My best friend spots me coming up the driveway and throws me a sympathetic look. Unusually, I have a bedraggled, just-got-out- of-the-shower look, I’m running late and am clearly not doing well this morning as I impatiently cajole my three wayward children towards the house.
‘Sick in your hair again?’ she asks without preamble.
I nod, knowing that only a best friend would spot the subtleties of this mother not doing so well. And knowing that she will continue to offer support in the way only a best friend does.
Which for now means doing laundry and making meals. But which mostly means that she will be round with the bottles of wine as soon as I can drink again.
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