She was still standing on the threshold of the bedroom, but she walked inside now, invited or not.

‘What did they say to you?’ she said.

She hadn’t meant her voice to sound harsh, but she could tell from the way Daphne’s eyes reprimanded her that it had. Her family were used to her being the cuddly one – the one who never told anyone off, who pretended to fall asleep in her comfy chair to avoid the smallest family argument. Well, she was not pretending to fall asleep now.

‘You need to tell me what they said to you,’ she repeated.

Rosie was shaking her head, burying her face in her mother’s arms, and the crying had started up again.

‘Get a hold of yourself,’ Holly said. ‘This is important.’

‘Mum,’ said Daphne, ‘this isn’t helpful. Go downstairs, OK? Just give us some time.’

We need more time.

The conversations collided. It was as if days separated by years had reached through to touch one another, leaving Holly reeling. She was back there, and it seemed more present than ever before, more vital.

‘We need more time,’ Freida said.

‘What are you talking about?’ Holly held Aarav in her arms – he was still a baby, six months perhaps – while Daphne and Leigh ran between the chairs and the legs of the dining table, giggling. Holly saw Freida’s eyes watching them and wondered, just for a second, if Freida was jealous.

‘It’s moving too fast.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, it’s everything you wanted,’ Holly said. ‘It’s perfect.’ Although sometimes it felt like she’d had an awful lot of kids. She was knackered, Will was knackered, the children were inexhaustible.

But Freida looked old. She was only in her fifties, but she looked in her sixties at least, tired, worn out.

‘Look, maybe you should retire,’ Holly said. She didn’t intend to be cruel, she was just shattered, and busy, and didn’t have time for a crisis of confidence. Freida was supposed to be strong.

‘You don’t understand,’ said Freida.

‘What’s going on with you?’ Holly snapped. ‘Is this about your job? Is this about pride?’

Freida looked hurt, and Holly softened.

‘I know you don’t get on with Sylvia but … Look, everything is beautiful,’ she said, trying to be kind now. ‘The pouch is perfect. Thanks to you. What FullLife are doing is good, and they’re good at what they do. Believe me – I should know.’

‘I’m going away,’ Freida said. Holly didn’t realise she meant for ever, of course she didn’t think that, but … Freida’s moods were dragging on her, dragging her down when she didn’t have space for philosophy – this was her life.

‘A holiday,’ she nodded. ‘Good idea.’