Preoccupied with checking her phone for a message from her boss, the length of the queue she was in and the question of whether the baby needed one or two giant cookies for breakfast, Jenny didn’t notice the woman’s splayed palms until they landed squarely on her stomach. She jumped so high she nearly lost hold of her sandwich.
‘Look at your beautiful bump! How long have you got?’
Jenny took a small step backwards. ‘Five weeks.’ It wasn’t a problem that the woman was touching The Bump – although a bit of warning might be nice – but there was no time for a conversation about the delights of pregnancy today. Eva was an even-tempered boss, but she hated lateness more than a missing apostrophe, and Jenny needed her in a good mood. She pushed her sandwich along the counter and focused on the jar of cookies. Avoid eye contact. Buy the sandwich. Get to work.
But Queue Woman didn’t get the message. ‘Is this your first one?’
‘Yep.’ Jenny nodded. ‘First one.’
Here came The All-Knowing Smile. She got it a lot now. Why did everyone assume they knew better than her?
‘You’ve certainly got a lot of changes coming your—’ Leaning forward, the woman scrutinised Jenny’s sandwich. ‘Is that bacon and brie?’
Jenny knew what was coming next. ‘Actually, I’ve researched and apparently…’
Queue Woman snatched the sandwich out of her hands, scanned the selection on the counter and replaced it with a ham and cheddar panini. ‘Thank God I was here. You nearly ate soft cheese!’ The Smile again. Accompanied by a shake of the head. ‘Pregnancy brain.’ Leaning down, she stage-whispered at Jenny’s stomach. ‘Silly Mummy.’
Jenny looked at the ceiling. She just wanted to buy a sandwich – and a cookie or two – and get to work. At least in the office people still talked to her face rather than her midriff. They’d enjoyed their joke of pointedly counting off the months since her wedding and had then barely mentioned her pregnancy since.
But now she needed to talk about it. Maternity leave started next week and she still hadn’t been able to pin down her boss about the plan for her column. Eva had evaded her questions, as if the ‘Girl About Town’ articles would write themselves. Admittedly, they wouldn’t need to cover the column for long because Jenny was only going to be off for six months and she’d also pick up some of the work from home once the baby was settled. Writing when it slept.
Queue Woman was back at face level. Frowning.
‘You look tired. Do you need to sit down?’ She lowered her voice. ‘My friend was about your age when she had her first baby and she said it was exhausting.’
Thirty-seven is not old! Jenny bit her tongue. Even her doctor had said her ovaries were chucking out eggs like the last day of the January sales and that she should ‘get on with it’ if she wanted a baby. Just showed how much he knew.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks. Really.’
The queue began to move and Jenny bought the panini she hadn’t chosen, three cookies and a large latte – decaf, to avoid another lecture. On the way out, her mobile buzzed in her bag. A message from Eva.
Come and see me as soon as you get in. Don’t speak to ANYONE.
At last.
If Eva asked for something to be done soon, it meant now. But Jenny’s bladder, or the baby sitting on it, couldn’t have cared less. Halfway back to the office, she had to waddle furiously into M&S to find a toilet.
Thank God. No queue. But the cubicles were built for toothpicks. Reversing in seemed easiest, but she still whacked her elbow on the wall trying to wriggle her maternity tights off her hips. These reinforced passion-killers had become a begrudged necessity. The other option was maternity trousers, but their elasticated front sections made her feel like an entrant to a pie-eating contest.
Maybe Queue Woman was partly right. Some things had changed in the last few months. For a start, Jenny’s idea of a good time had become lying on the sofa watching First Dates whilst licking Marmite off the top of a crumpet. But she was pregnant, for goodness’ sake; there was a small human being inside her. Once the baby was here, her body would return to normal and the rest of her life would follow. She’d be able to stay awake past 9 p.m., wear clothes that didn’t resemble camping equipment and be out and about researching nightlife for ‘Girl About Town’.
Finally, she escaped the cubicle. Only to be caught at the wash basins by another one of the ‘It’ll change your life’ brigade. The Bump got another feel. A rather damp one.
‘Oh, look at you! You’re about to pop any minute!’
‘Five weeks to go.’ Maybe she should have a countdown display on her forehead?
Toilet Woman put her head on one side. ‘Oh, I remember it well. Such an exciting time. Getting everything ready, reading all the baby books, thinking up names.’ She motioned towards Jenny’s cup and chuckled. ‘Enjoy your hot drinks while you can. You won’t be getting many of those soon.’
Why wouldn’t she be able to have a hot drink? Because she might spill it over the baby?
‘Sorry, I really need to go. I have to meet my boss and make a plan for my maternity leave.’
Toilet Woman did The All-Knowing Smile. ‘You may feel differently once baby is here. I couldn’t even think about going back to work and leaving mine.’ She sighed. ‘I just loved them too much.’
Jenny felt her morning sickness make a surprise return. Toilet Woman should meet her sister, Claire. The two of them would get along like a 1950s house on fire.
The main office of Flair magazine was open plan. Deadline day on a weekly magazine meant a buzz of activity: boxes of beauty product freebies spilled over desks, last-minute telephone conversations hunting down the latest celebrity news, photos of interviewees being approved or rejected. Head-height cubicle walls hid people from sight, but you could hear every phone conversation, every sandwich being unwrapped, from across the room.
Jenny made straight for her desk and flopped onto her chair. She had given up five-inch heels in favour of flats around month six, but that didn’t stop her feet from screaming.
There was a commotion going on at Lucy’s desk; people were shaking her hand and Lucy was flicking that perfect hair of hers all over the place. Jenny spotted one of their regular freelance photographers, Brian, and beckoned him over.
She used her eyes to motion in Lucy’s direction. ‘What’s going on over there?’
‘Hmm? Where?’ Brian dropped his head and stared at the sheet of proofs he was holding as if they were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. He was attractive if you didn’t know he had the morals of a premiership footballer.
Jenny took the proofs from him and used them to point. ‘Over there. Little Miss Shiny Shoes and friends.’
Brian followed the direction of her gaze as if he had only just noticed the Lucy Fan Club in action. ‘Oh. That. Uh, Lucy just got a, uh, a promotion.’ He picked up a stapler from the desk and studied it, opening and closing the part where the staples went in. ‘You obviously haven’t been told.’
Jenny took the stapler out of his hands. Her heart was beating faster. Maybe that was just the sugar rush from the third cookie. ‘Told what?’
Brian ran a distracted hand through his hair. ‘Why am I always in the wrong place at the wrong time? I try not to get involved with anything, but…’
Jenny grabbed his wrist with both her hands, as if she were about to give him a Chinese burn. ‘Spill.’
Brian took a deep breath and let it out in one go. ‘Eva has given Lucy “Girl About Town”.’
Jenny froze, turned to look at Lucy, then turned back to stare at Brian. She let go of his arm. Maybe she’d misheard him. Or maybe he was confused. ‘Girl About Town’ was her column. ‘Who told you that?’
Brian shrugged, held up his hands and backed away. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’
As if on cue, the phone on Jenny’s desk buzzed. Eva’s name flashed up on the screen. Jenny picked it up.
‘I thought I asked you to come and see me as soon as you got in?’
It was a relief that she didn’t have to try and squeeze into one of the designer chairs at the conference table, but Jenny’s stomach flip-flopped to see Eva waiting for her on the sofa. With tea and biscuits.
This was going to be bad.
Eva never looked entirely herself sitting on the sofa. There was something about her sharp, tailored frame which fit much better behind her large desk. She patted the armchair to her right. ‘Come and join me.’
Jenny stood her ground and folded her arms over The Bump: she needed to attack before losing her nerve. You should always be higher up than the person you are negotiating with. ‘Why have you given my column to Lucy?’
Eva lifted the teapot and started to pour. ‘I don’t know if you’ve fully realised this, Jen, but you’re about to have a baby. I’ve not had children, but I’m assuming it will be rather difficult to research and write a column aimed at single women when you’ve got a small person attached to you—?’
Not Eva, too? She was having a baby, not moving to another continent.
‘I know what HR said about maternity leave, but I’m only planning on taking six months. And I might even be back sooner. I’ve told you that.’ Eva hadn’t been pleased about the pregnancy, but Jenny had assured her from the outset that the baby would have as little impact on her work as possible. To be fair, the pregnancy had been a bit of a surprise to Jenny, too – who would have thought they’d get pregnant on the first go? ‘Have you told Lucy that her promotion is only temporary?’ Her eyes began to fill up. Damn hormones.
Eva sighed and pointed again to the armchair. ‘Sit. I don’t want your waters breaking all over the rug.’
Jenny perched on the edge of the armchair.
‘We both knew this was coming, Jen. And not—’ Eva held up her hand to prevent Jenny from interrupting ‘—not just because you’re pregnant. You’re getting too old to be reporting on the singles scene. For goodness’ sake, you haven’t been single for almost two years now.’
Jenny would never admit it, but she knew that Eva was right. Hauling herself out to speed dating events and nightclubs had lost its appeal. It was far nicer to lie on the sofa with Dan and a takeaway. Plus, half her wages now went on age-disguising eye cream.
But why wasn’t it possible to keep everything the same, for a little while longer at least? It wasn’t as if she were ill or emigrating to Australia. She was just having a baby. A tiny little baby. This must be why everyone said, ‘Your life will change’ – because they were the ones who changed it for you.
‘So, you’re taking my column away from me permanently. And what will you give me when I come back?’ Without ‘Girl About Town’, Jenny would only have the slush pile of interviews, product reviews and other random articles. She was happy to do her fair share of ‘How to Shape Your Eyebrows for Success’, but her column was her first baby. She had worked hard to get it.
Eva picked a piece of lint from the sleeve of her suit jacket. She collected up some papers from her lap and tapped them on the table to tidy them. ‘I know you don’t plan to take your full twelve months’ maternity leave, Jen, but you haven’t had the baby yet. And if you do… Well, a lot changes in this industry in twelve months. We’ll have to discuss your role if and when you return.’
If and when?
Eva looked Jenny in the eye. ‘You might prefer something you can do from home.’
What could she do from home?
‘Or part-time.’
Part-time?
Eva looked as if these were random suggestions that had just popped into her head, but Jenny knew her better. She also knew that Eva wasn’t keen on people working from home. Far better to have them under close surveillance, where she could ensure that they weren’t taking too many coffee breaks.
Jenny’s heart thumped. Lucy would be writing her column whilst she, Jenny, slaved away trying to drum up exciting adjectives for the latest shade of eye shadow, waiting for the day when she would become surplus to requirement. She needed an idea for a new column. And she needed it fast. Think. Think! Something she could research while she was at home with the baby. Something new, which the magazine didn’t already cover. Something that Eva would go for. Most importantly, something she could come up with right this minute.
‘How about a column for mothers?’ Jenny blurted out.
Eva looked at her as if she’d gone soft in the head. ‘Mothers? Hardly our demographic. Our readers want glamour and gossip – not dummies and diapers. Are those hormones doing something to your brain? Maybe you should be thinking about starting your maternity leave sooner rather than later.’ She glanced at her paperwork – Eva’s usual sign that you should leave.
But Jenny wasn’t about to give up. ‘No, no, wait, listen. I don’t mean a boring, mumsy column – quite the opposite. More a kind of “Englishman in New York” slant – what it’s like to find yourself in the world of babies when you are the least maternal person on earth.’ Jenny’s mind whirred and her mouth followed. ‘Think “Lost in Mothercare”. And, of course, I’d be the perfect person to write it. I mean, who is less prepared for motherhood than me? Can you imagine some of the messes I’m going to get into? Some of the crazy women I’m likely to meet in the next couple of months? It’ll be hilarious!’ Jenny laughed, to illustrate her point. Must not slip into hysteria.
Eva looked up. ‘I’m not sure…’
Jenny leaned forward, getting into her pitch. ‘What do you think has happened to all of those women who started reading “Girl About Town” ten years ago, when I first started writing it? Lots of them have met someone, settled down – might even be pregnant as we speak. Do you want to lose those readers, or give them something that speaks to them where they are now?’
Eva had her head on one side, listening. Keep talking.
‘I could be the intrepid explorer, taking them into new territory, showing them the way.’ Jenny held out her arm as if she were about to lead an expedition to Planet Baby.
Eva nodded slowly. Then shook her head. ‘And how are you going to find time to write this column? I’ve heard that women at home with children find getting things done a bit tricky. Let’s face it, Jen, you have hardly been the most organised writer, even when you’ve only had yourself to look after.’
Jenny made a mocking ‘pfff’ sound through her teeth. ‘I’m going to be at home all day, every day!’ According to her sister, it was impossible to do anything for yourself when you were at home with a baby, but Jenny wasn’t intending to turn into Claire.
Eva tapped her mouth with the end of her pen. ‘Just say I let you have a go at this… what will you write about? What kind of things do new mums do all day? Will you actually have any material?’
Material? Where could she get material? Think. THINK! ‘I’m starting an antenatal class next week,’ Jenny lied. ‘I’ll have a whole list of topics for you after that.’ She would have given Eva a couple of examples at this point, but she didn’t have a clue what they might be. ‘Look, while I’m on maternity leave, I’ll write a blog, test out a few ideas, see what kind of response I get. I won’t use my name, so there’ll be no connection to Flair to begin with… I’ll be an undercover reporter. That’s it! I’ll call it, “The Undercover Mother”! Just promise me you’ll look at it and consider turning it into a column?’
Eva stood up. ‘Okay. If you manage to keep up this “Undercover Mother” blog, I’ll look at it.’ She walked to her desk and sat down. ‘But no promises about a regular column.’
Jenny left Eva’s office and walked towards Lucy, who was sitting at her desk, chatting to Brian about her promotion. Traitor. Hot pants and thick tights weren’t a look that everyone could carry off, but Lucy managed it.
Jenny leaned in as she walked past. ‘Thanks so much for taking “Girl About Town” off my hands, Lucy. I’ve been begging Eva for weeks to let me start an exciting new project, and now I can.’ Without waiting for a response, she flounced off outside. Well, as much as you could flounce when you were carrying an extra two stone around your middle.
It wasn’t until she’d walked out of the front door that she fished into her bag for her phone. She googled ‘Antenatal classes’.
Now, how was she going to sell the idea of them to her unsuspecting husband?
Ever been to a singles night? Trying to look relaxed and cool whilst scanning the room for someone who might be your type? Antenatal classes are just like that. The only difference is, you are guaranteed to have at least one thing in common.
So far, I haven’t had much luck finding my Mrs Right, although they are a pretty mixed bunch. One of them is intent on a completely natural birth – I’m pretty sure she’d give birth squatting in the hospital garden if they’d let her. Another is so keen to find out about the drugs available, I’ve begun to wonder if she took a sedative during the conception…
From ‘The Undercover Mother’
‘Tell me again why we have to go to an antenatal class when you said, and I’m quoting, that you had “no intention whatsoever of sitting in a room with simpering women talking about babies”?’
Searching the lounge for her car keys, Jenny lifted the cushions next to her husband and looked underneath them. ‘Dan, I am a writer about to begin maternity leave. Eva has given my column away to someone younger than half my wardrobe and, when I go back to work, I am likely to be writing about the current must-have colour in nail polish, and not much else. I had to come up with something fast.’
Dan leaned over to the coffee table, located the keys and handed them to her. ‘Yes, you’ve already explained that. But why antenatal classes and, more importantly, why do I need to go with you?’
Jenny sighed. For a very clever man, he could be rather obtuse sometimes. ‘The antenatal classes are for research. You—’ she pulled him up out of his seat ‘—are my cover.’
It had been too late to book on to a full antenatal course, so Jenny had signed them up for consecutive Saturdays at the local clinic. As they entered, the door creaked and several expectant glances turned in their direction. Jenny scanned the pregnant women. Who looked the most normal? Who was most likely to provide her with interesting material? Who wouldn’t bore the pregnancy pants off her? Meanwhile, Dan just collected a sheaf of papers from Sally, the woman running the group, and sat down on a random chair in the semi-circle. Already, he was not following the plan.
Sally started with the obligatory ice-breakers – they had to pair up and introduce themselves. Dan looked at Jenny with a pained expression: this was his idea of hell. She’d make it up to him later, she decided. If he behaved himself.
A smart woman with long auburn hair approached Jenny tentatively. ‘Hi, I’m Ruth. Sorry, were you about to pair up with someone else?’
‘No, no, please, sit down.’ Jenny pulled out the chair next to her. ‘I’m Jenny. Married to Dan.’ She motioned in the direction of her husband, who was scrutinising a poster on the wall in an effort to avoid the pairing up. ‘When are you due?’
Ruth held up crossed fingers. ‘In six weeks, hopefully, if we make full term. We’ve had a long road to get here. We tried IVF, which didn’t work out, and it’s taken us a lot of poking and prodding to get this far. Sorry – too much information?’
Hopefully, this Ruth wasn’t going to spend their entire conversation apologising. ‘No, not at all. No such thing as too much information as far as I’m concerned.’
Ruth looked relieved. ‘Oh, did you do IVF, too?’
‘No,’ said Jenny. ‘But I’m always interested in a good story. I’m a writer.’ Time to steer the conversation in a different direction. ‘What do you do?’
‘Oh. I work for a bank. I did wonder, seeing the people here, whether there might be others who are IVF?’
Jenny raised an eyebrow. ‘Because most of us are so old, you mean?’
‘No! Well, maybe.’ Ruth tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘Sorry. I’m so nervous. David and I never thought we’d actually make it this far. Sorry, I’m talking about myself again. Tell me about your pregnancy.’
Jenny was here to gain information, not give it out. ‘No, no. Carry on. Please.’
Ruth didn’t need much persuading. ‘Well, after we’d failed IVF at the third go, we gave up and went on holiday. About three weeks after we got back, I was in the toiletries aisle at Sainsbury’s, saw a packet of tampons and realised that I hadn’t bought any since before our holiday. At first I thought my ovaries had given up altogether – sorry for the gory details – but I also had a tiny flicker of hope. So, I decided to do a test straight away, before the hope got out of control.’
‘In the toilet at Sainsbury’s?’ Jenny’s own experience of pregnancy testing was of holding Dan’s hand as they waited – for the longest three minutes of their life – for the second blue line to appear.
‘Classy, huh? Trying to hover over the toilet and urinate on that thin little stick without weeing all over my shoes was pretty tricky.’ Ruth stroked her bump as she spoke. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw the result. I assumed the test must be faulty so I did the second one straight away. I even went and bought more tests. When David got home from work, there was a row of six positive pregnancy tests on the back of the toilet waiting for him. Oh, sorry! Sally’s calling us back now, and I haven’t asked you anything!’
Jenny wasn’t worried about that. She was more concerned with getting the scoop on the funny side of pregnancy. Ruth didn’t seem a likely prospect: far too positive and nice.
Dan sat back down beside her. ‘How is it for you?’
She shielded her mouth with her hand. ‘Exactly as I expected so far. You?’
‘I had a good chat with David over there about a new shed he’s building. Have you noticed that there are only four men between five women?’
‘Are there?’ Jenny did a quick count. He was right. Which one was on her own?
Antenatal Sa. . .
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