“Let me see!” Luke’s eyes light up, and he hurries across the room, followed by the sonographer. “Where?”
I don’t care if Luke sees it’s a boy and the surprise is ruined. I have to share this precious moment with him.
“Look, there’s the head!” I point. “Hello, darling!”
“Where’s its face?” Luke sounds a bit perturbed.
“Dunno. Round the other side.” I give a little wave. “It’s Mummy and Daddy here! And we love you very—”
“Mrs. Brandon.” The sonographer cuts me off. “You’re talking to your bladder.”
Well, how was I supposed to know it was my bladder? It looked just like a baby.
As we walk into the consultant obstetrician’s room, I’m still feeling rather hot about the cheeks. The sonographer gave me this huge great lecture about how I could have done damage to myself or broken the machine, and we only managed to get away after Luke promised a big donation to the scanner appeal.
And, she said, since I hadn’t been anywhere near the baby, it was very unlikely I’d seen the sex. Hmph.
But as I sit down opposite Dr. Braine, our obstetrician, I feel myself start to cheer up. He’s such a reassuring man, Dr. Braine. He’s in his sixties, with graying, well-groomed hair and a pin-stripe suit and a faint aroma of old-fashioned aftershave. And he’s delivered thousands of babies, including Luke! To be honest, I can’t really imagine Luke’s mother Elinor giving birth, but I guess it must have happened somehow. And as soon as we discovered I was pregnant, Luke said we had to find out if Dr. Braine was still practicing, because he was the best in the country.
“Dear boy.” He shakes Luke’s hand warmly. “How are you?”
“Very well indeed.” Luke sits down beside me. “And how’s David?”
Luke went to school with Dr. Braine’s son and always asks after him when we meet.
There’s silence as Dr. Braine considers the question. This is the only thing I find a tad annoying about him. He mulls over everything you say as though it’s of the greatest importance, whereas you were actually just making some random remark to keep the conversation going. At our last appointment I asked where he had bought his tie, and he thought about it for five minutes, then phoned his wife to check, and it was all a total saga. And I didn’t even like the stupid tie.
“David’s very well,” he says at last, nodding. “He sends his regards.” There’s another pause as he peruses the sheet from the sonographer. “Very good,” he says eventually. “Everything’s in order. How are you feeling, Rebecca?”
“Oh, I’m fine!” I say. “Happy that the baby’s all right.”
“You’re still working full-time, I see.” Dr. Braine glances at my form. “And that’s not too demanding for you?”
Beside me, Luke gives a muffled snort. He’s so rude.
“It’s…” I try to think how to put it. “My job’s not that demanding.”
“Becky works for The Look,” explains Luke. “You know, the new department store on Oxford Street?”
“Aah.” Dr. Braine’s face drops. “I see.”
Every time I tell people what I do, they look away in embarrassment or change the subject or pretend they’ve never heard of The Look. Which is impossible, because all the newspapers have been talking about it for weeks. Yesterday the Daily World called it the “biggest retail disaster in British history.”
The only plus about working for a failure of a shop is that it means I can take as much time off as I like for doctors’ appointments and prenatal classes. And if I don’t hurry back, no one even notices.
“I’m sure things will turn around soon,” he says encouragingly. “Now, did you have any other questions?”
I take a deep breath. “Actually, I did have one question, Dr. Braine.” I hesitate. “Now that the scan results are OK, would you say it’s safe to…you know…”
“Absolutely.” Dr. Braine nods understandingly. “A lot of couples abstain from intercourse in early pregnancy.”
“I didn’t mean sex!” I say in surprise. “I meant shopping.”
“Shopping?” Dr. Braine seems taken aback.
“I haven’t bought anything for the baby yet,” I explain. “I didn’t want to jinx it. But if everything looks OK, then I can start this afternoon!”
I can’t help sounding excited. I’ve been waiting and waiting to start shopping for the baby. And I’ve just read about this fabulous new baby shop on the King’s Road, called Bambino. I actually took a bona fide afternoon off, especially to go!
I feel Luke’s gaze on me and turn to see him regarding me with incredulity.
“Sweetheart, what do you mean, ‘start’?” he says.
“I haven’t bought anything for the baby yet!” I say, defensive. “You know I haven’t.”
“So…you haven’t bought a miniature Ralph Lauren dressing gown?” Luke counts off on his fingers. “Or a rocking horse? Or a pink fairy outfit with wings?”
“Those are for it to have when it’s a toddler,” I retort with dignity. “I haven’t bought anything for the baby.”
Honestly. Luke’s not going to be a very good dad if he doesn’t know the difference.
Dr. Braine is following our conversation, looking perplexed.
“I take it you don’t wish to know the sex of the baby?” he puts in.