But I had my pride and I was worried. I didn’t want anyone, particularly Jack’s mother, Sylvia, whom I wasn’t entirely sure liked me, thinking that I was inadequate in any way, or not coping. His father, Harry, was laid-back and easy to please and we got on well. She, on the other hand, seemed rather more judgemental. She had always been perfectly pleasant, but on the few occasions that I’d been in her company over the years, there were odd moments when I had caught her looking at me in a slightly hostile way that made me uncomfortable. I suspected she thought Jack could have done better for himself.

Mrs Barley called round the morning before the visit. It was 9.30 a.m. – Elodie had finally gone to sleep, but I was exhausted after walking her up and down in the night and was on the verge of tears, as I so often seemed to be at that time. The sleeplessness and the discomfort after the birth were getting me down and I could really have done without the in-laws descending on us. Apart from everything else, I felt like a physical wreck. I had begun to dread every feed, which – cracked, painful nipples aside – induced unpleasant cramping in my stomach. I needed a bath and hadn’t washed my hair for days. Lack of sleep had left my eyes sunken and my skin sallow. It was as though I had aged about ten years overnight. I hated the sight of my ugly scar and my stomach looked like a wrinkly, deflated balloon. I wondered if I would ever regain my figure, and worried that Jack would never find me attractive again.

I kept thinking about my mum, too. Was this how things started for her – did her mental health deteriorate after my arrival? Maybe she had been on the brink anyway and then everything completely went to pot as a result of some sort of post-partum psychosis. Was that the beginning of the end of her relationship with my father? He must have loved her once. And now she had been abandoned by both of us. I thought about how devastated I would feel if Elodie turned her back on me and was consumed with guilt. Then I thought about Jack and was suddenly terrified that I might descend into mental illness and that he might leave me one day. My mind was darting wildly from one thought to another and I felt as though I was losing control.

‘Whatever is it, love?’ Mrs Barley came in through the French doors, looking concerned.