My sensors start kicking off as soon as I turn on the engine. I know there’s no way I can go backwards first so hard steer and edge forwards. It feels like I’ve only moved a few centimetres before I get the flatline noise of the sensors telling me they’re serious and to back up. I listen. Hard steer the other way, then reverse. Inches, flatline. I repeat the motions over and over, aware that I’m getting hotter.

‘Bloody twats!’ I mutter, hitting the steering wheel in defeat.

‘We’re still at home, Mummy!’ shouts Chloe.

‘I’m going to be late!’ exclaims Barnaby, as though missing the register and having to go to reception to sign in instead is the worst thing in the world.

‘It’s OK,’ I lie. ‘And it’s not your fault at all!’

I can only keep up the pretence for a couple of minutes longer before I switch off the engine.

‘We’ll walk!’ I tell them with as much joy in my voice as I can muster. Thankfully Chloe’s buggy and coat are both in the boot and I don’t have to run into the house to get them. I press the button to release the boot and run out to grab it, only to hear it bang into the flashy sports car behind. It’s not a massive bang – not big enough to cause a dent – but enough to anger the beast and set off its alarm.

Curtains around me twitch as neighbours peep out to see what’s caused the early-morning commotion.

Taking a breath, I go back to the driver’s seat and edge the car forward the few inches the four-by-four has afforded me. I then jump out, go back to the boot and grab the buggy, before swiftly putting it up with a one-handed flick like the bad-ass mother that I am (am trying my hardest to be) and then open Chloe’s door to retrieve her.

‘Not coming,’ she insists, shaking her head, shrinking herself back into her seat.

‘Come on,’ I sing, quickly realizing that she won’t be happy with this change of plan as I reach for the clasp of her seatbelt.

‘NO!’ she shouts, batting my hand away.

‘Chloe, please don’t do this,’ I say quietly, willing the heavens to open up and shower me with patience. ‘We need to get Barns to school, then we can go and have some fun.’

‘Cold!’ she barks.

‘I’ve got your coat and a blanket. You’ll be as snug as a bug.’

‘Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!’ she shouts at the top of her lungs, the sound just managing to cover up the shrill of the car alarm that’s still blaring.

My mind goes to the twitching curtains and pictures my neighbours looking out and judging.

‘It’s time to get out of the car.’

She shakes her hand profusely.