‘Well, Jack seems to be really hands-on with the baby. You’re very fortunate. I don’t think Harry ever changed a nappy!’ She tapped her fingers on the table, and there was an awkward pause. ‘And how are you, anyway? No postnatal blues or anything? I mean, it must have been a worry for you both, with your mum’s mental trouble …’

‘What do you mean?’ I felt suddenly defensive. ‘What has my mum’s mental state got to do with me?’

‘I just thought that, well, you might have been more susceptible – you know, as there are mental health issues in your family …’

‘For your information, there are no issues as you put it in my family history. My mum’s problems aren’t genetic – they’re the result of something she took when she was younger. Before you ask, I’ve never done drugs. And in answer to your question, no, I haven’t got postnatal depression. I’m perfectly okay, thank you.’ I was seething at her suggestion, even though it was something I had often contemplated myself. But I had to believe that my mother’s problems were drug-related. The thought that they could be hereditary, that I might be at risk of going down that same precarious road, was just too terrifying.

Jack appeared in the doorway. ‘Everything all right in here?’ he enquired anxiously.

‘Yes, yes – we’re fine, love. Just having a healthy discussion, that’s all.’

I glared at her. ‘Excuse me, I’ll go and check on Elodie.’ The baby monitor would have alerted us if there was a problem, but I needed to get away from Sylvia before I said something I might regret. Her tactlessness was astonishing. It was at times like this that I wished I could have picked up the phone to call Reggie for a vent. She would have said something to make me laugh, defuse the situation.

Angry tears stung my eyes. I pushed past Jack and went up the stairs. Elodie was fast asleep in her Moses basket, snuffling softly as she moved her head. She looked so beautiful. Her eyes were tightly closed and I gazed at her long dark lashes. Just like Jack’s. I felt bad then that I had reacted to Sylvia’s jibe; bad because she was Jack’s mother and, even if I didn’t care for her very much, I certainly didn’t want to upset my husband. I could hear raised voices downstairs and realised that Jack was grilling Sylvia to find out what had gone on. I stroked Elodie’s cheek and crept from the bedroom.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped back into the living room. ‘I’m sorry – I’m overtired and it’s taking its toll on me. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m a bit touchy at the moment. You’ll have to excuse me.’