‘Three weeks in Devon. You are so lucky that you are both self employed and these idyllic breaks are possible,’ says Simon.

‘You didn’t do to bad for hols this year, Simes,’ says Luke. ‘Thailand last Christmas, Skiing in February. France this summer. Believe me, it’s my wife’s photography skill that makes our hol look idyllic. Think British summer time and sand in your picnic,’ he laughs.

Connie hits him, playfully. ‘It was idyllic. OK camping was perhaps a little ambitious considering I haven’t done it since girl guides and you’ve never camped at all.’
‘Remind me, how long did you manage in the tent?’ asks Daisy.

‘One night,’ squeals Connie.

We all laugh as we had spent some time trying to dissuade Connie from a camping holiday; it’s so clearly not her thing. We pointed out that there isn’t hot and cold running water in tents, let alone Jacuzzis, but she’d been seduced by a Sunday supplement that had a headline claiming camping was the new Barbados.

‘Do you remember her arguing it would be an economical holiday?’ Luke asks the table. We all nod. ‘We spent £800 on camping equipment and that makes it the single most expensive night of accommodation I have ever enjoyed. Not that I did enjoy it what with the rain and the hysterical shrieks that there were wild animals prowling around our tent.’

‘I saw their shadows,’ insists Connie, she’s still laughing.

‘Then we couldn’t get a cottage and had to pay through the nose to stay at some flash country house hotel, which was wall to wall with stressed Londoners. We could have stayed at home for that.’

‘I loved it,’ smiles Connie, unperturbed.

‘I know baby, I did too, really,’ grins Luke affectionately. ‘Even if my bank manager is hyperventilating.’

‘Can I get anyone a coffee? I found a lovely Fair Trade store just around the corner. They have a fantastic strong Brazilian blend.’ I offer.

‘No, thanks Rose,’ says Simon, rubbing his small paunch.

‘Not for me, Rose,’ says Luke pushing back his chair.

‘I’m off coffee,’ smiles Connie.

‘Tea?’ I offer.

‘No, just sit down, Rose,’ says Daisy with a slight snap in her voice.

The slight snap catches my attention. Daisy is invariably very polite and patient. This IVF must be bothering her enormously. I look up from clearing the table of the final bits of debris and notice all eyes are on me.

‘Rose,’ says Daisy and then she stops. She glances towards Connie but Connie is suddenly rapt in tucking Flora’s curls behind her ears. Simon coughs. ‘Rose,’ Daisy tries again. ‘I’m sure there’s a tactful way into this conversation but I can’t think of it right now so I’m just going to have to launch right in. As your sister it’s my prerogative, think of it as my using my joker card after thirty odd years of being reasonably supportive and sensitive.’

I have no idea what she’s going to say to me but as I examine the other three faces around the table, it’s clear they all know exactly what she is going to say to me and none of them are relishing the moment.

‘What is it, Daisy?’ I ask with a cool smile, which is entirely fake and unlikely to convince anyone. I feel my face turning scarlet. ‘Oh God, you’re not ill, are you?’ Panic seizes my throat and strangles the words, ‘the children,’ I look to Connie in fear.

‘No, no, nothing like that,’ assures Connie sympathetically. She leans towards me and squeezes my arm.

‘Don’t over react sis, you are making this job even harder,’ says Daisy sharply. ‘The thing is, we’ve been talking about it, and we think you are wasting your life.’

Connie whips her head around to face Daisy and glares at her crossly; she then mimics the chaps, who are staring at the table cloth. Daisy is the only one meeting my eye - she’s trying to brazen it out.

‘Wasting my life?’ I mutter, confused.

‘Yes, that’s what we think.’ says Daisy. I know she’s finding this difficult and that’s why she’s being so aggressive but, even so, I think what she just said is unforgivable.

‘Who is 'we'?’

‘All of us. Your friends.’ My ‘friends’ still can’t bring themselves to look at me. My friends are cowards, it appears.

‘Not wasting it, exactly,’ says Connie. ‘I wouldn’t say that. You’ve done such a fabulous job with the boys, you must be so proud but we were just wondering what you are going to do next.’

‘Next?’ I’m dumb founded. ‘The boys are only seven they are not about to fly the nest.’

‘No but they will Rose and they need you less and less,’ said Luke. ‘Sebastian confided in me that he didn’t want you to pick him up from school any more.’

‘Since when have you known what is best for my sons? What right do you have to involve yourself to that extent?’

‘Well, I am their Godfather,’ says Luke.

‘I simply wanted you to buy them decent Christmas presents,’ I snap.

Simon chips in. ‘We just wanted to talk to you about your future Rose. Because we‘re your friends and we care for you. We can’t sit back and watch you devote yourself to the boys and completely neglect yourself. You don’t do anything other than play taxi driver to them.’

’You have no friends or interests outside the school gates,’ says Connie.

‘You never buy yourself a treat but plough endless time and money into finessing their already near perfect life,’ adds Daisy.

‘We just think it would be nice if you got out and met some new people.’ Luke chips in.

‘Maybe even go on a couple of dates,’ adds Simon.

I feel horror and shame as I realize that this conversation is the tip of the ice berg. Clearly, these four have sat around another dinner table and discussed me and pitied me, then decided that as my ‘friends’ they have a right to confront me with their impertinent views. Could they have discussed this with Peter and Lucy too? Canvassed their opinion on my sad little life. Oh God, the humiliation.

‘You are forty next birthday,’ points out Daisy. ‘What do you think about that?’

‘The alternative to aging is considerably more horrific,’ I point out.

‘It’s not right that you think the release of the next Disney DVD is something to look forward to,’ continues Daisy. ‘You don’t even visit the library unless one of the boys wants a book. Rose, you’ve all but disappeared,’ she says, finally.

‘That’s what being a mother involves, Daisy. But you don’t understand that.’ I reply angrily. I don’t even temper my sentence by adding’ yet,’ or ’sadly’. I want to hurt her as she’s hurt me. I watch Daisy recoil. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I think it’s time you all left. Sebastian and Henry have homework and they’ll need my help.’

I stand up from the table and fold my arms across my chest.

‘Don’t take it like that,’ says Connie. ‘We’re worried about you.’

Daisy says nothing; she’s as white as Bold washed linen. Simon has a protective arm around her; he’s leading her towards the door. Luke is keeping his head down but he has started to gather up the children’s toys, cups and books.

‘Thank you for your concern Connie. When I need someone to tell me my life is trivial and pointless I’ll know who to call.’

‘We’re not saying that,’ Connie stands her ground. More sensitive women would have caved in by now and begged forgiveness. ‘You said that,’ she clarifies and then heads for the door.