Page 23 of How We Loved

We were saved then because a crying doll made an appearance. Marissa showed us all how to swaddle a doll. I’m a natural at swaddling. Not.

At the tea break, which wasn’t a coffee break but rather a camomile tea break, we got cornered by Patty and Derek. Patty had the most incessant need to constantly be rubbing her belly, drawing attention to the perfectly rounded football bump under a stretched t-shirt. My own bump looks like a monster has eaten a truckload of footballs and is in the process of digesting them.

“So, Ben. I’m sorry, but can I just say how exciting it is to be in the same room as you.” Her perfectly highlighted blonder hair whipped over her shoulder. “We’re massive fans, aren’t we, Derek.” Derek nodded. “Aren’t we, Derek.” Poor Derek nodded again and cleared his throat.

“So next week, exciting.” He had one of those deep baritones that is the perfect pitch for lulling someone to sleep. “What buggy did you get for? We went for Stella Class One. Perfectly engineered so the baby never has to feel a single pebble beneath the wheels.”

“Uh.”

“We’re still deciding.” Ben cut in.

“You haven’t brought it with you, to practise with?” Patty’s eyes were bulging out of her head. “They help us master putting it into the car and lifting the baby in and out.”

They did what now?

Ben opened and closed his mouth a couple of times but obviously couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

I was too horrified to speak. We didn’t have a pram? And our car was basically a coffin on wheels. How could we be parents? how could we even pretend to these people that we could be parents?

God. Tomorrow it would be in the daily rags that Ben Chambers drove a battered Mini from 1990. Shit.

“So have you started massaging your perineum?” Patty asked.

“I’m sorry. My what?”

“Your perineum. You know your skin down there.” She nodded in the direction of my lady parts.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know he’s famous and all, but I’m not going to discuss the ins and outs of my sex life with a total stranger at a parenting class.”

Patty opened her eyes wide. ”No. The perineum, you are supposed to massage it in the weeks running up to the birth to stop it from splitting.”

I’d just taken a mouthful of disgusting watery tea, which I spurted all over Derek’s cashmere jumper.

“Right, everyone!” Marissa clapped her hands. “Breast is best! Let’s talk feeding.”

Patty and Derek cast us sidelong glances when back to their seats, while Ben and I stared at each other.

“Breast is best, I’ve always told you,” Ben murmured low.

I snorted a laugh but then grabbed his hand. “I can’t go back and sit down, Ben.”

“I know. Neither can I.”

“Shall we just go to Mothercare and get the first pram we see.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“And then shall we put baby names in a hat?”

“Sheer brilliance.” He shot me a brilliant smile.

“And then we’d better go and get a new car. They won’t let us keep a baby with that as a car.”

He smirked but then pulled me into a hug. The rest of the room was deathly quiet. His lips pressed against mine, and when he pulled away, he smiled in such a way that I no longer felt scared. Instead, I felt invisible. “Now you’re talking.”

We gave the group a cheery wave and then high-tailed it out of there. Well, Ben did. I stumbled behind.

Deathtrap has gone to car heaven. We now have an Audi out front.