Page 46 of So Thrilled For You

‘Are you OK though?’ Seth asks. ‘Really? I know you’re not a fan of change of plans.’

‘I just . . . he needs to get here in time.’

‘He will, I promise. He’s going to have plenty of time to surprise Nicki and whack out the gender reveal firework and the day is going to be perfect. How’s it going over there anyway?’

He’s trying to distract me by asking questions. He knows I’m spiralling. I cross my legs and bend over. The stress of all this has made me need a wee. I always need to wee when I’m stressed because I drink eight glasses of water a day using a special pink motivational bottle that gives me set measurements to drink each hour. Then, whenever I do a wee, I check what colour it is on the urine scale to ensure I’m not dehydrated. I used to have to hold my phone up to the toilet to check the colour, but now I know the WHO urine scale, and can tell if my wee is a two or a seven by sight.

‘It’s alright. Everything melting, of course, but Steffi is helping refrigerate the important bits. The games were fun. Presents to come. And the surprise if you get here on time.’ I glance over at the firework which is still wedged where I left it. I get this sudden urge to pull it. All it would take is one small yank . . . My fingers twitch with this weird urge to sabotage everything.

‘He’ll get there in time. He’s psyched. Can’t wait to surprise Nicki. How are you doing anyway? I hope you’re resting some, looking after yourself. Any sickness or anything yet?’

I shake my head. ‘No, just a few cramps, but the internet has told me it’s nothing to worry about.’

‘And you’re doing OK? It being a baby shower and all?’

I smile down the phone at Seth’s emotional intelligence. Lots of women complain men are terrible – Steffi mostly – but they pick such awful men and value such random stuff. I’ve trained myself to only fancy good men with emotional intelligence. I read an article on the School of Life that your choice of romantic partner is probably the biggest decision you’ll make concerning your odds of long-term happiness. Training oneself away from fuck boys is therefore essential.

‘It’s nice to be attending one and not feeling like sobbing every five minutes, yes,’ I say.

‘I’m so excited, I love you babe. I better go check in with the taxi company. Matt’s on his way, I promise. Save me some melted cupcakes. A fertilised one please.’

‘Okay, I love you too.’

I hold my stomach after he rings off, feeling so full of love for him – so delighted a combination of our DNA now resides inside me. All our fertility issues only brought us together, not apart, which I know is rare. And now we’ve somehow got pregnant, I feel so connected to him it’s insane.

I notice the air con on re-entry, though it’s still way too stifling in here. The food seems to have been successfully eaten and Nicki’s mum is dutifully collecting up the scattered plates. There’s a general air of stuffiness, and I see condensation growing in the corners of the window wall, but everyone’s having too good a time to mind. Perked up by lunch, the peony wall now has a queue of people wanting their photo in front of it. And Nicki is reigning supreme, as she should, sitting on a yoga ball, glowing, and chatting to everyone. She laughs with that freckled Phoebe and I feel pride bloom at what I’ve curated today, what I’ve managed to give a friend through my own hardship.

As I pause, a toddler, not Woody, totters towards me and starts using my leg as a climbing frame.

‘Hello there,’ I say, bending down to help them up. It’s a little girl, judging from the darling hair bow elasticated to their head.

Their mum scurries over, apologising. ‘Sorry, she’s obsessed with legs at the moment.’

She takes the child from me, and I wish I could say, ‘No, don’t,’ as I was enjoying it.

‘She’s gorgeous,’ I tell her, as she’s scooped up into Mummy’s arms and leans into her neck. I get a pang of broodiness so strong I have to bite my lip.

‘You won’t think that at 2am,’ she replies. ‘Then she’s the devil.’

I make a sympathetic smile, though I do find it hard when mothers complain about sleeplessness. When they complain about their babies at all. It’s not like anyone has ever proclaimed it’s easy, so why is everyone so shocked? I want to shake them and scream, ‘You don’t know how lucky you are to be woken nightly by this gorgeous creature I crave so

desperately.’

She puts her down and holds her daughters arms.‘Sorry. It was nice to meet you . . .’ she follows her daughter’s lead without saying goodbye.

I watch them tiptoe away and feel the broodiness swallow me like Pacman. I allow myself 30 seconds of contemplative thought before realising I really do need the toilet. I’ve overdone the water drinking to keep my urine on the right gradient in this heat. I’m back in schedule mode as I close the bathroom door and pad past the roll-top tub. Right, time for one more game. Twenty minutes of celebrity babies . . . then presents . . .

more drinks to serve as the presents are unwrapped? People will be thirsty. I start peeing and run through the logistics of the gender reveal as I wipe. Get everyone outside, pretending we’re going to smash the piñata. Then, boom, off goes the smokegrenade, in comes Matt. ‘Surprise!’ I must make sure I’m standing at the best angle for photos.

I stand and get ready to pull up my cotton knickers.

I’m not sure what gets me to glance down, otherwise I could’ve easily missed it. But there, in my white knickers, is a speck of blood.

Transcript: Inspector Simmons

interviewing Nicole Davies

Nicole: So, I’m supposed to have, what is it I’m accused of? Deliberately burned my whole parents’ house down, with a firework I didn’t even know was there? A firework buried into the decking, when I’m so pregnant I can’t even get off the floor without some kind of crane. I’ll get on the floor now, if you’d like? See if I can get myself up? No?

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