Page 45 of So Thrilled For You

I watch her carry him off on her hip and watch Nicki’s swollen stomach dislodge itself from the chair. It strikes me then that our babies are all going to be basically the same age. How magical is that? Despite all the various odds, we’ve all ended up conceiving roughly around the same time. Maybe that’s just a 32 thing, but I still think it’s a good omen.

‘I think we’ve got enough photos,’ Nicki says as I drag her back into the main room where she’s greeted like a celebrity.

‘Just a few shots with each guest. Come on. You never regret taking photos. Especially when you’re pregnant.’ That’s what I’ve been told after reading online.Take loads of photos, the articles advise me.Document this profound change in your body. You will regret it if you don’t. Mark yourself in history. It’s a feminist statement,even. Apparently, historically, mothers always take the family photos because it’s emotional labour, so you have to make sure you’re in the photo too so you’re not erased. I explain this to Nicki as I round up various clusters, and, once I explain the feminism angle, she’s more willing to pose. I do a group shot with her ‘home friends’, and then a family shot with her mother and aunty. I get a group of herwork people, which is tricky as there’s two babies in that cluster, and none of them look at the camera.

That cool lady, Phoebe, wanders back from the toilet just as I’m finished.

‘Phoebe!’ I call over. ‘We almost missed you. Come have your photo taken with Nicki.’

She raises both eyebrows as she comes over. She really does have the most remarkable freckles. ‘Here, here, by the balloons. That makes a nice backdrop.’

I gesture for them to move together but they stand almost a metre apart. ‘No. Closer. Closer.’ They are really messing with the rule of thirds here. ‘Phoebe? Maybe if you put your hand on her stomach and, like, make a big open mouthed shocked gesture.’

‘Not a chance,’ Phoebe replies. ‘Sorry. But that’s not my thing.

I lower my phone. ‘Oh, OK. It was just an idea.’

I expect Nicki to defend me but she’s giggling. ‘Charlotte, just a normal shot will do,’ she says.

There’s nothing abnormal about what I suggested . . .

‘OK then. Just smile. One, two, three.’ I don’t even frame it properly. This Phoebe doesn’t deserve the rule of thirds quite frankly. My phone starts ringing. Seth’s number. ‘I actually need to take this,’ I tell Nicki but she doesn’t hear me. Her and Phoebe are taking a seat, in deep conversation, acting like I left a long time ago. I pick up. ‘Hang on, let me just run outside, stay on the line,’ I whisper to him.

I patter past guests finishing up their pavlovas – everyone leaving the eco-disposal bowls on every available surface like they think some fucking servant is coming to collect them.

Woah. Where did that come from? The stress of today must be getting to me. Or maybe this is pregnancy hormones? What a delightfully bitchy thought. I slide open the front door which burns my palms, the glass is so hot. I step down onto the decking, almost hitting my head on the piñata.

‘Right, I’m outside. Is everything OK?’

‘The important thing is to not to panic,’ Seth replies.

‘Oh God. What’s happened? Are you hurt? Are you dead!?’

He laughs. ‘Yes, Charlotte. Totally dead. I’m calling from heaven. It has surprisingly good reception.’

‘What’s happened? Are you on your way? How are the doughnuts? What’s gone wrong? Why are you calling?’

‘Charlotte. It’s fine.’ Seth’s using his best calming voice – the one I find slightly irksome as it’s up to me whether something is fine or not. I’m the one with the schedule. ‘The car is stuck, but it’s all going to be OK.’

‘Stuck? Stuck?! Where? Is Matt with you?’ I knew this wasn’t fine. I’ll have to talk to him again about the appropriate time to use his calming voice.

‘He’s with me now. We have a plan. I’ve told you, it’s going to be fine. You’re never going to believe it but the car is stuck in tar. It’s so hot one of these country roads has actually melted a bit.’

‘The road hasmelted?’

This is what happens. You plan and organise and spreadsheet and account for all possible outcomes and everyone tells you to justCHILLbut you can’t ever chill because you’ll never have accounted for everything. My brain didn’t know, up until this precise moment in my life, that a road is capable of melting, especially in Britain! We’re already 22 minutes behind now. I’m running out of slack time.

‘Yes, it’s just turned to tarry mush. It’s crazy. I’m going to have to wait for the rescue people to come tow me. Matt and I have tried pushing, but the car has sunk surprisingly deep.’

‘But you’re supposed to be coming here. For the gender reveal! The big surprise! You have the wall of doughnuts!’

‘Babe, I know. I have a plan. I wouldn’t call you before I’d made a plan.’

Oh, I love him, this man with a plan. My husband.

‘A taxi is on its way to pick up Matt. He’s the star guest, so he’s the only one that really needs to be there. I’ll wait here and sort the car out. I’ve rung the taxi company twice and they’ve promised they’re almost here. He won’t even be late. We’ve kept the engine running so the air-con can protect the icing on the doughnuts. I’ll probably go to hell for ruining the planet, but I knew you’d kill me if they melted.’

‘OK, OK,’ I nod. I’m still panicking. So much could go wrong. Taxi companies are notoriously unreliable in the countryside, everyone knows that. Oh, why is this happening to me? What did I do in a past life to deserve this? If Matt turns up too late, guests will start leaving before they realise the Main Event hasn’t actually happened. They all think opening the presents is the Main Event, but they’ve been beautifully manipulated by me for the ultimate surprise factor.

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