‘And Gaia,’ Derry says. Gaia’s face drops. Aurelia fastens up her bra quickly and passes over the sleepy bundle to Derry.

‘You’re a natural,’ Aurelia tells her, and it is Derry’s turn to beam. For a moment Aurelia feels grateful for Derry. They’ve known each other since before Gaia was born and when they met she believed they would become friends, maybe even as close as Tom and Clive. After all, they’re similar, at least on the surface – both freelance creatives, both descended of Welsh stock, both shop at John Lewis, Toast, and Estée Lauder, listen to Sia and Sigur Rós, favour Pinot Noir. Both studied at Russell Group universities and are roughly the same age – they can remember cassette tapes, rotary dial telephones, and sticking posters of Keanu Reeves circa Bill and Ted to their bedroom walls. Even so, they’ve never managed to forge a particularly strong friendship. Something about Derry rubs Aurelia up the wrong way and she’s spent time trying to put her finger on it, without success. Perhaps deep down she envies Derry her childfree, well-rested existence, and this is what has fundamentally prevented an otherwise beautiful friendship from blossoming. Aurelia rarely sees many of her tribe because they’re all so busy dealing with teething, weaning, or infected children. Besides Maren, Derry’s the only woman she sees much of here in Norway. Maybe now they’re making progress towards a friendship. After all, Derry is here for a good while this time. It would be wrong not to take advantage of female companionship.

Or at the very least, the offer of a moment’s peace.

Gaia watches her mumma tiptoe out of the room to the darkroom. She looks at the colouring-in book and pack of crayons her mumma has placed in her lap to occupy her, then at Derry, who is holding baby Coco and staring at Gaia with a strange expression. It’s strange because it’s neither a cross nor happy expression. If Gaia had to draw her face she’d do a straight line for Derry’s mouth and big circles for her eyes, which are pinned on her.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be drawing?’ Derry asks at last.

Stung by Derry’s tone, Gaia plucks a blue crayon from the pack and starts to shade in the ocean of a cartoonish pirate scene. When she dares lift her eyes a little in Derry’s direction she sees she is staring at baby Coco with that same look on her face. The way she holds Coco is funny, too. She doesn’t touch her – just has Coco laid on her lap like she’s a book, or a cushion. Most people stroke Coco’s cheeks, or hold her tiny hands.

‘Do you like your baby sister?’ Derry says.