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I order my latte and a muffin and head back over. I’m still not sure why I keep meeting up with them. They rarely invite me, and I always leave feeling bad about myself. One of these days I want to say something impressive, something that will knock their socks off, but I rarely have anything to report. In fact, it’s worse this time, because I’ve tipped into the negative. No home, no job – it’s a shame I can’t tell them about Ron, but I promised to keep our relationship under wraps until the time was right, and I’m not going to do anything to risk it. Ugh, it really would be impressive though. I know what they think of me – that I’m a sad single. But I need to be patient. Good things come to those who wait.

As I take my seat I realise they’re mid-conversation, talking about something I don’t understand. Sometimes I think they do it on purpose. Like a blocked milk duct is a badge of honour, a club I’m not part of. I inflict enough nipple trauma on myself, with my long nails, every time I scoop what I’m going to call my side boobs into the cups of my bra. Is that an almost-thirties thing? For your boobs to sort of colonise your sides? If they’re resenting me for my big, firm, bouncy boobs then they needn’t bother. Gravity doesn’t give a shit if I’ve had kids or not, it’s here for me.

‘Well, you know she’d previously had TMV for her POP,’ I catch Tina saying.

‘Are we talking about the stock market?’ I joke as I sit down.

‘Childbirth,’ she replies, either not getting my joke or not caring to laugh at it.

‘Ah, okay,’ I reply. Not really sure what else I can contribute there. ‘I would’ve guessed TMV was a music channel. Not a childbirth thing.’

I don’t know why I’m still cracking jokes.

‘It’s a mesh down there,’ she says, glancing past her baby, towards her crotch.

‘Ahh, but he’s worth it, right?’ I reply, smiling at baby Barnaby, not quite sure what to say about the state of her downstairs.

She narrows her eyes at me, then realises my mistake.

‘A mesh, not a mess,’ she practically snaps. ‘And I don’t have it, they don’t use it any more.’

This is going so, so well. Better than usual, I’d say.

‘How is the little cutie doing?’ I ask, changing the subject.

‘Well, he slept for three hours,’ she says – is that a lot or a little? ‘And we haven’t seen poos in two days. But after the last one, I’m grateful.’

‘Poonami?’ Ann checks.

Tina nods, a look on her face like she’s recalling an old war memory.

‘How is everyone else doing? How are all the kids?’ I ask, edging the subject away from ‘poos’.

I always ask. Truthfully, they literally have a football team worth of kids. It’s hard to keep track of their names, ages and personalities – especially when I don’t get invited to Crocodile Castle with the rest of them. Although I can’t stress enough, I have no desire to go to a soft-play centre, unless they’ll close it to the public so I can vibe in the ball pool on my own. Closest I’m getting to a pool anytime soon.

‘Well, I have one boy who wants to play rugby and another who wants to play football,’ Ann explains. ‘So, you know.’

I don’t.

‘The girls are good,’ Tash adds. ‘But Hugo has slapped cheek disease.’

Sometimes I wonder if they make these things up, just to see if I’ll believe they are real.

‘Oh no,’ I say.

‘And you know my lot,’ Jaz offers up. ‘Mickey broke his leg falling out of a tree.’

‘Oh boy, he sounds like a handful,’ I reply. ‘How old is he now?’

‘Mickey is my husband,’ she reminds me.

‘I know,’ I lie. ‘Still sounds like a handful… haha… ha… ha…’

My laugh fades away. My lone laugh in the face of stony silence.

‘Go on then, you know we’re all so happy and settled with our lovely families, and we have to live through you, so, tell us, are you seeing anyone?’ Tina asks.

I always have to pause, to wonder whether she’s trying to offend me. She almost always is. The grass is always greener, right? We always wonder what the journey would have been like down the road we didn’t take, and while they all have exactly what they want, I do pick up on a little resentment, that they’re locked in with their choice now (even though I’m certain they wouldn’t choose different), whereas I’m on the other route – at least they think I am. I feel more like I’ve broken down, and I can’t get the car going again. I’m starting to think it’s a write-off… but we don’t admit that to this lot.