Page 18 of So Thrilled For You

‘Too late Mr Davies,’ I say, plopping the last dummies in. ‘But let’s get a photo of the three of you in front of the peony wall.’ I beckon Nicki over. ‘Come on, closer closer.’ Nicki’s dad stares at the flower wall like it’s made out of triffids. ‘That’s what this is for then?’ He asks.

‘For photos, Dad,’ Nicki replies, turning sideways and cradling her bump while I grin. Nicki acts reluctant, but she also knows her angles. ‘Literally just for photos.’

‘I . . . I’m not sure I get it.’

‘Just smile,’ I tell him. ‘Stand behind Nicki. Yes, that’s it. Well done. Cheese on the count of three. Ready? One, two, three, cheese!’

I take about twelve snaps so there’s hopefully one they all like. What did people do before smartphones? I have vague memories of getting film developed in Boots when I was a child. If you gurned at a key historical moment, you were stuck with that gurn. How did we all cope?

‘You all look wonderful. Right.’ I check the time on my phone. ‘Lauren and Steffi will be here in an hour. Let me just check my spreadsheet.’

‘Spreadsheet?’ Nicki asks, peering over my shoulder.

‘When have I not had a spreadsheet?’ I ask her, and we grin at each other.

‘True. Umm, can I quickly look at the photos you just took?’

I smile again, this time to myself. Told you! Nicki’s secretly as basic as all of us. I hand her my phone and she swipes through.

‘Oh, I look horrific. My face is double the size! Can you take them again?’

‘Of course.’

‘Dad!’ Nicki herds him back like he’s a dog on the loose. To be fair, he was about to stick his finger in the icing of one of the cupcakes. ‘Back here. We’re taking the photo again. I look horrific.’

It takes thirty attempts before there’s one everyone’s happy with. ‘At least the peony wall looks amazing in every photo,’ Nicki grumbles, as she reluctantly pings herself the one photo they all like.

‘That’s the point,’ I say, keen to get my phone back. I hadn’t scheduled this photoshoot to last over ten minutes and I’m keen to return to the spreadsheet and see where I can make up time. Also, I worry Matt will message while she’s holding it and ruin the surprise for later.

‘OK. So, what’s next on the list?’ Nicki asks. ‘I’ve got a burst of energy, give me a job.’

‘No jobs for you. Well, hang on.’ I skip over to my wheelie suitcase and come back with a package.

‘What’s this?’ Nicki holds it up, squinting. ‘A bump mask?’

I nod. ‘I thought you’d need some downtime before everyone arrives. This is a sheet mask for your bump.’

‘Awhat?’

‘I got one that’s supposed to be cooling and hydrating. I’ve given you 45 minutes of self-care in the spreadsheet. I’m afraid we’re down to 33 minutes because things have run over a bit. But look here, the instructions say you leave it on for twenty, so there’s still plenty of time.’

‘I never knew such things existed.’ She holds it gingerly between two fingers. ‘I can’t just laze about while you set everything up though.’

‘Nicki, it’s your baby shower. You’re supposed to just relax and enjoy.’

‘Let me help for a few minutes, so I don’t feel like a giant useless blimp, then I promise I’ll have a nap.’ She claps and her mum stands to attention like a hyper dog, awaiting instruction. ‘What needs doing?’

I feel a ripple of stress. How long is she going to help for, exactly? And will her nap then clash with the tea and catch-up time I’ve scheduled in with the other Little Women? She’s supposed to restnow,not later. No, no, no, Charlotte. Stop it. Come on. Things don’t go to plan. That’s OK. And you’ve built the spreadsheet to include 20 per cent flexibility.

‘We don’t want to set up the food yet because it’s too hot,’ I tell her. ‘But balloons need blowing up for the arch, while I set up the rest of the games.’

Nicki grins. ‘Perfect. Show me balloons. I can blow balloons.’

‘And, Mrs Davies? I was hoping you’d be able to baby proof? And then set up the cots upstairs? I’ve got two travel cots. They should be easy enough to assemble.’

Her mum gives me a huge hug. ‘Oh, Charlotte. You think of everything, don’t you? I can’t wait until it’s your turn, you’re going to make such a good mother someday.’

‘Mum!’ Nicki grabs her arm. ‘Sorry Charlotte. She . . . er . . .

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