I’m about to say yes, when I hesitate. My work has been the biggest, most important part of my life since I left university. Without it, I don’t know who I’d be. But I’ve never stopped to ask myself if I actually like what I do. It seems irrelevant.

The others are all staring at me, waiting.

“I can’t imagine not working there,” I say. “And I definitely like it way more than working in a law firm.”

I knew before I’d even graduated with a double degree in law and commerce that the law aspect had been a poor choice. I’d chosen it mainly because of the appeal of a hefty pay packet and title of being called a lawyer, but after one year in a fancy law firm, I accepted it wasn’t for me and went down the commerce path instead. Law was all about conformity, black and white, right and wrong. It was about dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. I’d had enough of that growing up with my military father.

“Not quite a glowing endorsement,” says Lily.

She takes an olive from the small bowl and shoves it in her mouth as if the poor little green thing has offended her and needs to be chewed to smithereens.

“If you can make it through the next couple of months at work, then you’ll get maternity leave and you’ll be knee-deep in nappies. Your sole thought will be ‘when will I ever sleep through the night again?’,” Emma says, grinning. “It’ll give you a chance to re-assess. You might decide not to go back.”

My skin prickles and I get hot and sweaty, like I’m suddenly feverish.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I croak.

They all laugh as if it’s funny to see me panicking about becoming a parent with no father on the scene and no parents up the road to help. It’s just me. Alone. I should be used to it by now. But I’m not.

Mags puts an arm around me.

“You’re going to nail this mother stuff, Trish. And we’re going to be around here so often to help you’ll be sick of us.”

“Exactly,” states Lily. “In fact, I’m thinking I might move in once the little critter’s born.”

We collectively look at Lily like she’s grown another head.

“What?” she says. “It’s got to be better than living with a guy who irons his undies.”