---

The shopping centre was empty apart from a few bored assistants. Irritating piped music followed Jenny as she looked at the window displays, trying not to be intimidated by the flat-stomached mannequins. Everything was so short and tight. She wanted generous and forgiving. Was that too much to ask?

It had been a mistake telling Antonia she needed new clothes to accommodate her temporary shape. Because, of course, Antonia had offered to go with her. Antonia shopped in the kinds of places that made Jenny’s credit card tremble in fear; and, more importantly, Jenny didn’t want Antonia seeing her naked.

It wasn’t vanity – Kate Moss had never been looking over her shoulder at Jenny in fear for her career – but pre-baby Jenny had known how to dress for her shape: fitted at the top, A-line at the bottom. Now, eight weeks after the birth, she had a lumpy, bumpy stomach to accommodate, too. Wearing anything remotely clingy made her middle resemble cake mixture. To be fair, cake mixture was what it had seen most of in the last few months.

Hence she was here an hour early. She could finish the trying on and be safely perusing shoes and bags before Antonia got there. Now she just needed to go in and start.

In the first store, the clothes were displayed so closely together she could barely make her way through. Henry’s pram caught every dress they passed, and the assistant watched her pityingly as she careered into one clothes carousel after another, like an oversized ball in a pinball machine. In the end, she gave up and left. She hadn’t liked their clothes, anyway.

The second one had more aisle space and she found a few things that might work. The days were gone when she could tell by looking at something whether or not it would fit. Now she didn’t even know what size she was. To hell with it. She grabbed three different sizes in everything which looked roughly the right shape.

Changing-room cubicles aren’t known for their spaciousness and this one would definitely not have room for a pram. ‘Why don’t you leave it outside the changing rooms?’ suggested the assistant.

Jenny looked at her incredulously. Leave Henry outside, on the shop floor? Where did she think they were? The 1950s? ‘It’s okay,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll manage.’

The assistant appraised the pile of clothes in various sizes that Jenny had thrown hopefully across the roof of the pram. ‘You can only take five items in.’

Only five? This was going to take all day.

She picked five hangers from the top of the pile, left the rest with the assistant and headed for the opposite end of the changing rooms. After a bit of manoeuvring, she managed to poke the pram half in and half out of the cubicle, leaving a gap in the curtain wide enough for her to see Henry, and anyone else in the changing room to see her cellulite.

First attempt was a dark blue skirt in the largest size. Far better for her self-esteem to have to ask for a smaller size than a bigger one. It didn’t fit. She managed to get it on (the stretchy fabric lulling her into a false sense of security) by gradually wiggling it up past her hips. But then it wouldn’t zip up. She sucked in her stomach as tightly as she could, but the cruel mirror showed that depriving herself of oxygen was having no effect. Even unfastened, there were stretch marks across the front of the skirt which made it look as if her hips were fighting to escape out of the side pockets. Carefully, she peeled it off again.

Maybe it was a tiny size on the wrong hanger? She checked the label. It wasn’t. No way was she going up another size from that one. Maybe a dress would be better.

There was a dress, but only in the middle and smaller size. She called out to the assistant. ‘Excuse me, could you bring me the larger dress, please?’

No response. Louder, she called again. Still nothing. The music was ramped up so high she probably couldn’t hear her. To get it herself, she would have to get dressed again. Or just try the medium one. It was a different shape from the skirt. Maybe it would be okay?

This time, she managed to get it on and zipped up, at least. But that damn mirror made her look like a ‘before’ picture from a Weight Watchers advert. She couldn’t wear this to the advertisers’ lunch – it would put them off their sausage rolls. Just get it off and get out of here. This wasn’t fun.

She wriggled the dress downwards but couldn’t get it over her hips without straining the zip dangerously. It would have to go over her head. But she hadn’t taken into account the increased size of her breasts.

She struggled to emerge, Houdini-like, from the bottom of the now-hateful dress. Was this a private hell or had she managed to draw a crowd? The pounding pop music and her face covered in material meant she had no idea.

Then Henry woke up and started to cry.

Rocking the pram with one hip, kneading breast flesh under and out of the unforgiving waistband… it was like being the warm-up act at a cut-price lap dancing club. Resisting the urge to fall down next to Henry and join in with his screams, Jenny swore in the most soothing tones she could muster. ‘Sh, sh, it’ll be o—bugger!… Mummy won’t be long… bollocks!’

Something gave. She was out. And alone, thank God. She pulled her leggings back on gratefully and bolted from the store.

Maybe she did need Antonia’s help after all. Right now, she needed coffee. No cake.

---

The café was busy with shoppers starting their day. Jenny joined the queue and looked around to see if there was a table with room for the pram. Then she saw them, sitting in the corner. Antonia. And a handsome younger man.

They were deep in conversation. He had leaned in conspiratorially and she was hanging on his every word. Although all of the chairs and tables were full, this didn’t seem like an idle chat between two strangers who had agreed to share. Smart and stylish as usual, Antonia had her hair swept back in a glossy ponytail. In a well-cut suit, the young man made a fitting companion. Would they want her to join them? Maybe not.

Jenny backed out of the queue and left the café. The man was probably just a friend Antonia had met by chance. There was no reason for suspicion. She would meet Antonia in half an hour, as agreed, and find out who he was then.

---

A large latte, (skinny) muffin and thirty minutes later, Jenny arrived at the department store to find Antonia browsing in the underwear department, holding a cerise-pink lacy bra.

‘Lucky Geoff – that looks sexy.’

Antonia turned. ‘He doesn’t deserve it.’ She kissed Jenny on both cheeks. ‘Hello, darling. Shall we get started or do you want to get a coffee first?’

Even Jenny couldn’t manage another one so soon. ‘I’ve just had one, but I’m happy to come with you. Haven’t you had a drink?’

Antonia shook her head. ‘No, I just arrived. But I don’t need one, either. I had tea with my mother when I dropped off Jessica with her.’ She put the bra back on the clothes rail. ‘Let’s make a start on finding you something fabulous to wear!’

Jenny trailed behind Antonia as she selected and rejected different outfits – she had a real knack for putting things together. Jenny made the right noises about the skirts, shirts and trousers, but she was more interested in finding out about Café Man. Why had Antonia lied?

This time, they left the pram outside the changing room and Antonia followed her in, holding Henry.

‘I saw Gail last week.’

Jenny was the other side of the curtain, fastening buttons. ‘Really? Where?’

‘At one of Geoff’s work functions. The company she works for looks after Geoff’s company’s investments.’

Jenny stepped out of the cubicle, wearing a trousers and shirt combination. At least it fitted, but it wasn’t going to set the fashion world alight. ‘Really?’ she said again. ‘How come you’ve never seen her before? I thought she’d worked for that company for years.’

Antonia looked her up and down. ‘Put that on the “maybe” pile. Try something more fitted. I’ve seen her once or twice.’

Something didn’t add up. Gail had denied knowing Antonia at the first antenatal class. Jenny retreated into the cubicle. ‘Did you say hello?’

‘No. She was with a man. They were deep in conversation. I didn’t like to interrupt.’ Antonia sounded bored with the whole subject.

Jenny stuck her head out from behind the curtain. ‘That could have been Joe! Did he look like he could be her boyfriend?’ 

Antonia laughed derisively. ‘I doubt it, darling. He was about thirty years older than her. Anyway, it was a corporate event. He was more likely to be her boss.’

Jenny returned to trying to squeeze herself into the bodycon dress Antonia had persuaded her to try. This was an exciting piece of news. ‘Yes, but you were there with Geoff. It could easily have been Joe!’ She came out wearing the dress and turned around to get Antonia's verdict. ‘Weren’t you interested in finding out who he was?’ 

‘Not really.’ Antonia gave the dress the thumbs down. ‘There is rarely anything to interest me at those things unless it comes in a glass bottle. Speaking of which, it’s lunchtime. Shall we get ourselves a glass of wine when you’re done? Jessica will be with my mother until this evening – I intend to make the most of it.’ 

Jenny flicked through the other clothes she’d brought in with her. ‘Is this the first time you’ve left her?’

‘No, both sets of grandparents have looked after her. We’re also trying to find a reliable babysitter. Geoff says we should just use an agency but I’d rather find someone that’s been recommended. Do you know anyone?’

Just the word ‘babysitter’ gave Jenny butterflies in her stomach. Before Henry had arrived, she’d waxed lyrical about how handy it was that her mum lived so close – she could drop him at her parents’ house any time she needed to go out. But that was then. Now, just leaving him in the next room made her feel like she’d lost a limb.

‘No, I don’t know any babysitters. My mum said she’d have him any time.’

And that ‘any time’ needed to start soon. When she visited Ruth next week, it would be beyond insensitive to take Henry with her. She’d call her mum and do a trial run tomorrow. Or maybe Saturday, when Dan would be with her. Or Sunday.