‘But you are,’ she insists, her eyes filling with sudden tears. ‘Ludo told me what it was like at your place. How you cooked whatever the kids wanted and let them have pancakes instead of a proper meal. And if they wanted to flop into bed, all dirty without having a bath, you were fine with that too …’ For Christ’s sake – did he file a full report on me? And, actually, Izzy did have her nightly baths!

‘That’s only because Ludo didn’t want—’

‘And you don’t mind mess,’ she goes on. ‘You’re not like me, always running around, picking things up, wanting the house to look decent …’

‘Chrissie … are you okay?’ Any defensiveness fades immediately as her tears spill over. She nods mutely. ‘You’re just exhausted,’ I add. ‘D’you want to come round and have a cup of tea with me, leave Lara with Tim for a little while?’

‘He’s at work,’ she says, sniffing.

‘Bring her over, then,’ I say, figuring that Nick is due any minute and, actually, having Chrissie and the baby here might help to defuse any awkwardness.

‘Thanks, but Lara’s napping and I don’t want to disturb her.’

‘Okay, if you’re sure. But any time you want to chat—’

She rubs at her eyes again and smiles shakily. ‘Thanks, Viv. It’s so stressful, you know, trying to do everything right?’

‘Please don’t be hard on yourself. I’m sure you’re doing a great job.’

She pushes back her dishevelled blonde hair. ‘Tim says so. The health visitor says so. But I never feel as if I am, you know?’

‘It’s natural to feel like that. Lara’s only three weeks old. Your body’s just been through a huge thing, and your hormones are probably all over the shop.’ Get me, the hormone expert all of a sudden.

She nods. ‘I just feel … useless half the time. Ludo won’t listen to anything I say. I’m not giving him enough attention.’

‘I’m sure Ludo’s fine. He’s great!’

‘I guess my self-esteem isn’t too hot right now,’ Chrissie adds, turning back to her clothes pegging. ‘I should take a leaf out of your book, Viv, all blow-dried and wearing a lovely dress, not afraid to shout about how brilliant you are …’

I blink at her. ‘Sorry?’

She smiles another watery smile. ‘The day after we came home from hospital. I heard you shouting in your kitchen—’

‘Oh, I’m sorry about that,’ I say quickly. ‘It was, um, a kind of exercise. A sort of self-empowerment thing. Jules made me do it …’

‘No need to apologise,’ she says, brightening a little now, clearly enjoying the memory. ‘But I won’t forget it. In fact I’m thinking of trying it too.’

‘You should! It’s good for the—’

‘Confidence?’