18 May
‘Still on for this weekend?’ asks Asha, as we wrestle the babies into their coats after our baby rhyme group.
I see a massive hardback on the bottom of her pram; one of those people wade through like treacle.
‘I hope we are,’ she adds, anxious, before I can answer. ‘I’ve booked a hair appointment.’
She sees me looking at the book.
‘Should get through another chapter of that then too,’ she says, animated. ‘One of the hardest things having kids isn’t it? How little you get to read.’
I duck my head in embarrassment.
I’m not a reader, though it’s a thing I don’t like to admit.
Asha is smart, arty; I want her to think I’m smart too, in that way you need to provide signposts for new friends to know who you are, what you stand for.
I think of the panic attack I had at her house last week. I wonder if she and the others suspected, wondered why I was in the toilet for so long. We’ve never spoken about it.
‘Mmm hmm,’ I mutter. ‘Really hard.’
Asha passes Ananya a rice cake. She touches her own smooth black hair, halfway down her back.
A hair appointment? The most this girls’ night was getting from me was a clean bra.
‘I’ve been pumping like crazy but I’m still short,’ says Asha, anxious as she slips Ananya into her sling on her front. ‘Going to get as much as I can tonight.’
I see the hint of a sigh from Cora.
‘Can’t she just give that child a Cow & Gate and stop with the drama?’ she asked me a few weeks ago, after a similar conversation. ‘All this bloody pumping. She’s one. She could have a carton of milk from M&S. Talk about building up your part.’
So, there are some things I am clear on. We might not have each other’s job titles down, but we know each other’s judgements.
Just before we leave the community hall, my phone beeps and I am rummaging in the depths of my changing bag with stuff spilling everywhere to find it when a woman I vaguely recognise comes over to me.
‘Scarlett,’ she says, as I pull out nappy after nappy. ‘I wanted to check something. I don’t like pictures of my baby going online. I saw you posted some of all the babies on Instagram last week. Can you take them down?’
I raise a distracted eyebrow as she removes a child from her leg and picks some glitter off her arm. Where the hell is my phone?
‘Is it important?’ I say. Poppy starts crying for lunch. ‘I have a lot on and that post did well.’
Her face clouds over.
‘No disrespect, Scarlett, but you have no clue why I’m concerned about privacy; what may have happened in our lives to make me ask,’ she says, thunderous. ‘So yes. It is important.’
I go to answer back but don’t get chance.
‘And FYI, there could be a million reasons that a parent wants their child’s picture offline so maybe in future you should check before you post, especially as an influencer,’ she rants.
‘Okay,’ I say, chastened and in shock. ‘Sorry it upset you.’
But before I can emphasise my apology, Cora has waded in.
‘Hon, most parents want to show their children off,’ she says, haughty, on my shoulder. ‘Most parents are proud of their children. And you should be happy he’s on Cheshire Mama’s Insta. It’s kind of a big deal.’
I flush pink.
‘Is she serious?’ says this woman, gesturing to Cora as though she is my child and I am responsible for her. ‘Are you insinuating I’m not proud of my baby just because I don’t want him plastered on the internet like a trophy?’
This is escalating fast and I’m on edge. I don’t want a confrontation. I don’t want another enemy. I feel the panic that engulfed me at Asha’s coming back. I need to get out of here.
I usher Cora away and I see the woman ranting, furious, at her friend and I look around suddenly, on high alert. Do they know about the video? Is that why she wants it taken down, really? Does she not want her child associated with my blog when she knows that about me? Am I not safe here now?
Poppy isn’t strapped into her buggy, isn’t even wearing a sun hat despite the hot spring day when I bolt out of the door as fast as my heart is pounding.
I consider stopping at the local but then I remember: someone would see me, it would fly around, I would be a daytime drinking unfit mum. This claustrophobic place.