And then at last, we lift the sleeping babies into the Range Rover and Suze gives me a lift home. It’s about ten by the time we drive in past the porter’s lodge and pull up in front of the entrance to the building. I call Luke on my mobile to help us upstairs with all my stuff.
“Wow,” he says as he takes in the pile of bags on the ground. “So, is this it? Is the nursery complete now?”
“Um…” It’s just occurred to me that I never did buy a sterilizer. Or a nursing pillow or any diaper rash cream. But never mind. I’ve still got fifteen weeks to go. Plenty of time.
As Luke struggles into the flat with the paddling pool and hobbyhorse and about six carriers, I quickly take the bag with the Gender Predictor Kit and hide it in my underwear drawer. I’ll have to choose a moment when he’s out.
Suze has popped into the bathroom to change one of the twins and as I emerge from the bedroom she’s lugging both car seats down the corridor.
“Come and have a glass of wine,” Luke says.
“I’d better get going,” she says regretfully. “But I’ll have a glass of water if you’ve got one.”
We head into the kitchen, where a CD is softly playing Nina Simone songs. A half-empty bottle of wine is open on the counter, with two glasses next to it.
“I’m not having wine,” I begin.
“That wasn’t for you,” says Luke, filling a glass of water from the fridge. “Venetia popped round earlier.”
I feel a shot of surprise. Venetia was here?
“There’s some extra paperwork we need to fill out,” Luke continues. “She passes this way anyway, so she dropped it off on her way home.”
“Right,” I say after a pause. “That was…helpful of her.”
“She’s just left, actually.” Luke hands Suze the glass. “You missed her by a few minutes.”
Hang on. It’s gone ten o’clock. Does that mean she’s been here all evening?
I mean, not that I mind or anything. Of course I don’t. Venetia is just Luke’s friend. His beautiful, ex-girlfriend, platonic old friend.
I’m aware of Suze’s eyes boring into me, and quickly look away.
“Bex, can you show me the nursery before I leave?” she says, her voice strangely high-pitched. “Come on.”
She practically hustles me down the corridor and into the spare room, which we’re calling the nursery even though we’ll have moved by the time the baby arrives.
“So.” Suze shuts the door and turns to face me, agog.
“What?” I shrug, pretending I don’t know what she means.
“Is that normal? To ‘pop round’ to your ex’s house and stay all evening?”
“Of course it is. Why shouldn’t they catch up?”
“Just the two of them? Drinking wine?” Suze utters the word like some Baptist teetotal preacher.
“They’re friends, Suze!” I say defensively. “Old…very good…platonic…friends.”
There’s silence in the little room.
“OK, Bex,” Suze says at last, lifting her hands as though in surrender. “If you’re sure.”
“I am! I’m totally, completely, one hundred percent…” I trail off and start fiddling with a Christian Dior bottle warmer. I’m clicking the lid on and off like some obsessive-compulsive. Suze has wandered over to the wicker toy hamper and is examining a little woolly sheep. For a while we’re both silent, not even looking at each other.
“At least…”
“What?”
I swallow several times, not wanting to admit it. “Well,” I say at last, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “What if…just hypothetically…what if I weren’t sure?”
Suze raises her head and meets my gaze. “Is she pretty?” she says in equally matter-of-fact tones.
“She’s not just pretty. She’s stunning. She’s got red shiny hair and these amazing green eyes and really toned arms….”
“Cow,” says Suze automatically.
“And she’s clever, and she wears great clothes, and Luke really likes her….” The more I say, the less confident I’m feeling.
“Luke loves you!” Suze cuts in. “Bex, remember, you’re his wife. You’re the one he chose. She’s the reject.”
That makes me feel better. “Reject” makes me feel a lot better.
“But that doesn’t mean she’s not after him.” Suze starts pacing up and down, pensively tapping the woolly sheep on her palm. “We have several options here. One: she genuinely is just a friend and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
