I swear it was a missed opportunity our mothers had never met and formed a “My thoughts and feelings leave no room for yours” coalition.

Jessica rolled her eyes at me as she shoved tins into an already stuffed cupboard. “And I’m sure you’re just devastated to be proven right, Mum. And shh... Bridget, remember?”

Bridget didn’t even acknowledge the dig at her father. She had found the caramel yogurts and was staring at them like Indiana Jones and that egg from the beginning of The Temple Of Doom.

“Mummy? Can I have one of these?”

“No, honey, they’re for after dinner.”

“But I want one now. I want one now, and I want one after dinner.”

Jessica bent over and prized the yogurts out of her daughter’s vise grip, putting them at the back of the fridge. “I know you do, sweetheart, but I’m afraid they’re only for later.” Jessica smushed her into a hug. “Now, how about we go to the park with your new friend, Aunty Fern?”

We stepped out into the cold, and were yanked through town by Bridget. I noticed every change in shop front, every tree that wasn’t there anymore. I opened my mouth to tell Jessica I’d bumped into Liam, then found myself saying nothing. He was one of the many things we still hadn’t talked about. I added it to our growing list. I noticed that people’s heads turned as we passed them. People double-taking. At first I thought it was the usual Jessica effect, until I followed their eyeline and saw they were reacting to her daughter instead. Eyes flickered, gaze loitering longer than usual, trying to hide it while Bridget stomped past, telling me how high she could go on a swing.

When we reached the park, Bridget broke free, running in her light-up shoes toward the playground. “Be careful,” Jessica called, but made no effort to catch up. We followed her in as she was swallowed by the colorful chaos of all the other children playing, while parents sank onto benches, exhausted, clutching cups of coffee. We found a spare bench and the cold from the wood bled through my jeans as we watched Bridget play. She soon appeared at the top of the giant wooden pirate ship and waved proudly at us. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding weird,” I said, waving back, “but your child is unnervingly pretty. I can’t quite cope with it.”

Jessica laughed. “No, I get it. It’s weirder when people pretend it’s not the case! Everyone is freaked out by her. She gets model scouted all the time, but I can’t imagine it’s a good thing for her to do. I don’t want her to define herself by how pretty she is.”