Spying something else white under one of the bushes, I walk over and pull back a leafy branch, while Daisy tries to wriggle out of my arms. There, tipped onto its side beneath the bush, lies a paint can leaking more of the toxic stuff into the ground. A few yards away the lid lies glinting on the trampled flower bed. This is getting ridiculous. What’s going on around here? I bite my lip, unsure of what to do.

Perhaps the paint can is from the building site. I may as well go over there – I can ask them about the paint as well as asking them to keep the noise down. That drill feels like it’s boring into my brain. I reach over the puddle to close the front door, before walking back to retrieve the paint can, its handle warm and sticky.

I take a breath and walk over to number six. The noise has already spooked Daisy, whose happy nonsense-chatter stops as the drilling gets louder. A burly man in his forties, dressed in a plaster-splattered T-shirt and shorts, paces on the driveway, shouting into a mobile phone clamped to his ear. I pay no attention to his words, concentrating instead on what I’m going to say to him. He looks up and catches my eye, holds a forefinger up to indicate he’ll be a minute. I wait, unsmiling.

Finally, he ends the call and raises an eyebrow.

‘Hi,’ I say. ‘I’m Kirstie Rawlings. I live at number four.’

‘Speak up, love! Can’t hear you.’

‘I live at number four!’ I point to my house.

‘Oh yeah?’

‘I’m Kirstie.’

‘Rob. Rob Carson, site manager. How can I help?’

I vaguely recognise the name.

He glances behind him at a young guy pushing a wheelbarrow down the drive, then barks some instructions at him before turning back to me. ‘What’s it you want?’

‘Is this yours?’ I hold out the dripping paint can.

‘Careful, love, you’re getting paint all over your dress, not to mention the drive. Gloss paint is a bugger to get out.’

‘Yes, well, it’s all over my front step. Does it belong to you?’

Carson holds his hands up. ‘Nothing to do with me. We haven’t even started the plastering yet, let alone the painting, and we wouldn’t be using that stuff anyway.’

I don’t suppose he’d admit to it even if it was from their site.

‘All over your front step?’ he adds. ‘I don’t envy you, cleaning all that lot up.’

‘Thanks,’ I reply drily. ‘So you don’t know how the paint ended up on my step?’

He gives me a hard stare.

‘I’m not accusing you,’ I say. ‘Just asking, that’s all.’

He softens his gaze a little and shrugs. ‘Haven’t got a clue, love.’

‘Well, if you hear anything, can you let me know? I’ve had a couple of incidents now – trampled flower bed, spilt paint.’

‘Sounds like kids.’

‘Yeah, well. Don’t suppose you know how to get gloss paint off a stone step?’

‘Paint stripper and a scrubbing brush.’ He tuts and shakes his head. ‘Bloody kids. I can chuck that paint can in our skip if you like?’ Carson reaches across to take it from me.

I pause for a moment, wondering if I might need it as evidence. But it’s a sticky mess – I don’t want to keep it – so I hand it over. ‘Thanks.’

‘Well, sorry about the paint and all that, but I’d better get back to it.’ He turns away.

‘Also,’ I say, ‘I was wondering… if there’s any chance you could stop the drilling and sawing? Just for an hour or two. It’s just, I’ve got a baby and it’s so loud that I can’t—’

‘You want me to stop work?’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘Mmm, I’d love to have the day off, but I don’t think the owners would be very happy if I got the lads to down tools.’

‘Just the noisy tools,’ I clarify.

‘They’re all noisy – it’s a building site, isn’t it.’

‘Just the drilling, then?’

‘Sorry, love. No can do.’ He goes on to explain why my request is impossible, but I only catch odd snatches of his words. He speaks quickly, dismissively, with no eye contact, like he’s already finished the conversation, his attention caught by cement mixers and spirit levels, suppliers and late deliveries. I am a nuisance, a distraction, hardly worth bothering with. I’m not sure why I even thought he would listen to me. Wishful thinking, I suppose.

I turn away from Carson with a muttered goodbye and head back home, shifting Daisy to my other side to give my left arm a break. Going over there has made my headache worse, and talking to that condescending builder has made me irritable. There’s no point going back to bed now. I’ll never get to sleep.

I should make a start on cleaning up all that paint, but I can’t face it. Not right now. Besides, I don’t have all the right equipment. I’ll do it later. Maybe I’ll fetch Daisy’s pram and we’ll go for a walk – get away from the cul-de-sac for a while. That might be nice. Take my mind off things.

I glance up the road at the sound of a car. It’s Mel in her cherry-red Mercedes. Back from dropping the kids off at nursery no doubt. At least she made it home last night. I decide to head over there to find out what happened with her waiter, and also to see if maybe I can get my cash back.

As I approach, Mel gets out of her car, her hair tied up in a swinging ponytail, Jackie O sunglasses covering half her face. She’s wearing a slightly creased cotton skirt, a plunging halter top and strappy sandals.

‘Nursery run,’ she croaks. ‘At least I can go back to bed now. Although, what the bloody fuck are they doing over at number six? Sounds like they’re sawing the house in half.’

‘I’ve just been over there to ask them to keep the noise down.’

‘Ha! Bet that went down well.’

‘Actually, they’re more likely to listen to you than me,’ I say, ‘if you ask them especially nicely while wearing that top. And yes, I am prepared for you to stoop that low for a bit of blessed peace and quiet.’

‘Maybe later,’ she drawls, and shakes her head. ‘Got time for a coffee? A quick one, though, and decaf for me – I need sleep.’

‘Good luck getting to sleep with that lot going on.’

‘You know me, I could sleep through the apocalypse.’

I’m envious of her ability to sleep through the noise.

‘You didn’t happen to see anyone in our front garden this morning, did you?’ I ask.

‘Your garden? No.’ She squints. ‘Come inside. It’s far too bright for civilised people out here.’

I follow her into her immaculate house. When she first moved in, she made everything ultra-modern, with sleek surfaces and glossy worktops. But she got bored of that last year and now it’s done out in a New England style, with painted wood and tasteful pastel colours.

‘Someone sloshed paint all over our front step,’ I say.

‘What? Paint?’

‘White gloss paint. A great big puddle of the stuff. I almost stepped right in it.’

‘That’s…’

‘I know, right.’

‘Any idea who did it?’

I sit on the sofa with Daisy on my knee. ‘Not a clue. The builder at number six said it’s not their paint.’

‘Iced coffee?’ Mel asks.

‘Please. Although gin would be good about now.’

She gives me a sympathetic look. ‘Don’t worry. Sounds like it’s just kids mucking about.’ She walks over to one of the kitchen cupboards and takes out two tall glasses.

‘I guess so.’

‘Bit weird though, paint.’

I shake my head. ‘Really weird. Anyway, enough about my boring life. Tell me how last night went with your hot waiter.’

‘It was fun.’ Her eyes sparkle. ‘Alfie and I went dancing.’

‘Alfie?’

‘I know. Isn’t that just the last name you’d think of when you look at that baby face of his.’

‘And?’

‘And nothing. That’s it. We danced, had a smoochy kiss and then he dropped me home at one thirty.’

‘Really? Are you going to see him again?’

‘No.’ Mel rolls her eyes. ‘He was sweet, but way too young. I must have had my wine goggles on last night. You should’ve told me I was hooking up with a minor.’

‘No! He’s not, is he?’

‘Joking! He’s twenty-two. Still, that’s bad enough.’ She brings our drinks over and sits on the sofa opposite. ‘So, did you have a good night? Are you glad I made you go?’

‘Yes, I’m glad. It was good to talk to other grown-ups for a change. Apart from Tamsin, that is,’ I mutter.

‘She’s not that bad, is she?’ Mel says, raising an eyebrow. ‘I know she was awful to you back then, but that was years ago. Surely she’s moved on.’

‘You’d think so,’ I huff. ‘But no. She pretty much said she hates me.’

‘Wow. Okay. Well, give her time. Now she’s back, I’m sure she’ll get over it.’

I want to snap that Tamsin actually has nothing to ‘get over’. She slept with my boyfriend. She should be the one apologising and begging my forgiveness. But that all sounds so petty, so I tell myself I’m better off forgetting about the woman. I need to take the high road and act like it doesn’t bother me. ‘You’re right,’ I say, biting back my feelings. ‘It’s all ancient history. I shouldn’t get so hung up on what she thinks.’

It’s a relief to change the subject. Mel fills me in on Sooz’s marriage problems, and then we chat some more about our other friends’ lives and what they’re all up to. I’m hoping Mel is going to bring up the matter of the cash she owes me, but from past experience I know that’s not likely, so I decide to be brave. ‘Hey, Mel, don’t suppose you’re able to pay back that money I lent you last night?’

‘Money?’ Her face tightens.

‘You forgot your purse, remember? I lent you eighty quid.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ She takes a sip of coffee. ‘I haven’t got any cash on me at the moment, Kirst. I had to pay the nursery some overdue fees this morning. They got all snooty with me – I really could’ve done without their attitude this morning. Honestly, I’ve got a mind to find somewhere else for the kiddiwinks to go. I’ll be glad when James starts school next year and I don’t have to pay such exorbitant fees.’

‘It’s just,’ I say, ploughing on, ‘I really need it or I’m going to go overdrawn. I’ve got a direct debit going out of my account today.’ It annoys me that I’m having to explain myself. It feels like I’m the one in the wrong. ‘It doesn’t have to be cash, you can transfer it into my account if that’s easier?’

‘Today might be tricky, hon. But I can probably sort it for you next week?’

‘Mel, you promised. Last night you said you’d pay it back today.’ I take a breath. ‘The thing is, I won’t be able to lend you any more until you’ve paid back what you owe me. It comes to over seven hundred pounds now.’ I didn’t mean for it to come out so bluntly, but I guess there really is no nice way to ask for money.

Her mouth drops open, and then she snaps it shut again.

My heart is pounding and my face has gone all hot and clammy. I feel terrible, but I won’t apologise… And then I go and do just that. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m just tired – new baby, late night, spilt paint, noisy builders. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just, money’s tight, you know?’

She bites her lip, subdued.

‘Look, I’d better go.’ I take a last sip of my drink and rise to my feet.

‘I’m sorry about the money, Kirst,’ she says. ‘I didn’t realise how much I’d borrowed. Are you sure it’s that much? Never mind. Whatever. It’s just…’ She heaves an enormous sigh. ‘It’s so hard being a single mum. You have no idea the strain it puts on everything. A fat tear rolls down her cheek. ‘I’ll get the money somehow. I will, I promise.’

‘Don’t cry, Mel.’ Now I feel terrible. ‘Of course it’s hard. Of course it is. Just… pay me back whenever you’re able to, okay. No pressure at all.’ I know as I say these words that I’ll never see that money again, but it’s fine. I’d rather keep our friendship than let a few hundred quid get between us. ‘Forget I asked, okay?’

Mel sniffs and wipes her eyes. ‘Thanks, hon.’ She stands up and we hug. ‘God, the state of us, both blubbing away. That’ll teach us to get pissed on a school night.’

I don’t bother to remind her that she’s the only one of us who was drinking last night. We say goodbye and I head back to my house. My earlier burst of energy has evaporated and I don’t think I could face going for a walk now. Maybe I’ll slob out on the sofa and watch some crappy TV with the sound turned up loud to drown out the drilling, see if that will take my mind off things.

I realise I’ll have to tell Dominic about the money. He won’t be at all pleased. As I walk back across the road, my annoyance grows. Once again, I’ve let myself be duped by Mel. She always does this. Gives me a sob story and I fall for it. I’d be happy to help out if she really needed the money, but the reality is, her monthly maintenance cheques are more than double what Dominic and I earn jointly. She has money to remodel her kitchen, but not for nursery fees. Money to spend on new clothes, but somehow the electric bill becomes overdue and then I have to bail her out. Mel always comes up with some excuse not to pay me, and every time I fall for it.

I hate feeling like this; bitter and angry. It’s not who I am. But the hard knot in my chest is saying otherwise. Do I even know who I am any more?