Shopaholic & Baby

“Absolutely,” puts in Luke. “We appreciate that, don’t we, Becky?”

“Yes,” I mutter as Venetia wraps a blood pressure cuff round my arm.

This is a lie. I don’t appreciate it. And just to make it crystal clear: I am never going to waddle.

“Blood pressure’s just a little high….” She frowns at the screen. “Make sure you take it easy, Becky. Try to take a rest every day, or at least get the weight off your feet. And try to stay nice and calm….”

Stay calm? How am I supposed to do that when she’s telling me I’ve got stretch marks and am going to waddle?

“Now, let’s have a listen….” She smears some gel on my stomach and gets out the Doppler, and I relax a little. This is my favorite bit of every appointment. Lying back, listening to the baby’s heartbeat going wow, wow, wow over the fuzzy background noise. Remembering that there’s a little person in there.

“That all sounds fine….” Venetia moves away to the desk and scribbles something on her notes. “Oh, Luke, that reminds me — I spoke to Matthew the other day and he’d love to meet up. And I found that article by Jeremy we were talking about….” She rifles in her desk drawer and holds out an old copy of the New Yorker. “He’s come such a long way since Cambridge. Have you read his book on Mao?”

“Not yet,” says Luke, heading toward the desk and taking it from her. “I’ll read this when I have time. Thanks.”

“You must be busy,” Venetia says sympathetically. She pours a glass of water from the cooler and offers one to Luke. “How are all the new offices working out?”

“Good.” Luke nods. “The odd hiccup, of course…”

“But it’s fabulous that you’ve got Arcodas as a client.” She leans on the desk, frowning intelligently. “It must be the way forward, to diversify out of finance. And Arcodas’s rate of expansion is phenomenal — I was reading a piece about it in the FT. Iain Wheeler sounds very impressive.”

Er…hello?

They’ve completely abandoned me on my back, like an upturned beetle. I clear my throat loudly and Luke turns round.

“Sorry, sweetheart! Are you all right?” He hurries over and offers me a hand.

“Sorry, Becky!” says Venetia. “Just getting you some water. You seem a little dehydrated. It’s vital to keep your fluids up. You should really be drinking at least eight glasses of water a day. Here you are.”

“Thanks!” I smile at her as I take the glass, but as I sit down, suspicions are circulating darkly round my mind. Venetia’s very chatty with Luke. Too chatty. And trying to make out I had a stretch mark. And the way she keeps flicking her hair about like a hair model in a TV ad. It’s not exactly doctorly, is it?

“So!” Venetia is behind her desk again, writing on my notes. “Did you have any questions? Issues you’d like to raise?”

I glance at Luke, but he’s pulled his phone out of his pocket. I can just hear the faint bzzz as it vibrates.

“Excuse me,” he says. “I’ll pop outside. Carry on without me.” He gets up and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

So it’s just the two of us. Woman-to-woman. I can feel the room prickling with tension.

At least…it’s prickling on my side.

“Becky?” Venetia shows her perfect white teeth in a smile. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

“Not really,” I reply pleasantly. “As I said, everything’s fine. I’m fine…. Luke’s fine…. Our relationship couldn’t be better…. You know this is a honeymoon baby?” I can’t resist adding.

“Yes, I heard all about your wonderful honeymoon!” Venetia exclaims. “Luke said you went to Ferrara while you were in Italy?”

“That’s right.” I give a reminiscent smile. “It was so romantic. We’ll always share it as a wonderful memory.”

“When Luke and I visited Ferrara, we couldn’t tear ourselves away from those fabulous frescoes. I’m sure he told you?” Her eyes are all wide and innocent.

Luke and I never went to any frescoes in Ferrara. We sat at the same outdoor restaurant all afternoon, drinking Prosecco and eating the yummiest food I’ve ever had. And he never mentioned he’d been there before with Venetia. But no way am I admitting that to her.

“Actually, we didn’t go to the frescoes,” I say at last, examining my nails. “Luke told me all about them, of course. But he said he thought they were overrated.”