“Not really,” I say. “Not yet.”

The passenger door opens and Janice gets out, trailing a bundle of knitting.

“Becky, love!” she says breathlessly. “Do you need to bleep the door, Jane?”

“Close it, then I’ll bleep it,” orders Mum. “Give it a good slam.”

I can see a pregnant girl in a brown dress ringing the bell of a house several doors down. That must be the place!

“I was just listening to a message from Tom,” Janice says, bundling her knitting into a straw bag, together with a mobile phone. “I’m seeing him later. He’ll be full of Jess! It’s Jess this, Jess that—”

“Jess?” I stare at her. “And Tom?”

“Of course!” Her whole face is shining. “They do make a lovely couple. I don’t want to hope, but…”

“Now, remember, Janice,” says Mum firmly. “You can’t chivvy these young things.”

Jess and Tom are going out? And she hasn’t even told me? Honestly. I asked her the morning after the party what was going to happen with Tom, and she just looked all embarrassed and changed the subject. So I assumed it hadn’t taken.

I can’t help feeling a bit miffed. The whole point of having a sister is that you phone her up and tell her about your new boyfriend. Not keep her totally out of the loop.

“So…Jess and Tom are in a relationship?” I say, to make sure.

“They’re very close.” Janice nods vigorously. “Very, very close. And I have to say, Jess is a super girl. We get on like a house on fire!”

“Really?” I try not to sound too surprised, but I can’t see Janice and Jess having much in common.

“Oh yes! We all feel like family. In fact, Martin and I have put off our cruise next summer, just in case we have a—” She breaks off. “Wedding,” she whispers.

Wedding?

OK. I need to talk to Jess. Now.

“Here we are,” says Mum as we approach the door, which has a sign on it: PLEASE ENTER AND REMOVE YOUR SHOES.

“What exactly happens at a prenatal class?” asks Janice, slipping off her Kurt Geiger sandals.

“Breathing and stuff,” I say vaguely. “Preparing for the birth.”

“It’s all changed since our day, Janice,” puts in Mum. “They have childbirth coaches these days!”

“Coaches! Like tennis players!” Janice seems tickled by this idea. Then her smile drops and she clasps my arm. “Poor little Becky. You have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for.”

“Right,” I say, a bit spooked. “Well…er…shall we go in?”



The class is being held in what looks like a normal sitting room with beanbags arranged in a circle, on which several pregnant women are already sitting, with their husbands awkwardly perched beside them.

“Hello.” A slim woman with long dark hair and yoga trousers comes over. “I’m Noura, your prenatal teacher,” she says in a quiet voice. “Welcome.”

“Hi, Noura!” I beam at her and shake hands. “I’m Becky Brandon. This is my mum…and this is Janice.”

“Ah.” Noura nods knowingly and takes Janice’s hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Janice. You’re Becky’s…partner? We have another same-sex couple coming later on, so please don’t feel—”

Oh my God! She thinks—

“We’re not lesbians!” I cut her off hurriedly, trying not to giggle at Janice’s bemused expression. “Janice is just our neighbor. She’s going to Liberty’s with Mum afterward.”

“Oh, I see.” Noura seems a bit let down. “Well, welcome, the three of you. Take a seat.”

“Janice and I will get the coffees,” says Mum, heading toward a table at the side of the room. “You sit down, Becky love.”

“So, Becky,” says Noura as I lower myself gingerly onto a beanbag. “We’re going round the room, introducing ourselves. Laetitia has just explained she’s having a home birth. Where are you having your baby, Becky?”

“With Venetia Carter at the Cavendish,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Wow,” says a girl in a pink dress. “Doesn’t she do all the celebrities?”

“Yes. Actually, she’s a really close friend,” I can’t resist adding. “We’re going out tonight.”

“And have you considered what kind of birth you would like?” continues Noura.

“I’m having the water birth with lotus flowers and Thai massage,” I say proudly.

“Wonderful!” Noura marks something on her list. “So you’d ideally like an active birth?”

“Er…” I picture myself lolling in a nice warm pool, with music playing and lotus flowers floating about, and maybe a cosmopolitan in my hand. “No, I think probably quite inactive, actually.”

“You want an…inactive birth?” Noura appears nonplussed.

“Yes.” I nod. “Ideally.”

“And pain relief?”

“I’ve got a special Maori birthing stone,” I say confidently. “And I’ve done yoga. So I’ll probably be OK.”

“I see.” Noura looks as though she wants to add something else. “Right,” she says at last. “Well. There are birth plan forms in front of you and I’d like everyone to fill one in. We’ll take all the ideas as points of discussion.”

There’s a murmuring as everyone picks up their pencils and begins to chat to their partners.

“I’d also love to hear from Becky’s mother and Janice,” Noura adds, as Mum and Janice rejoin the group. “It’s a privilege to hear from older women who have been through birth and motherhood and can share their wisdom.”

“Of course, dear! We’ll tell you all about it.” Mum gets out a packet of mints. “Polo? Polo, anyone?”

I pick up my pencil, then put it down again. I must just quickly text Jess and find out what’s going on. I take out my phone, find her cell number, and type out a text.


OMG Jess!!! R U going out w Tom????



Then I delete it. Too excited. She’ll get all freaked out and never reply.


Hi Jess. How R U doing? Bex



That’s better. I press Send and turn my attention back to the birth plan. It’s a list of questions, with space to fill in answers.


1. What are your priorities in early labor?



I think hard for a moment, then write: “Look good.”


2. How will you cope with pain in the early stages (e.g., warm bath, rock on all fours)



I’m about to write “Go shopping,” when my mobile pings. It’s a text back from Jess!


Fine, thanks. Jess



That is so Jess. Two words, giving nothing away. I immediately text back.


Are you seeing Tom??



“Sheets in, everybody.” Noura’s clapping her hands. “If you could all stop writing…”

Already? God, this is like a school test. I hand my paper in last, pushing it into the middle so Noura won’t see it. But she’s leafing through all of them, nodding as she reads. Then she stops.

“Becky, under ‘priorities in early labor’ you’ve put ‘Look good.’” She raises her head. “Is that a joke?”

Why is everyone staring at me? Of course it’s not a joke.

“If you look good, you feel good! It’s natural pain-relief. We should all have makeovers or get our hair done….”

I’m getting frowns and titters from around the room, all except a girl in a fab pink top, who’s nodding in agreement.

“See you there!” she says. “I’d rather do that than rock on all fours.”

“Or go shopping,” I add. “It cures morning sickness, so—”

“Shopping cures morning sickness?” Noura interrupts me. “What are you talking about?”

“Whenever I felt sick in the first few weeks, I used to go to Harrods and buy a little something to take my mind off it,” I explain. “It really worked.”

“I used to order stuff online,” agrees the girl in pink.

“You could add it to your list of remedies, maybe,” I suggest helpfully. “After ginger tea.”

Noura opens her mouth, then closes it again. She turns to another girl, who has her hand up, just as my phone beeps with another text.


Kind of. J



Kind of? What does kind of mean? I quickly type.


Janice thinks U R getting married! Bex



I press Send. Ha. That’ll wind her up.

“OK. Let’s move on.” Noura is in the center of the room again. “From glancing through these answers, it’s clear that a lot of you are concerned by the thought of labor and how you’ll cope with it.” She looks around the group. “My first response is: don’t worry. You can cope. All of you.”

A nervous laugh goes around the room.

“Yes, contractions can be intense,” Noura continues. “But your bodies are designed to withstand them. And what you must remember is, it’s a positive pain. I’m sure you’ll both agree?” She looks over at Mum and Janice, who has got out her knitting and is clicking away.

“Positive?” Janice looks up, horrified. “Ooh no, dear. Mine was agony. Twenty-four hours in the cruel summer heat. I wouldn’t wish it on any of you poor girls.”

“They have better drugs these days,” chimes in Mum. “My advice is take everything they’ve got.”

“But there are natural, instinctive methods you can use,” Noura puts in quickly. “I’m sure you found that rocking and changing position helped with the contractions?”

Mum and Janice exchange doubtful glances.

“I wouldn’t have said so,” says Mum kindly.

“Or a warm bath?” Noura suggests, her smile tightening.

“A bath?” Mum laughs merrily. “Dear, when you’re gripped by agony and wanting to die, a bath doesn’t really help!”

I can tell Noura’s getting a bit frustrated, by the way she’s breathing more deeply and balling her hands into fists.

“But it was worth it in the end? The pain seemed a small price to pay, compared to the life-affirming joy?”