‘Oooo, she doesn’t like it when I call her that. She gets all upset. The poor ugly beast.’

‘Mother, did you want something specific because if not I am going to go.’

‘I’m going to kill myself,’ she says. Suddenly deadpan.

‘Don’t do that,’ I tell her, as I have done so many times over the years.

‘You can’t stop me. I’m going to do it tonight.’

‘No you won’t,’ I say.

‘Yes I will.’

‘Why?’ I ask her, wondering if this might be the one miraculous time I get an answer.

‘Shut up. It’s not like you care about me—’

I hold the phone away from my ear while she continues to rant abuse.

‘Are you done?’ I ask, after a minute or so. She seems to be and goes quiet. ‘Mum, I’ve got to go.’ I brace myself for the next stab.

‘Go on then. Piss off. If your own mother doesn’t love you, who will?’ she says, before hanging up.

I feel tears begin to well in my eyes as I watch Bonnie play happily without me. I know the second I tell her we need to leave, she will act just like my mother does towards me. Screaming, kicking, yelling, telling me she doesn’t love me, acting like my very presence in her life is unbearable. I never imagined that becoming a parent would be like reliving my adolescence. Minus the cruel name at least. Mum has called me ‘The Beast’ ever since she burst in on me in the shower when I was sixteen. It’s why I never dare risk my own child seeing me naked. Who only knows what cruel salutations a toddler might come up with.

How does everyone else make parenting look so easy?

‘Move please,’ says a man who is standing in front of me, blocking my view of Bonnie.

‘Excuse me?’ I reply, with a certain amount of attitude.

‘Please move from the bench,’ he repeats. ‘Please.’

‘I absolutely will not move from this bench. I was here first. I’m watching my daughter.’

‘Look, I’d really appreciate it if you would go and sit over there. Please,’ he says calmly, still laden with something heavy. ‘You don’t understand. Please, just move.’

He points to an empty bench a few metres away. I can’t be bothered to fight him – I have had enough conflict for one morning and need a break. I gather my bag and the buggy and move a few benches down. Making sure he hears me say ‘Up yours’ as I go.