful support. I am so hot in this heavy velvet and the extra layer of insulation that lies beneath it. My stress levels are not something I can hide.

‘Can I help?’ she asks, infuriating me further.

‘No,’ I reply, sweat appearing on my forehead and dripping down my nose. I wipe it away with my billowing velvet sleeve.

‘Are you sure I can’t help?’ she says again, as if I’m an idiot. If she went away I’d be able to do this but she is standing over me like a teacher assessing my work. I am really struggling now. I know my rage is against me, and that if I stopped banging the bloody thing, took a breath and went at it a bit easier it would do what it normally does and just fold. But I’m annoyed, I am making a point and backing down isn’t part of my DNA.

‘DAMN IT,’ I shout, slamming the buggy down and kicking it with my foot. I try not to swear, even in times of high stress. There is a moment of stillness before I realise a few of the other teachers have joined Miss Tabitha, and that one of them has shut the door into the nursery to shield the children from my aggression. They presume I am about to apologise. I am not.

‘What are you looking at?’ I say, my top lip curling over my teeth like a wild cat’s. Something about the way I say this makes them all take a step back. A brave one starts walking slowly towards me with an extended hand.