As the conversation drifted away from babies, Lacey decided to give in to her basest desires and pump so that she could enjoy a drink while we were all together. As Freddie started telling Olly something he’d heard from Daphne about the Netherlands’ native elk population, I excused myself to the wine cellar. Not the official palace one, which contained a modest ten thousand bottles for formal company that we’d yet to put to use, but the adjunct one Nick and I had added to the basement that held our actual low-budget plonk. The guzzlers, we called them. When I came up the stairs, Cilla was waiting for me, tapping Danny in an attempt to get him to burp.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was thoughtless.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The baby thing,” she said. “I was so cavalier about it, and you just had a miscarriage and you’re watching your husband with your sister’s baby…” Her face was scrunched up with concern. “I wanted to kick myself, and when you left the room I got worried.”

“It’s that elk story. I couldn’t hear it again.” I lowered my voice. “Freddie thinks it’s hilarious but I’m sort of tapped out on Daphne stuff.”

Cilla transferred the baby to her other shoulder and started whacking his back more vigorously. “No cause for alarm,” she told me. “Sometimes you really have to smack the gas out of them. What’s going on with Daphne?”

“She’s in love with him, or at least hot for him,” I said. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Who hasn’t been in love with Freddie, in one way or another? Even Bea’s shagged him. I’m the only one that hasn’t.” She looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Maybe when we’re very old,” she offered. “I can see that. Gaz is dead. Freddie still has all his hair. It’s one late night at the Connaught bar, and boom, I’m in the club with the rest of you.”

Suddenly, she looked mortified. “Shit, sorry, I’ve run my mouth again. I know you didn’t actually…My God. Do you get pregnancy brain from holding a baby?”

On her shoulder, Danny burped. It was a flamboyant belch, one that seemed too aggressive to come out of such a small body. “Exactly,” Cilla said to him, rubbing his back.

“That was loud!” I said. “That’s the Porter in him for sure.”

“My grandmother always said that a hearty belch was the sign of strong character in a baby,” Cilla said. “My point was, this is very predictable of Daphne. How does Freddie feel?”

I shrugged. “He talks to me less and less about that stuff.”