I shrug. “Initially, I thought I was having a boy, then a girl, and now I’m convinced it’s got to be a boy again.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I keep getting booted in the ribs by big powerful feet.” As if my unborn baby has heard me, I receive a hard, sharp kick. “Oww, just like that,” I exclaim.

Scott’s shakes his head. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to have a fully formed human being in there. Isn’t nature incredible?”

There he goes again: so unafraid to speak openly. I reach for one of his hands, place it on the top of my belly and press.

“Feel that?”

Scott’s eyes widen and he nods.

“It’s a foot or a knee.” I press his hand into the bony lump and the lump responds with a violent jab.

“Jesus,” Scott says loudly. “I see what you mean. That’s a football star right there.”

I lift my hand and wait for Scott to take his hand off my belly, but it stays there.

“Do you think they’ll kick again?” he asks eagerly.

My baby responds with another solid nudge.

“Wow! that’s incredible.”

Grinning, he looks up at me. But when he catches my expression, his smile disappears and he quickly pulls his hand away.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “Honest.”

I can hardly explain that for a split second there, I allowed myself to imagine he was the father and we were having a special soon-to-be mum and dad bonding moment. Then I reminded myself of the true facts and I wanted to throw something.

Scott takes a couple of quick gulps of his tea and stands. “I should let you get on.”

I shuffle forwards, readying myself to launch my body out of the chair.

“Don’t get up.” Scott holds out a palm. “I can see myself out.”

I slump back, weighted with disappointment. I don’t want him to go and I wish I didn’t feel this way.

“OK,” I whisper.

Instead of leaving, Scott frowns at the pot of basil nearby.

“How about I come with you to the barbeque?” he blurts.

I freeze. “What?”

“You came to the wedding in Tokyo with me, maybe I could come to the barbeque and, I don’t know, stop them from bombarding you with questions.”

“You don’t think if I turn up with yet another guy, it won’t cause even more speculation?”

Scott shrugs. “Probably, but if we stick together, none of them would dare to ask anything in case they offend. Actually, we could have some fun with it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. We could pretend we’re engaged, or we could say we just met, or… I know – why don’t we say we just met on a dating website and it’s our first date?”

Smiling, I shake my head. “You’re crazy.”