‘You ordered a large. She doesn’t strike me as the sort to indulge …’ His eyes are firmly on the pizza but they might as well be on Rosie’s tight little butt.

I hate the wave of shame that washes over me at the thought. Shame for the bitchiness it drums up towards Rosie, and shame for how it makes me feel about my own wobbly and stretch-marked body. We’re not meant to feel this way about our bodies any more. We’re meant to embrace all our ‘imperfections’ and wear them with pride. That’s what us women are meant to do now. It’s hard to admit, but some days I don’t feel like doing all the things I’m meant to.

‘Her loss,’ I mumble, tearing off a cold slice and cramming it into my mouth before my brain has a chance to tell me not to. Grease escapes down my chin as I start chewing. It’s pure filth. My fuzzy head blocks out the remorse I know I’ll experience in the morning when I get up and feel the bloat of my tummy. Sod it.

‘For fuck’s sake, she’s not even washed up,’ I tut, noticing the leftovers from the kids’ dinners crusting up on stacked-up plates. ‘Or tidied up!’ I add, irked that the house still looks like it’s been struck by a tornado – crayons, pencils, Play-Doh, Lego, Moana dolls, teddies, Anas and Elsas, a pile-up of cars and dozens of splayed books cover the floor and surfaces, nicely framed with crumbs, discarded Cheerios or lumps of dinner that have been lobbed across the room by Chloe, who was angry at the offering of fish pie – a meal she loved last week but tonight might as well have been canned dog food.

‘Did you tell her to?’ Nick asks, pushing his glasses up his nose while his eyes stay trained on his pizza. The state of the house is my domain and it seems I’m the only one who gets riled at the continuous cycle of mess that occurs around us.

‘I pay her ten pounds an hour, Nick. I chuck in a free pizza and give her free rein of our wine cupboard … I didn’t realize I had to specify that she wasn’t just here to sit on the sofa and chat to her mates on Snapchat,’ I grumble.

‘Some people just need it spelt out. You can’t be angry about something when you haven’t expressed what you want,’ he says, folding more pizza into his mouth.