‘Hey, you’re all dressed up,’ says the postman with a grin, handing me a parcel. ‘Going somewhere nice today?’ He stoops to pat Bobby.

‘No, just hanging around really.’ I smile. I always wear a dress and full make-up for cleaning the kitchen. He leaves, having added that I have ‘brightened up’ his morning, and I check my face in the hall mirror again; those rogue facial hairs are only visible in certain lights. Not that I am concerned with impressing Nick. But I don’t want him to think his mother hangs out with a ragbag who could do with a shave.

To keep myself occupied I let Bobby out into the back garden, regretting it immediately as Chrissie is out there, pegging out nappies (naturally a sage-toothpaste family opt for terry nappies). ‘Ooh, your hair looks nice today,’ she calls over with a smile.

‘Does it? Thanks!’ I feign surprise, as if no hairdryer has been utilised in the creation of this flouncy style.

‘You put me to shame, Viv,’ she adds. ‘You’re so glam!’

‘Not at all,’ I bluster, sensing myself flushing. ‘And you look great. No one would ever guess you’ve just had a baby.’

She grunts and grimaces, muttering something unintelligible.

‘How are things going?’ I ask, strolling closer. ‘I’ve seen Tim out and about with Lara a few times. She’s absolutely beautiful. She’s so like you!’

Chrissie smiles wearily. ‘We’re doing okay, I suppose, and Lara’s wonderful, of course. But it’s exhausting, and sometimes I don’t feel up to it – all the stuff you have to do. I guess I’d forgotten what it’s like.’

‘It’s all-consuming, isn’t it?’ I say, remembering it now: that weird, milk-and-nappy-scented bubble, the drifting around in a whiffy dressing gown, barely able to distinguish night from day. ‘The feeding and changing, I mean,’ I add. ‘I hope you’re managing to get some rest.’

She rubs at her eyes. ‘Hmm. Chance’d be a fine thing with all the singing, the facial exercises and all that …’

‘Facial exercises?’

‘Oh, you know – the routine with the big smile, the sticky-out tongue, the whole range of movements …’

‘Really?’ I ask, genuinely intrigued, and remembering Penny mentioning her ‘benign neglect’ approach to mothering with Nick. ‘What’s all that for?’

She gives me a startled look. ‘You know. So the baby can copy your expressions. It aids development.’

Christ, is that what’s expected these days? Maybe – apart from the fact that I have no one to do it with – it’s just as well that I’m way past my reproductive prime. ‘I must admit, I never did any of that.’

‘Yes, well, you’re a relaxed mum and I admire you for that.’ Ah, we know what that means.

‘I’m not really,’ I start.