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When fitting a child’s car seat, you must make sure the seatbelt passes through all the correct guides. It must go through the blue guides if it is a rearward-facing seat, and through the red guides if it is a forward-facing seat. It should not be yanked several times whilst you swear like a navvy. You should not need to cry about being a ‘prisoner in your own home’.

Henry was six weeks old and, if life was going to get back to normal, Jenny needed to be able to take him out on her own. At last she was feeling up to driving and Dan had shown her again and again how to do this. So why was it so difficult? Damn thing.

Fumbling with the stupid seatbelt, she tried not to think about the fact she hadn’t yet driven alone with Henry in the back. Already, it had taken about two hours to get ready to leave the house. Nappies, wipes, spare baby clothes for sick/poo/dribble emergencies; she used to pack less for a weekend away. Thank God for breastfeeding – how women managed to also coordinate sterilised bottles was beyond her – but she was also mildly terrified about getting her boobs out in public. They hadn’t seen sunlight since Ayia Napa, circa 2001.

The seatbelt clicked into place and Jenny kissed Henry in triumph. They were on their way.

When she got to the café, Antonia and Naomi were already there, both looking remarkably slim. Jenny felt ashamed of her maternity leggings and was glad they couldn’t see she was still wearing her post-birth knickers. Her mum had bought her the waist-hugger pants after the birth, as normal knickers were too uncomfortable on her scar. ‘I’m not wearing those bloody things,’ she’d scoffed. But then she’d tried them and crikey they were comfy.

‘Hello, ladies,’ she said, taking the obligatory look at their newborns and making the appropriate remarks about cuteness, whilst being secretly pleased that Henry was obviously far more attractive than Jessica and Daisy. ‘How are you both?’

‘Bloody knackered, darling.’ Antonia kissed Jenny on both cheeks, leaving an aroma of expensive face cream. Jenny smelled more like nappy cream. ‘That bloody woman at antenatal didn’t tell us that they never bloody sleep.’ But she didn’t look like she hadn’t slept; there were women on the front covers of magazines who looked less glamorous.

But thank God Jenny wasn’t the only one struggling with a persistent insomniac. ‘You, too? I think I was up about forty times last night.’ Although ‘up’ seemed rather a strong euphemism for the state of half-conscious, semi-prone staggering from cot to bed that had been her nocturnal activity.

‘I think we’re all rather sleep-deprived. Wine?’ Antonia raised a perfectly proportioned eyebrow and a waiter appeared.

If only. ‘I still don’t know if I’m allowed to or not while I’m breastfeeding.’ The NHS leaflet said no, but Jenny’s desperate Google research said yes. Last night she’d considered drinking four fingers of whisky in the hope it would filter through her boob to Henry and make him sleep. ‘Better stick to orange juice, please.’

‘Actually, you are allowed a glass of wine, although I am completely abstaining.’ Naomi flicked a plait over her shoulder and fiddled with the leather thong around her neck. It appeared to have something hanging from it that was indented with a baby footprint. Obviously, she was going to be an expert on breastfeeding as well as birth. ‘Have you tried fennel tea? It helps with your milk.’

Antonia adjusted the neckline of her wrap dress. ‘You’re doing better than me. I managed about five days before I couldn’t bear the pain any longer.’

‘It’s a lot more difficult than I thought,’ admitted Jenny. ‘My nipples feel like I’ve massaged them with broken glass.’

‘Really? But it’s easy.’ Naomi leaned forwards to fold back a crocheted pram blanket and stroke baby Daisy’s cheek. ‘Daisy latched on immediately after birth.’

Antonia rolled her eyes at Jenny.

A smart, trendy pram appeared next to them, followed by an equally smart, trendy Gail. ‘Hi, all. Where are we parking these things?’ She slid into the seat next to Jenny. ‘Have you ordered?’ She nodded at a waiter and mouthed, ‘House red.’ Then she turned back to the others. ‘Sorry I’m a little late. I had a call from the office.’

Jenny felt like she’d stepped into the twilight zone. No one would guess that these women were brand new mothers. Antonia looked like she belonged in a Maybelline advert, Naomi was bossing the breastfeeding and Gail was already taking work calls. Meanwhile, Jenny wanted a round of applause for getting out of the house fully dressed. What was she doing wrong?

‘How are you managing to work already?’ she asked. ‘I can’t seem to get anything done and I’m trying to write a… uh… novel whilst I’m on maternity leave.’ She had decided not to tell them about the blog just yet. They might start acting differently if they knew she was using them for research. ‘Sometimes I’m still in my pyjamas at ten o’clock.’ Or twelve.

Antonia shuddered. ‘Last week, a colleague of Geoff’s collected him for a breakfast meeting before I’d brushed my hair and done my make-up. I was mortified.’

Jenny tried to imagine Antonia with messy hair and no make-up. Nope. Can’t do it.

‘My mum visits most days and I have some time then,’ said Gail. ‘She’s cooking all my meals and watching Jake if I want a nap.’

‘I would kill for an afternoon nap.’ Jenny had often had a little ‘disco nap’ if she had a big night out planned. That had gone out of the window, along with hot cups of coffee. At least she knew now what Toilet Woman had meant about enjoying hot drinks whilst she could.

‘Has anyone heard anything more from Ruth?’ asked Gail.

‘I have,’ Jenny said.

David’s original email had been brief.

It was a week later that he’d sent another email, explaining what had happened. The baby hadn’t moved for almost a day and Ruth had been concerned. The midwife had come to visit and hadn’t been able to find a heartbeat. Ruth and David had had to go into hospital to get the confirmation of what they already knew: the baby’s heart had stopped. The doctors thought that the umbilical cord had somehow been obstructed and the baby had been deprived of oxygen. In all other respects, she’d been a perfectly healthy baby.

Jenny had sent Ruth and David an email saying how sorry she was and had then called her a couple of weeks later. ‘We only had a very brief conversation.’

‘How is the poor darling?’ asked Antonia.

Jenny shrugged. ‘I’m not really sure. She sounded strained on the phone, said she was just taking things a day at a time. Actually, I’m going to see her soon.’

‘We mustn’t lose touch with her.’ Naomi was emphatic. ‘I’d hate her to think that we didn’t want to see her. Can I come with you?’

‘She may not want to see you,’ warned Gail. ‘She certainly doesn’t want to be seeing small babies right now.’

‘I wasn’t planning on taking Henry,’ Jenny replied, quickly. Did Gail think she was stupid?

For a few moments, they were quiet. Naomi glanced at Daisy, Gail rocked Jake’s pram and Antonia readjusted the blanket covering Jessica. Ruth should be here too. Jenny watched Henry’s lips twitching in his sleep and tried to imagine how it would feel to… She stopped herself. It was too painful. Don’t think about it.

Instead she focused on how she was going to get blog material out of these three. Where would she find any humour? There was nothing funny about women who had babies and managed very well. Plus, it was making her feel more than a little inadequate. Just change the subject.

‘Anyone started a diet yet?’

‘I don’t think we should be dieting so soon, should we?’ Naomi smoothed her loose smock top across her flat stomach. ‘Anyway, I think the breastfeeding is doing its job. I seem to be losing the weight without trying.’

Avoiding the urge to stick her fork in Naomi’s eye, Jenny sat up and tried to suck her belly in. ‘Not for me. Breastfeeding makes me want to eat anything I can get my hands on. Speaking of which, are we going to order some lunch?’

They had only just ordered their meals when the babies started to wake up to be fed. Hot and clammy, Jenny realised that she was going to have to feed Henry. In public.

At home, she could strip to the waist and have several attempts at sticking him on and off before she found a position that didn’t make her toes curl; here, she would just have to go for it. Pulling her breastfeeding top apart, she held her breath and pinned him on as quickly and about as accurately as a tail on the donkey. Nose to nipple. Nose to nipple. Agony.

Watching her wince, Antonia raised her glass to Jenny. ‘You’re a brave woman to keep at it, darling. I remember that torture only too well.’

‘Are you sure he’s latching on properly? It shouldn’t be painful.’ To prove her point, Naomi lifted her smock top and slipped Daisy onto her own breast as easily as the stupid bloody video Antenatal Sally had shown them. Jenny added Naomi to her list of people to kill.

‘Yep. That's what the health visitor said.’ Jenny yelped as Henry's gums clamped round her sore nipple. How come Naomi looked so bloody serene? If it wasn’t for the outline of Daisy’s head under her top, you wouldn’t even know what she was doing. Jenny gritted her teeth. ‘She also said my nipples would harden up eventually and it would stop hurting so much.’

Gail grimaced. ‘Oooh, hard nipples? Something else to look forward to.’ She straightened her blazer. ‘Piles, stretch marks, wetting yourself every time you laugh. Childbirth really is the gift that keeps on giving.’

‘How do all these movie stars look so glamorous only days after giving birth?’ Jenny had tortured herself looking though old copies of Hello! magazine at the baby-weighing clinic the day before.

‘They have staff,’ Gail replied.

Antonia leaned forwards. ‘I read somewhere that they have liposuction straight after the birth.’

‘Really? Can that be true? I wish I could have had a bit of that.’ Jenny could understand why she’d put on weight around her belly – to cushion the baby – but why had the size of her backside increased so much?

‘What about me?’ said Gail. ‘I’m going back to work soon, and I can just see the looks from my staff when I roll in on the Monday morning. I don’t think I’m anywhere near fitting into any of my work suits.’

Jenny had further depressed herself by trying on a pair of work trousers the previous week. The two sides of the zip had been so far apart they needed a passport to meet up.

‘Are you really going back so soon?’ asked Naomi. ‘I thought you might have changed your mind.’

Gail shook her head. ‘A large part of being an investment fund manager is meeting with financial analysts to stay on top of the market. If I’m away too long, I’ll be no good to my clients. Frankly, I also need the money. Especially if I have to go out and buy a set of fat suits.’

Jenny wanted to ask about Joe: wouldn’t he be supporting Gail for a while? In all the communication they’d had so far, Gail had barely mentioned him. Could she ask?

Just then, the food arrived and Jenny tried to jiggle Henry around a bit so that the waiter could put her plate down without getting a full frontal. She may as well not have bothered, as Henry chose that moment to fall asleep and drop his head back dramatically, exposing her oversized nipple to anyone who cared to look.

Jenny pulled her top back over her chest then, as if holding a live grenade, placed Henry back into his pram. Sitting back, she realised her shoulders were hunched up almost to her ears and tried to make herself relax. The other three seemed to be coping so well. Naomi was even supporting Daisy with her right hand whilst eating a superfood salad with her left. Jenny wanted to lie face down on the table and go to sleep. In a plate of chips.

Maybe she just needed a couple more weeks to get the hang of it all. So she wasn’t a natural like Naomi. She would just have to try a bit harder. Henry was only six weeks old. In a real job, she wouldn’t have even completed the induction period yet. It had probably been the same when she’d started on the magazine.

Except, on the magazine, she had been given some useful training, not left to fend for herself with a handful of baby manuals and a brief meeting with a health visitor. Why hadn’t Antenatal Sally taught useful skills, like how to eat lunch with one hand, dress a baby octopus and survive on five hours’ sleep? She should have ditched the antenatal class and spent a week on special ops with the SAS.

An alarm started to beep on Gail’s mobile. ‘That’s my cue to go,’ she said. ‘I promised I’d dial into a conference call from home this afternoon.’ She stood up and put a £20 note on the table. ‘That’s should cover my bill and a tip. Sorry I have to dash. I’ll see you all soon.’ She waved and was gone.

‘I should go, too, really,’ said Jenny. ‘I promised to visit the girls at the magazine and introduce them to Henry.’ This was a lie, but she had a sudden urge to be somewhere where she knew what she was doing. She could check in with Eva, see what she thought about the blog – and make sure that no one had started using her desk.

Antonia motioned to the waiter for the bill. ‘Would you both like to come to me next time, ladies? It might be more comfortable than sitting around a table.’

Jenny rummaged around her cavernous changing bag, trying to locate her purse. She wasn’t particularly thrilled about the thought of seeing them again so soon, but what else was she going to do for blog ideas? Plus, she wouldn’t mind having a nose around Antonia’s house: it was bound to be huge. ‘Found it!’ she said, pulling out her purse and bringing two nappies with it. ‘It would be lovely to meet at yours. Just let me know when. Will you let Gail know, or shall I?’ She stuffed the nappies back into the bag.

Antonia shrugged. ‘Feel free to ask her, but she may be too busy having important meetings.’

Jenny glanced at her watch. It was 2 p.m. Eva was usually back in her office by now, which meant that Jenny could have an important meeting of her own.