Sylvia leapt at the sound of the doorbell and then cast a glance at the Moses basket where her daughter lay sleeping – finally, finally. But Jessica hadn’t woken. She lay still, her hands flung above her head, her face turned slightly to one side, her breath coming in whispered snores. Sylvia let out a long breath and tiptoed to the doorway, stepping over a play mat, a stack of nappies and a pile of unopened cards and presents. She must open them and reply. And she must clear up. Must do the washing. But most of all she must sleep. Yes, she must sleep.

‘How’s the little angel?’ Maggie whispered when she opened the door.

‘Sleeping like a log – for now.’

Maggie followed Sylvia into the front room. ‘Oh my goodness, I love her more each time I see her. Look at those teeny fingernails!’

‘She’s less angelic at three in the morning.’

Maggie laughed. ‘I bet. But still, just look at her!’

Sylvia did, and smiled. The first few weeks had been hard – and they still were, despite the fact she had Jessica in some semblance of a routine now. Her daughter was occupying practically every minute of her day, what with feeding her constantly and changing nappies and attempting to keep up with the pile of dirty washing that grew at an alarming rate, so she at least had something clean to put her in each day. Frankly, she felt being a mother was in some ways as horrific as she had feared. When she did have a moment to herself, all she wanted to do was crawl into bed. The skin under her eyes had turned a surprising shade of purple, her hair was usually unwashed and most of her wardrobe seemed to be stained with baby sick. It was fair to say she wasn’t dealing with motherhood like those well-turned-out mothers she used to see strolling round Hyde Park with state-of-the-art prams. But that didn’t surprise her. None of the practicalities surprised her either – apart from the fact they were possibly even more time-consuming and cumbersome than she had feared. But what did surprise her was how little all of that mattered to her when she looked at Jessica. Perhaps, she considered, she’d focused so much on her fears that she’d never thought about the good things a baby could bring. The joy of her first smiles – ‘Just wind,’ Pamela said, the first time she visited – the shrieks and gurgles that Sylvia found surprisingly delightful, that tiny fist tight around her finger.

‘I’m so sorry I missed the opening,’ Sylvia said.