'I'll call her and explain that I'll be visiting Nick's grave, my husband's grave, whenever I choose, pregnant or with the baby, whenever the boys want to go. If the church is locked, that's fine. We don't need to go in. And if she doesn't like it she can ... well ... she can bugger off.'

'That's right, pet. About time you stood up to her, dreadful woman. You've got nothing to be ashamed of. Not like some people I could mention.'

'Gran.'

'Well, I think someone should tell her.'

'What does she mean?'

Fiona's looking rather desperate now she's caught a hint of a missing entry in her little book of family secrets.

'Nothing.'

'Oh yes I do, I'm an old woman and I can speak my mind, it's one of the advantages of getting older. Left with two little boys and hardly a kind word from his family. Shocking, I call it, and he was no better than he ought to be, let me tell you; and I'm sure you do your best, Fiona, but to be honest I think you should spend a bit less time going to all your fancy charity things at that silly golf club and a bit more taking care of people in your family. Because she's done this house up all by herself, you know, and the shop, worked wonders, she has, and you can tell Elizabeth from me, since you seem to be the messenger, grandmother to grandmother, if she upsets any of them, the boys or Jo or the baby when it's here, well, she'll have me to answer to. And that's all I'm saying. It's about time someone told her to get off her high horse. Now then, shall we make a start on the washing up? We'll need to be off to Jack's party soon. And if there's an atmosphere when they get back they'll know; our Jack is very sensitive like that.'

She hands Fiona a tea towel.

'I'll wash, you can dry. Jo needs a rest.'

Gran stands up.

Somehow I don't think Fiona will be making her usual comment about how super her dishwasher is today.

'Good plan, Gran. I'll finish clearing the table.'

'Oh no, you won't. We'll do that. Won't we, Fiona?'

'Yes, of course.'

Reg knows something's up as soon as they get back from their walk; we've finished the washing up and Fiona's busy telling us her recipe for lemon curd for some reason best known to herself, but I think he's guessed we've had words, as Gran would say.

We're standing waving them off when he puts his arm round me.

'Did she tell her then? I knew she would. She said she'd try to keep the peace, but Mary's a woman who likes to speak her mind.'

'She did, she really told her. She was pretty scary, actually.'

'The best women always are, love; you don't get to my age without realising that. You're not upset, are you?'

'Not at all.'

I am a bit, actually; I hate the idea that there are people out there who think the baby is somehow less than the boys just because I'm not married. I really hate it, even though I know it's total rubbish.

'That's the spirit. There's always people who spend their time trying to pretend they're better than the rest of us, love, but they always end up lonely in the end. Miss out on all the precious things. And I'll tell you something else for free, with the route he was planning on taking home they'll be lucky to get home before midnight. There's roadworks on the M2, I heard it on the local radio this morning, and the bypass is shut too, and I'd like to see his satellite get him out of that one. Unless he can beam himself up with it. Now that I'd pay money to see.'

It's raining when we arrive at the swimming pool, and there's a teenager in a sweatshirt and jogging bottoms holding a bunch of balloons by the entrance, who turns out to be Scott, our Party Helper. He seems rather panicky, as well he might be, but after a traumatic half-hour when we get them all undressed while Scott keeps blowing his whistle, suddenly they're all in the pool having a brilliant time, climbing on to the inflatables and trying to get on to the pirate island. They've even put inflatable dolphins and crocodiles in the shallow pool, so the ones who aren't quite ready for the big slide are happy bashing each other with dolphins. I'm taking pictures and trying to keep an eye on Archie, who's insisted on wearing his snorkel after a special dispensation from Scott.

There's a great deal of screaming and splashing, and when it's time for tea Scott blows his whistle and announces there's a prize for the first person to get changed, and before we know it they're all sitting round the table in the cafe with their party hats on, although not necessarily wearing the socks they arrived in.

Gran's pouring squash while Scott writes down pizza or nuggets on his pad; they don't seem to have a middle-class mothers' menu option, so there's no pretending anyone will eat carrot sticks or a fruit medley, and everything comes with chips. But since I'm not going to have to cook it, or clean up afterwards, I really don't care.

Connie and I are putting the candles on the cake. Mark's made a beautiful fish-shaped cake with silvery icing for the scales, and pink-shrimp sweets round the base, which are Jack's favourite. I'm telling her about lunch and Gran's outburst with Fiona.

'Brava, and now you must go there with the bambino, and walk around the village.'

'Only if the boys want to.'

'Of course. Horrible cow pig.'

'Just cow is fine, Con.'

'Here, light the candles.'

'Can Nelly really not have any?'

'No.'

Nelly has disgraced herself by making a run for it and doing a perfect dive off the middle board, really high up, when everyone was lining up to get dressed. The lifeguard nearly had a heart attack, and Scott nearly swallowed his whistle, but she swam to the side and was completely fine. Unlike Connie, who's still furious with her, and has told her she's not getting any birthday cake.

'If she says sorry again? Please, it'll be so horrible making her just sit there; it'll upset Jack. Go and talk to her and if she's really sorry?'

'Okay, okay. You're worse than Mark.'

'You weren't really going to make her sit there without cake, were you?'

She smiles.

'No, but she frightened me.'

'I know, Con. I think Scott could have done without it too.'

Reg is taking more photographs as I kneel down beside Jack.

'Make a wish, sweetheart.'

He closes his eyes as we all sing 'Happy Birthday'.

'This is my best party ever, Mum, and I can have one the same next year, can't I?'

'Yes, if you want to.'

'And Dad would be proud of me, wouldn't he? Of my swimming. I'm much better now, aren't I?'

'Yes, you are.'

'And do you know something else, Mum?'

Please don't let this be another I'm Missing My Lovely Daddy moment, not right now when he looks so happy.

'What, love?'

'I've still got all my party presents to open when we get home, haven't I?'

'Yes, you have. Let's cut the cake. Who gets the first slice?'

'Me, because I'm the Birthday Boy. And then Archie can be next.'

'Okay.'

'And next year, the baby can come to my party, can't it?'

'Yes, love.'

'But it won't have cake, because it'll be too little.'

'That's right.'

Archie nods.

'And I'll be the big brother, for the baby, won't I, Mum?'

'Yes, love.'

Jack smiles.

'Yes, but not to me. I'll always be the oldest.'

Archie sighs.

We're having a lazy day on Sunday while Jack plays with his new birthday toys and Archie tries not to mind, but by lunchtime we're all a bit bored so we head off for a picnic lunch on the beach. I'm doing a casserole for later, but I've made a few sandwiches and I can sit in the beach hut while they have a last session running around in the sunshine. It's a bit warmer today, but I think this might be one of the last days before autumn really sets in.

I'm on the parrot lounger reading the Sunday papers with a cup of tea, feeling very pleased with myself. The boys are playing quietly, and we're all out in the fresh air. How Top Mother Of The Year is that?

It's all going rather well until Trevor bounds on to the beach and races into the sea and then races out again, showering water everywhere. The boys are thrilled.

'Hello, Martin.'

'I thought I'd better take him for a proper walk. I haven't taken him out for ages.'

'Elsie said you'd been in Birmingham.'

'Yes. Dad went in and fed him for me; the new kennel's working really well.'

'That's good.'

'How was the birthday party? Mum said it was yesterday.'

'Yes, it was, and he loved it.'

'Good.'

Actually, I'm still a bit narked that he didn't return my call.

'Did you get my message?'

'What message?'

'I left a message on your voicemail.'

'Oh. No, sorry. Trevor ate it.'

'He ate your mobile?'

'Most of it.'

I can't help laughing.

'It's not funny.'

'Sorry.'

He smiles.

'I think I'll have to go to some of those special help-me-my-dog's-completely-bonkers classes.'

'Good plan.'

'I'd ring up and book if I still had a phone. So what was the message?'

'I thought we could fix up a new time for you to come round to cook that chicken.'

'Oh, right, well, that would be great. Any time, if you're sure. How was your lunch?' He's not looking at me.

'Fine, thanks. It was useful, to talk about the baby. He might visit, or something. There's no definite plan yet. But we'll see.'

'But just to see the baby?'

'Yes.'

'Right. Well, that sounds good.'

'Mum, Archie's gone in the sea again.'

'Christ.'

'Sorry, Jo. Trevor. Come here. Look, I'll take him home, get him out of your way. Trevor, heel. HEEL. Bloody dog. Oh, sorry, Jo. Pretend you didn't hear that, Jack, would you?'