I’d pressured myself into wearing make-up for the fancy class that morning, and suspected that, after an afternoon rushing about, I now had mascara smeared under my eyes.
Would he notice? Did it matter?
Inoticed that he had a few days’ worth of stubble where, before, his skin had been smooth beneath my feverish fingers.
As I’d seen that afternoon at the Green House – because now I knew it had been him – he’d broadened out, added a new confidence to his posture, but his eyes were creased with exhaustion and there was a tiny hole in the side of his grey T-shirt.
In an abstract way, I registered that Jonah King – Joe Green? – had transformed into a startlingly beautiful man.
All I could think was that he was here, in my cabin, staring at me as if I were a lost treasure, and in ten minutes I was going to be talking to him about maternity pads.
‘Where is she?’ A sudden bellow snapped me back to the room.
Daisy’s ex-fiancé, Raz, had burst through the cabin door with all the vigour of a rampaging rhino.
‘I know she’s here. Where is she? Where’s she hiding my baby?’
My stomach lurched as though I’d tossed it out of an aeroplane window.
Up until he’d broken up with Daisy, Raz had been to the class every week. He’d always come across as so timid, I’d been surprised he’d had the confidence to sleep with someone else. This barbarian would be unrecognisable from that mousy boy if it weren’t for his bright ginger mullet.
‘Raz, calm down.’ Nicky strode over and took an assertive stance in front of him. ‘There are pregnant women here.’
‘No, I won’t calm down! She’s got my baby and I demand to see him!’
‘Raz, this is the antenatal class, for people who haven’t had their babies yet. You know this. Now, let’s take a couple of deep breaths…’
By the time I and one of the other dads, who happened to know Raz, had manhandled him into my kitchen, where we’d forced him to drink a cup of tea until his mum arrived – she’dbeen to visit baby Bolt that afternoon but had the good sense not to tell Raz that – Nicky had my session on what to pack in your hospital bag well under way. When I slipped back into the cabin, Ellis and her brother were sitting on a sofa on the far side of the room from the door. Ellis had her head down, apprehensive eyes on the carpet, while Jonah studied the handout. I froze for a long moment, wondering what on earth to do and where to sit, but then spotted Petra in one corner, looking utterly lost.
‘Hey,’ I whispered, sliding in next to her. ‘Great to see you!’
She glanced at me, chewing on her lip.
‘How’s it going?’
Petra nodded at the handout gripped in her hand. ‘I don’t have any of these things,’ she whispered back. ‘I’m not ready.’
‘That’s okay.’ I smiled. ‘You’ve got weeks to go yet. Mary knows all about this stuff. She’ll make sure you have everything you need in time.’
‘No.’ She shook her head vigorously, eyes pleading. ‘I’m not ready!’
Then she burst into tears, crumpling over her bump in anguished, noisy sobs.
No one batted an eyelid as I gently led her into the back room of the cabin, the place where we stored all the equipment alongside a tiny kitchenette and office space. She was by no means the only mum to start crying in a Bloomers session. She probably wouldn’t be the only one crying that night.
I sat her down and made another cup of tea.
There were two minutes left in the refreshment break by the time I persuaded Petra to give the session another try.
‘Do you want me to keep going?’ Nicky asked, when I joined her by the biscuits.
‘No, I’m fine to do the next bit. You can handle any other emotional outbursts, thanks,’ I said, picking up the weighted doll we used to help people practise holding a newborn as Iwalked to the chair at the front of the group and called for everyone to find their seats again.
‘Right, for those of you who haven’t met me yet, I’m Libby. For the next part of the class, we’re going to be thinking about how to soothe a crying baby.’
‘Will we also be learning how to soothe a crying missus?’ one of the young men piped up, nudging his partner. ‘Because this one won’t stop. Found her bawlin’ yesterday because her cracker broke when she tried to spread butter on it.’
‘Dude!’ another lad called across the room once the mix of laughter and angry retorts had died down. ‘You’ll be the one crying when you get home tonight. If you had half a brain inside that lumpy skull, you might have figured out that what she’s really crying about is having a kid with an ugly dumbass like you…’
