SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 2ND – 13:02

When we finally get back from shopping, I am properly exhausted. Leave it to Cara to make shopping for a trip feel like an extreme sport.

Somehow, the Uber driver is following us up her driveway, carrying about 6 more of her shopping bags than he's contractually required to, I'm sure, and Babe and I trail behind Caz with linked arms and tired soles.

When he passes us with hurried steps, Babe shoots me an incredulous look and I can only shake my head and laugh. If Cara had a superpower, it'd be bending men to her will, no matter their age. That, and the aggressive shopping thing.

Caz sighs contentedly as she trots up the steps and turns the key in the front door with a little boutique bag on her arm, looking like a smaller, more tanned Carrie Bradshaw.

"Thanks so much, Manny!" She says, smiling wide enough for all 3 of us. Manny all too eagerly places the bags at the foot of the stairs, tripping himself up slightly on all the string handles. When he finds his balance, he dusts off his jeans and beams,

"No problem a' all, ladies! I hope you had a good ride!"

"Aw, the best." Babe beams right back at him, and her pearly whites look friendly enough, but Caz and I know her dry, sarcastic tone too well. She's backing him towards the door with the unchanging smile on her face, and poor Manny doesn't realise he's being ousted. "I just wish we could give you more than 5 stars." She pouts with fake shy eyes, so believably that I almost fall for it. Caz sticks out her bottom lip too, nodding.

His cheeks colour and he looks at the ground, still unwittingly moving backward towards the open door, as Babe and Caz move closer.

"Heh, that's nice. My pleasure driving you around, really. Ha-have a good day, ladies!" He manages to blurt when he's finally stood back out on the door step, and the 3 of us wave as the heavy door shuts.

"What a cutie," Caz remarks, scrolling through her Instagram feed. "Hi Baba!" She calls, without looking up, up the spiralling staircase. The sound echoes through the large front room.

Her father, Adam, jogs down the marble stairs, and his face lights up when he sees us, although his face lights up at most things – he has the most adorable little smile.

"Hello, princess! Hi, girls, how are you, are you okay?" He's barefoot, but in a crisp white shirt and suit trousers, and from the slightly hushed tone of his voice, I suspect he was on a business call. Caz rolls her eyes at us facetiously,

"This guy – always working, ugh, I swear."

"Ah okay okay," he says once he gets to the bottom of the staircase, wrapping his arms around Caz's shoulders, "she spends all my money in one morning, but then she says I work too much. Mon dieu, I don't understand my daughter."

We laugh and Caz rolls her eyes again, prying him off of her and starting up the stairs,

"Ha-ha, t'es trop drôle. Baba, we're going to do homework, okay?"

He's back on the phone already, with a cupped hand over his earpiece, but he makes sure to listen and respond, as always,

"Ah okay, princess. Have fun, okay," turning to Babe and I he adds in a hushed but teasing voice, "make sure she's working and not texting her boyfriend."

"Baba!"

"I didn't say anything!" Although he adds a friendly wink in our direction when her back is turned. "Henry, give me one sec, okay?" He takes the earpiece out and covers holds it away before calling up the stairs,

"Pierre! Come and help the girls with their bags!" He nods at us with his winning smile and a little thumbs up before he heads into his downstairs office.

Having had no real father at home for so long, when we were younger, Babe and I always loved coming over to Cara's and getting piggy backs and building forts with Cara's dad. He'd always been a busy man – I don't think I have any memories of him where he's not in a suit – but he always made time for Cara and her little brother, Pierre. Cara's mum, Jemima, was around plenty, and had a warmer demeanour than any ex-model I've ever met, but there was something so fascinating to us about a girl who was... friends with her father. He'd done pretty well for his family, working his way up the corporate ladder into a hedge fund managing position; the life he'd crafted for them, in one of the wealthiest pockets of London, seemed to suit them well. I'd seen him on TV and on big corporate magazine covers, with Jemima by his side, but whenever we came over, he was always just Adam, Cara's smiley Dad.

Cara's mum's another story, but no less enchanting. She's beautiful, poised – grace personified. She took Adam's hand and stepped off of the Paris Fashion Week catwalk in her late 20s, and into motherhood in a modest London 7-bedroom semi-detached. She'd wanted a south facing garden, as opposed to west, but aside from that minor inconvenience, she was enjoying her life as a part-time florist, part-time trophy wife. It gave her enough to do that she felt fulfilled, but not so much that she didn't have time feel young, beautiful.

When we walk down the second-floor corridor and past the life-size oil painting that Adam commissioned for her 40th, of her in a svelte black dress, I sigh,

"Ugh, I want your mum's body."

"I want your mum." Babe admits, equally mesmerised.

"Okay, could we maybe stop lusting after my mum and focus on the task at hand?" She asks with faux curiosity, ushering us into her room from the spot we're glued to in front of the picture. Babe kisses her index finger and taps the painting frame with playfully longing eyes.

"Babe."

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

The moment I flop onto Caz's king size, she starts clicking and snapping and clapping, motioning to ornate dressing screen in the corner of her room,

"Ah-ah! You, up, undressing now."

I groan, but sure enough I retreat behind it and start taking off my sweater,

"Caz, I love you and I love this but isn't it a little early? I mean it's not for a couple more weeks, and I don't even know what's actually going to be involved in this whole birthday party week-long extravaganza... thing." I struggle to find the words because really, fundamentally, everything I know about it can be summed up in 4 words. Birthday. Posh. Family. Cotswolds. Oh, and Elton. 5 words, then.

I can't see her face when she responds, but I can imagine it all patronising and amused,

"Honey," she simpers, "this is the English elite we're dealing with. If the Macklins are anybody, they'll have a programme printed by next week."

"Bloody hell..." I mutter. A programme?

Pulling me from my thoughts before fatal overthinking grabs hold, there's a quick wrap on the door, and a little voice accompanies it.

"Cazzy, can I come in?"

"Why?"

"J'ai tes sacs!"

"Okay, okay, Pierre, come in." There's a thud of what sounds like a thousand bags, an 'oof' and Caz is whining, again,

"Oh my god, faites attention, Pierre!"

"Okay, okay! ... Sorry, Cazzy."

"It's fine, chou chou." Caz and Pierre are adorable. She's prissy and fussy, and he's hyper and 9, but they work, somehow, in that special way big sisters and little brothers do.

"Oh, and Mummy's home."

"Ah, vraiment? Okay, one sec," she says, and I hear her pumps against the porcelain floor.

"Y'alright, munchkin?" I hear Babe ask, warm-voiced.

"Uh-huh. Who's that?"

"Oh, it's Angie."

His eager voice turns bashful,

"Hi, Angie!"

"Hi-iii, Pierre!" I stick a waving hand out from behind the folding screen.

"What are you doing in there?"

"Just tryin' on some new dresses."
"Oh. Can I see?"

Babe snorts loudly but doesn't save me. Cheers, Babe.

I look down at myself, and the plain white bra set I've stripped down to whilst I wait for Caz.

"Uh... maybe later, bud?"

Babe laughs again, but steps in this time,

"Al-right, hey, Pierre, you wanna see something on my phone, all the way over here?"

"Okay!" Ah, to be as unquestioning as a child.

After hearing the pings and zips of Candy Crush for a good few minutes, and beginning to get too cold to bear, Cara's steps come pattering against the floor again. Finally.

"Pierre, up, come on, stop bothering my friends."
"They're my friends, too. Aren't you my friend, Barbara?"

" 'Course, munchkin."

"Angie, ar-"

"Best friends!" I call with a smile, just to piss Caz off.

"See-ee."

"Oh my god," Cara mutters, "Baba! Pierre's bothering my friends!"

"Pierre, viens ici!" Pierre groans, and when I hear him stomp out of the room, I take the opportunity to pipe up,

"Is there a part where I get to wear clothes, or is the plan to let me stand here half-dressed all day?"

"Ooh, don't tempt me," Caz jokes cheekily, handing a fluffy white pile behind the screen. 

Here we go.