“Ooh, look,” she says cheerfully. “You have to have an injection.”
“An injection?” I look round in dismay.
“‘The blood test is quick and easy to perform,’” she reads aloud from the leaflet. “‘Simply ask a doctor, nurse, or other qualified person to take a vial of blood from a vein.’ Here’s the needle,” she adds, taking out a plastic box. “I’ll be the doctor.”
“Right.” I nod, trying to hide my qualms. “Er, Suze…have you ever actually done an injection before?”
“Oh, yes.” She nods confidently. “I’ve injected a sheep. Come on!” She’s fitting the needle to the syringe. “Roll up your sleeve!”
A sheep?
“So, what do we do with the vial of blood?” I ask, playing for time.
“We send it away to the lab,” says Suze, reaching for the leaflet. “‘Your results will be posted to you in anonymous, discreet packaging. Please expect them within’”—she turns the page—“‘approximately ten to twelve weeks.’”
What?
“Ten to twelve weeks?” I grab the leaflet from her. “What good is that? I’ll have had it by then.” I turn the pages over, trying to find some express delivery option, but there isn’t one. At last I give up and subside onto a bar stool in disappointment. “Twelve weeks. There’s no point even doing it!”
Suze sighs and sits down beside me. “Bex, didn’t you read any of the instructions before you bought this test? Didn’t you find out how it worked?”
“Well…no,” I admit. “I thought it would be like a pregnancy stick test. With a blue line and a pink line.”
Stupid rubbishy test. It cost me forty quid too. What a total rip-off. I mean, do they think pregnant women are that desperate to know what sex their baby is? It’s only a few months to wait, for goodness’ sake. And it’s not like it matters. As long as it’s a healthy baby, then really, what is the—
Suze breaks into my thoughts. “Shall we do the ring test again? See what it says?”
“Ooh!” I look up, brightening. “Yes, let’s.”
We do the ring test five times, and decide the odds are 3–2 on it being a boy. So we make a great big list of boys’ names and Suze tries to persuade me to call it Tarquin Wilfrid Susan. Yup. I don’t think so.
By the time she’s bundled up all the children, fed them lots of fish oil capsules (to counteract the dumbing-down effect of TV), and left, I feel a lot better. She’s right — Luke and I just need to spend a bit more time together. And I’ve thought of a much better plan than taking him out to lunch. I mean, he goes to boring old business lunches all the time. I want to do something different. Something romantic.
So the next day at work, I phone down to the Food Hall and order a picnic basket of all Luke’s favorite food. I’ve already checked with Mel, his assistant, and he hasn’t got any appointments booked for lunchtime. (I didn’t tell her why I was asking, because there’s no way she’d keep it secret.) My plan is to surprise him and have a picnic lunch in his office and it’ll be all intimate and lovely! I’ve even got them to put in a bottle of champagne, a checked cloth, and a plastic “picnic” candelabra from Homewares, just to set the scene.
As I set off for Luke’s office at lunchtime I’m feeling quite excited. It’s been ages since we did something spontaneous like this! Plus I haven’t been to Brandon Communications for weeks, and I’m looking forward to seeing everyone. There’s been the most amazing buzz at the company, ever since they won the Arcodas pitch. The Arcodas Group is so huge, and so different from all the financial clients they normally deal with, it’s been the biggest challenge they’ve ever faced. (I know this from helping Luke write his motivational speeches.)
But then, what is life without new adventures and new dreams? Brandon Communications is the best in the business, stronger and more dynamic every year, thriving on new enterprises. Together they can take on any challenge, meet it, and conquer it. As a team. As a family. (I wrote that bit.)
I arrive at the offices just before one, and sidle across the marble foyer to Karen, the receptionist. She’s talking to her colleague Dawn in a low voice, and she looks all pink and upset. I hope nothing’s wrong.
“It’s not right,” I can hear her saying in a guarded voice as I approach the desk. “It’s just not right. No one should behave like that, boss or no boss. I know I’m old-fashioned—”
“It’s not,” Dawn interrupts her. “It’s having respect for your fellow human beings.”
“Respect.” Karen nods vigorously. “How she’s feeling, poor thing…”
“Have you seen her? Since…” Dawn trails off meaningfully.
Karen shakes her head. “No one has.”
I’m following their conversation with slight unease. What are they talking about? Who’s “she”?
“Hi!” I say, and they both jump.
“Becky! Goodness!” Karen looks quite flustered at the sight of me. “What are you…Did we know you were coming today?” She starts leafing through the papers on her desk. “Dawn, is it in the appointment book?”
In the appointment book? Since when do I have to make an appointment to see my own husband?
“I just thought I’d surprise Luke. He’s free at lunchtime; I’ve already checked. So I thought we could have a nice picnic in his office!” I nod at the basket hanging on my arm.