I consider denying it and getting all up in arms, but I’m too relaxed and chilled. Plus, there’s more than a kernel of truth to Emma’s words. I’ve thought about texting Scott several times. He seems to come into my mind every time I’m in my garden, or when I walk into the baby’s room and see the cardigan and hat he knitted sitting on the dresser. I should have put them away in a drawer by now, but they’re just so beautiful and, well… a cute guy knitted them for me. It’s bordering on a miracle.

I don’t message Scott because I like him. Very much. And because I’m pregnant with another man’s child and I now have stretch marks beginning to appear around my belly button (my stomach looks like a bloody balloon). What possible chance is there for me to develop a relationship with him? None. Zip. Zero.

“You’re not going to be pregnant forever,” says Emma, as if she’s been privy to my thoughts. “Eventually, you’ll have your body back and feel sexy again.”

“Is that what happened with you?”

“Well, I got maybe ninety per cent of my body back. The other ten per cent went to shit.”

We grin at each other.

“Thanks. I can always count on you to keep it real, Em.”

“Anytime.” She groans and slowly gets up. “I’d better get moving before I fall asleep.” She pulls her top down over her bulge, takes a step, then winces and puts a hand on her lower back.

“You OK?”

“Yeah. I’ve just had a sore back for the past couple of days. It comes and goes.”

I sit up, frowning. “You could be in labour. Margot was talking about it at the last class. Sometimes you get pains in your back instead of your stomach.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “Oh, crap. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Isn’t your due date soon?”

Emma nods, her hand still rubbing her back. “Ten days.”

“So it’s possible, right?”

Emma shakes her head. “Freddie was on time.”

“The baby doesn’t know that.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Thanks.”

“Come on.” I stand up to lead her inside. “Let’s at least ring Finn and put him on alert.”

“No. He’ll start to get all nervous and panicky. I’ll ring Mum after I’ve collected Freddie. Ask her to come over.”

I purse my lips. “Are you all right to drive to school?”

“Of course I” She breaks off and bends over.

A wet patch appears on the leg of her grey maternity three-quarter trousers and travels slowly downwards. A trickle of clear liquid runs over her bare foot and onto the grass.

“Shit,” Emma murmurs.

“Please tell me that’s your waters breaking.”

She slowly straightens and nods, her face pale. “I think I’d better call Finn.”

*