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Florence made a happy noise. Everyone exclaimed that she’d clearly said “Cake time,” and it felt natural after the applause to go straight into “Happy Birthday” while processing in a group to the kitchen.

Adam lit the candle and picked up Florence so she could blow it out, and Coralie took a lovely candid photo of them together, illuminated by the bespoke glazing.

There were no lovely candid photos of her (at all) and especially none of her with Florence.

A few times, in the park, or once on mat leave when they’d gone to Charleston and Coralie had just had her hair done, she’d asked Adam to take a photo of her and the baby.

He’d gamely agreed, widened his stance, leaned back from the waist, pointed the camera up her nose, and counted down loudly from five.

By two, there were tears in her eyes. She’d deleted the photos without looking.

“Happy birthday, dear Florence,” the group sang, at which point they all became aware of a single standout voice: Nicky Adebayo singing like an actual cello.

“Mate,” Dan said after the candle was out and everyone was waiting for a slice. “Have you thought of singing professionally?”

“Ahh, stop!” Nicky covered his ears and backed toward the pantry.

“He does! He does sing professionally!” Stefan said. “I saw him at Glasto 2015! It was amazing—you were amazing!”

“That’s so nice,” Nicky mumbled. “Normally when I meet new people, they go out of their way to say they’ve never heard my stuff.”

“Glastonbury 2015,” Coralie raised an eyebrow to Alice.

“Where the magic happened,” Alice murmured back. (Beauty had been conceived in a yurt.)

“Went back the year after—shocking.” Nicky shook his head. “Woke up and it was Brexit.”

“Not my fault!” Tory Tom said.

“What are you, David Cameron or something?” Nicky laughed. “Why would it be your fault?”

“Funny you should say—”

“Tom, Tom,” Zora called from the sofa, where she’d retreated to have her cake. “Rup’s doing a poo in his nappy.”

“Where is he?”

“Hiding between the sofa and the window.”

“He does this.” Tom shrugged. “He likes to skulk. Sorry, do you mind if I use the changing table?”

Coralie shuddered inwardly at the thought of that giant boy in her tiny girl’s space. “No, please, of course!”

“And how old is Beauty?” Sally asked in her gentle way. Beauty, her hair in bunches, was tapping a wooden lemon against the play kitchen.

“She turned one a few weeks ago,” Alice said. “We had the loveliest weekend away, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Nicky said. “My mum took her; we went to Paris.”

“Happy birthday to you ,” Stefan said. “You don’t get out much, do you, Cor? You haven’t had a night out in a year.”

“Oh!” Coralie said. “Well, the baby had so much to get used to. Being born.” Everyone laughed, although she hadn’t been joking. “Then she goes to nursery for such long hours. Home is kind of her safe space—I would feel bad if she woke up at night and a stranger had to comfort her.”

“Cor.” Alice pulled her aside. “Do you have any…” She trailed off with a meaningful face.

“Valium? Cyanide?”

“Pads? A tampon? I’m on my period, I can feel it.”

“Come up, I’ll find some for you.”

They jogged up the stairs together with the relief and joy of cutting class. “I loved not bothering with this when I was pregnant,” Alice said.

“I quite like having mine. Everything’s ticking along; that’s what a period says to me.”

“Getting mine tells me Nicky managed to pull out.”

“You don’t want to…?”

“I do want to, but the flat only has one room.”

“I want to, but my boss would probably sack me.”

“Who cares about your boss!”

“I do! A bit. For some reason.”

In the next room, they became aware of Tory Tom droning as he changed Rup’s nappy. “And on that farm there was a shark , E - I - E - I - O !”

“Not exactly Nicky Adebayo,” Coralie whispered.

“Not exactly,” Alice agreed.

···

In the kitchen, after everyone had gone, Adam loaded the dishwasher with mugs and cake plates. “Nicky Adebayo! Even I know him. He won the Mercury Prize. What’s he working on? He wouldn’t say.”

“He’s in a fallow period. Are you starstruck by a nursery dad?”

“No!”

“You and Tom think you’re the famous ones.”

“Tom’s not famous.”

“Okay!”

He opened his arms and she relaxed into him, her forehead on his shoulder.

“Another great weekend being the world’s best parents.” Adam looked over to the play kitchen. Florence appeared to be climbing into the oven. “Floss, Flossie? Stop trying to Sylvia Plath. Did you have the best time ever?”

“Soh,” Flossie said. “Soh-Soh?”

“Zora’s gone to Camden, Cheep-Cheep,” Coralie said. “She’ll be back next weekend.”

“Do you want the park, Wrennie-Wren? Park time?” Florence gave Adam an interested look, or at least didn’t start to cry.

“Did Tom take Rup’s shit out with him,” Coralie murmured, “or did he leave it upstairs?”

“He left it for the shit fairy. That’s me, I suppose. I’ll take it to the park bin.”

“Thank you.” Coralie leaned back into the hug. “It’s nice Tom wants Rup in Flossie’s life, isn’t it? Or is it weird?”

“Nice, I think? He had to pick up Zora anyway. Might as well have some cake.”

“Daniel was on good form, I thought.”

“Very good form,” Adam said. “For a Trot who lives in a squat. A squat Trot. Hang on, who’s texting me? Oh, it’s Sally. What the hell?” He held out his phone.

We’d love to come up one weekend soon so you and Coralie can get away , Sally had written, and we can have some Florence time. Give us a few dates and we’ll make it happen. This is an offer from both of us. Love the GGs.

“Praise be,” Coralie said. “It’s a miracle.”

···

Soon after, Antoinette announced she was leaving the agency to join Edward Enninful’s Vogue . Stefan was appointed the agency’s new creative director. He moved into Antoinette’s old office. Sadly, she took the Tulip table with her.

“I hope you understand, Coralie,” Antoinette said. “And that you’re not too disappointed. A big job like this requires commitment. Commitment and sacrifice.”

“Cor,” Stefan begged, “please, can nothing change?”

Apart from their long partnership, his title, his salary, and his status?

Of course, and there were no hard feelings, and she was proud of Stefan and wouldn’t have wanted the job anyway—but Florence had just taken her first steps at nursery, and Coralie hadn’t been there to see them.

It was a bit rich to talk about sacrifice.