Fiona Gibson - The Great Escape - The laugh-out-loud romantic comedy from the summer bestseller

‘It’s much better for children out here,’ Justine remarks. ‘There’s such a strong sense of community.’

‘Oh, yes, I can see that …’

‘Especially if you’re planning a big family,’ chips in Polly, whom Sadie has realised is mother to three of the children in the room, which seems almost unimaginable. ‘It’s wonderful how everyone helps each other out.’

‘Well, I’m not sure we’ll have any more,’ Sadie says with a grin.

‘Oh!’ Polly frowns at her, then a flicker of understanding crosses her face and she adds, ‘Of course, if it was difficult for you the first time …’

‘No, it’s lovely, and I’m really happy and everything,’ Sadie explains, ‘but, you know, managing the two of them is probably enough to be going …’

‘I mean conceiving,’ Polly murmurs. ‘If you’ve been through all that, you probably won’t want to again with all the drugs and expense and the stress of it.’

Sadie blinks at her. What is it about having twins that makes everyone assume they were conceived by IVF? Sadie is tempted to have a T-shirt printed saying WE DIDN’T HAVE ANY BOTHER CONCEIVING. IT WAS RIDICULOUSLY SIMPLE – IN FACT IT HAPPENED THE FIRST TIME WE TRIED!

‘No, that part was easy,’ Sadie says lightly. ‘We didn’t have IVF.’

‘Oh, didn’t you? I’m sorry, I just assumed …’

‘It’s okay,’ Sadie says, feeling bad now for making Polly uncomfortable. ‘What I mean is, we’re not in any hurry for another.’

‘Don’t rely on breastfeeding as contraception then,’ Justine remarks. ‘That’s how we got Benjamin …’

‘Oh, I’m not,’ Sadie says quickly.

‘I got a coil after that,’ she adds.

‘Me too,’ Polly says eagerly. ‘It’s fantastic.’

Sadie falls silent, not sure she has anything to add to this new, startling line of conversation that doesn’t feel quite right at a child’s first birthday party. Anyway, contraception is hardly an issue at the moment. Since Sadie was around six months pregnant, the very prospect of sex has been as appealing as having a foot amputated – which makes it nearly a year since she and Barney last did it. God , she realises, we’re heading for our first no-sex anniversary.

As Milo starts to cry, Sadie rescues him from the rug and holds him on her lap. ‘He thinks it’s an ice lolly,’ Polly chuckles, indicating her toddler who’s sitting nearby, gnawing at a yellow disc.

‘What is it?’ Sadie asks.

‘Frozen banana. It’s great for teething, soothes the gums …’

‘And he really thinks it’s a proper lolly from a shop?’ Sadie marvels. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Monica starting to unwrap the presents, showing each one to baby Eva in turn.

‘I wouldn’t give Alfie an ice lolly from a shop ,’ Polly exclaims, as if Sadie has just suggested feeding him frozen Red Bull. ‘I make them at home with fresh juice.’

‘Of course, that’s what I meant …’ she says feebly. Monica is opening Sadie’s present now, and says a brief ‘Ahhh’ to the garish giraffe before dumping it on a teetering pile of already opened gifts.

‘Have you ever frozen a banana?’ Polly asks.

‘Er, no, but I’ll definitely try it,’ Sadie says, seized by an urge to leave the overheated room and almost grateful when Dylan emits a howl from the rug.

‘Oh dear. Your boys are a bit unsettled, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, I think they’re a bit hot …’ She gathers him up, holding both babies who are now wailing heartily.

‘They make quite a racket, the two of them!’

Sadie nods. ‘They certainly do. In fact I think we’d better go.’

‘Maybe you could just give them a little push back and forth around the garden?’

‘No, I really think we should head home.’ Trying not to seem too eager, Sadie tries, unsuccessfully, to soothe the boys. Strapping them into the buggy, she says a collective goodbye and makes for the front door, trying to stroll rather than charge towards it, and filling her lungs with crisp spring air once she steps outside. She needs to talk to Hannah or Lou, someone who really knows her and won’t start going on about their ‘fantastic’ coil or imply that she and Barney should get on with the business of baby production.

Sadie tries Hannah first, who thankfully picks up. ‘Sadie? How’s it going?’

‘Good, fine … whereabouts are you?’

‘Just out shopping in the West End with Daisy,’ Hannah replies, and the hubbub of voices and traffic, then a siren wailing, almost makes Sadie faint with desire.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘We’re just trying to find something for Daisy to wear to the wedding …’

How cosy, Sadie thinks – reassuring, too, to be reminded that babies grow up, and that at some point it’s feasible to take them to the shops. To the West End, even.

‘What about you?’ Hannah asks.

‘I’ve just been to a party.’

‘Really? Like, a lunch party or something?’

‘Er, yeah, sort of.’

‘That sounds nice …’

And you sound distant , Sadie thinks, as if your mind’s on something else – which it is, of course, because you and Daisy are browsing in some chi-chi little shops in … actually, Sadie can’t think what part of London has chi-chi shops anymore, and she only left six months ago.

‘I’ll ring you some other time,’ she murmurs.

‘Yeah, okay. Sorry, Sadie, it’s just … tricky right now …’

‘Are you okay? You sound a bit hassled …’

‘No, look, I’ll have to go now, sorry, sorry …’ And she’s gone.

Sadie tries Lou, but both her landline and mobile go to voicemail. She’s probably at work. Sadie hasn’t got her head around Lou’s shift pattern yet, but she seems to virtually live at that soft play centre these days.

Of course, both of her friends are busy right now, as most people are on Saturdays. They’re working, shopping, living their lives, and although she can’t quite identify what it is she’s missing, Sadie suspects that freezing bananas to make pretend ice-lollies probably won’t fill the gap. She’s been kidding herself that she can pull this off – fit in with these women who bake brownies all day, and be a proper mother to Milo and Dylan. Even Barney is slipping away from her, and who can really blame him when her sense of humour and sex drive seem to have completely disappeared? A lump forms in Sadie’s throat as she marches home, knowing she can never tell anyone about the horrible, claustrophobic mess she’s found herself in.

The day isn’t turning out quite the way Hannah had imagined. All the way into the West End, Daisy was stonily quiet, as if mentally preparing herself for extensive dental drilling work. And now, as they hoof along a packed Oxford Street, surrounded by eye-popping stores crammed with everything a ten-year-old girl could possibly desire, she still hasn’t perked up. ‘See anything you like?’ Hannah asks, instantly overwhelmed by a sea of pastel lace and excitable teenagers in New Look.

Daisy shakes her head. ‘Nah.’ Hannah casts a glance around the vast floor. Perhaps there’s just an overabundance of … stuff . If she’s finding it all too much, maybe Daisy is too. It can’t be easy picking, say, a top, when there’s something like eight thousand to choose from.

Daisy wanders away from Hannah to flick through a rail of sludge-coloured trousers. Like Hannah, Daisy isn’t really a dress sort of girl; she prefers a complicated layering system that involves long tops, short tops, leggings, shorts and opaque tights, often with a drapey cardi flung nonchalantly over the top. With her tall, willowy frame, it usually works pretty well. Whenever her mother takes her shopping, Daisy always returns with bagfuls of uninspiring-looking items that look fantastic when she puts them on. Maybe, Hannah wonders, it’s her that’s putting Daisy off. As Ryan reminded her the other night, Hannah doesn’t enjoy shopping. She practically exists in jeans and vest tops; practical clothes for cycling or painting, although she hasn’t painted much lately. Anyway, she thinks now, picking up trousers Daisy’s knocked off the rail, isn’t shopping a classic mother-daughter activity? Daisy is probably missing her mum, especially since Hannah doesn’t seem to know what to do. While mums and daughters all around her are bonding over sequined tops and asymmetrical dresses, Hannah is loitering awkwardly like an alien whose first, baffling experience of earth involves being dropped into the chaos of New Look on a Saturday afternoon.