“How’s the dad-to-be taking it? Did he give you strict instructions to avoid all raw fish and meat of any kind in Tokyo?”

I press the number for my floor and Scott presses the button for the floor above mine. Then silently, we watch the lift doors close.

“The dad doesn’t know,” I say quietly.

“Oh.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Sounds like it.”

What the hell – once I step out of this lift, I doubt I’ll be seeing Scott again.

“I can’t really tell the dad when I don’t know who he is,” I say, watching the number for my floor light up.

The doors ping and glide open.

“Are there a number to choose from?” Scott asks.

I step out of the lift and turn to face him.

“I’ve narrowed it down to two,” I say, smiling, though why this should be amusing is a mystery.

Scott smiles back and shakes his head as the doors close.

“Good luck,” I hear him call.

“Thanks,” I mutter, heading to my room. “I’m going to need it.”

6

The meeting goes reasonably well. I manage to placate my client with impressive-looking bar charts, graphs and technical jargon. Plus, I assure him his current stagnant period is normal (which isn’t a lie, though of more concern than I let on). In a couple of months, I tell him, his business will start reaping the benefits of our tailor-made services.

By the time the meeting is over and I exit the large marbled foyer, my stomach is grumbling so loudly the doorman turns to look at me. My baby wants food and it wants it now.

I merge with the swarm of immaculate Japanese women and men in suits, and keep my eyes peeled for something that looks vaguely European. A bakery or a burger joint. Anything that doesn’t involve rice or fish. Not that I don’t enjoy Japanese food, but my baby is telling me it needs stodgy carbs right now. Sugary would be a bonus.

Finally, I spy what looks to be a cake shop and push my way through the masses to the revolving door. Inside, it’s hot and smells so sweet, I’m sure the air is 50 per cent icing sugar. The cakes all look the same – like boring old vanilla cake with no icing. I point to one then carry the cake outside, open the box, tear off a hunk and take a bite.

It tastes very sweet and extremely dry. Emma would be horrified. Right now, I’d do anything to be sitting in my friend’s café eating a slice of her carrot cake or a freshly baked muffin.