Tara rummages under her travel system for what she needs and heads upstairs. I hear the sound of the floorboards creaking under her feet as she moves across the landing, her voice murmuring quietly above me as she deals with Rufus. Shrieks and laughter come from Mina’s room, but I still can’t quite allow myself to relax. I wait for the scratching to come again, but there is only silence. Tara isn’t as overwhelming when she is alone, and I feel bad for ignoring her when she called to me outside preschool. I hadn’t realized either that she had suffered postnatal depression with James, and I wonder if I was too quick to judge her – perhaps her image of perfect clothes, perfect hair, perfect make-up is all just a façade, a way of controlling the world around her. Maybe I shouldn’t be so suspicious, perhaps Tara and I could be proper friends, like me and Naomi, only without that underlying awkwardness that sometimes rears its head when the subject of babies and pregnancy arises. It was easier to make friends when I was travelling, the idea that I would spend time with other backpackers, drinking, dancing, swimming, and then they would move on, or I would move on, making it easier to allow myself to open up. I’ve always found it difficult to make friends – me and my mum were always a solid unit of two when I was growing up and she never saw any real need for friends – Naomi is the only person I’ve ever really allowed myself to be friends with. Maybe now it’s time to take another step, to let Tara in. She’s not as bad as my first impression of her. I paste a smile on as I hear her descend the stairs, James whining as she reaches behind her to hold on to his hand.

‘Sorry, Allie, I think we had better go. Rufus is a little under the weather. It’s the milk, I think.’ She rolls her eyes and I laugh.

‘I understand. I’m glad you came over.’ I help her to the front door, promising to meet her for coffee after the preschool drop-off at least once this week, and waving with Mina until they disappear around the corner.

‘That was nice, to play with James at home,’ Mina says, before she scurries back upstairs to her toys and I have to agree, ignoring the scratch, scratch that starts up again from the chimney as I pass by, heading back towards the kitchen to check on the baby.