‘Hi there!' Kiss, kiss. In breezed Ali, all made up, new hair and boho chic, with her gorgeous little daughter, Minty, beside her. Minty, brushed and soapy clean really did look good enough to eat.

 

Sometimes it felt so disheartening - Ali had one, lovely, careful, daughter, she could dress up, chat to and take out for lunch - whereas Ellen had three unruly savages.

‘Now Mint, take the boys their presents and go and have a little play…' Ali nudged her to the sitting room door, where the girl paused nervously. Hardly surprising, thought Ellen, they'll eat her alive.

 

‘Ellen and I are going to be busy in the kitchen,' her friend held up a carrier bag, which made a bottley clunking, ‘Something to get us through the afternoon,' she winked and Ellen couldn't help smiling. Wine… yes, that would make this all much more bearable.

They went through to the kitchen and Ellen allowed herself to be steered into a chair for a moment.

 

‘So…' Ali began to twist the cork from the bottle of fizz she'd brought with her: ‘I'm here, don't panic, we'll make the food, you'll have time to change and I LURVE the pink,' she rattled out.

 

Ellen glanced at the rather dilapidated jeans she'd thought ‘would do' for the party. Hmmm… and as for the completely bonkers pink highlights in her messy blonde hair which she had been talked into after Ali had convinced her she was the most boring suburban mum on the planet, she absolutely loathed them.

‘Really?!' Ellen asked, touching her hair.

 

‘Yo baby,' was Ali's reply. She took a deep sip and looked dangerously like she was settling down for a gossip.

 

‘So… Greg?' Ali asked, ‘Is there any more to tell?'

 

‘Ah… no… well, not really,' Ellen answered before gulping at her glass, failing to add that since that night (which Ali didn't know about), she had unplugged the phone every evening and hidden in the dark on the two occasions when someone had rung her doorbell after 9pm .