“OK, so after I left a garbled message on Lily’s phone, I rang Leanne, the midwife Emma recommended,” I say softly. “She checked me out and gave me a lecture on taking better care of myself. She thinks the baby is fine but that I’m probably low in iron, especially after not being able to keep much food down in the first trimester.”

“I thought you’d been seeing your doctor about that?” Emma says.

“No, I haven’t. Anyway, I’ve got an ultrasound and blood tests tomorrow and I’m under strict instructions to rest. Which I was doing until you all turned up.”

“So, why did you start bleeding?” Mags asks.

I shrug. “The low iron might be a factor. Stress maybe. Pushing myself too hard. But the bleeding has stopped now. I’m honestly feeling fine.” Which is surprisingly the truth.

“I knew we should have intervened earlier,” says Emma. She stares accusingly at Lily. “I told you Trish was overdoing it.”

“And I told you, Trish wouldn’t listen.”

“I am in the room, guys. And Lily’s right, Em. I wouldn’t have listened. I’ve been keeping myself busy because I didn’t want to accept I was pregnant. But I do now. And I’m going to make a real effort to slow down. In fact…” I pause and take a deep breath.

“That was what set me off in a panic. I was looking around the spare room and realized that I hadn’t done a thing to get ready for this baby. I haven’t painted the room or bought a bassinet or joined an antenatal class. I don’t even have a single item of clothing for the baby. Isn’t that the first thing a parent-to-be goes and buys? A cute little outfit for their unborn child?”

Emma takes my hand. “You’ve got three months to go, Trish. Plenty of time to get that stuff sorted.”

“And I’ve already bought two outfits for bubs,” says Mags. “I was going to give them to you a couple of months ago, but I wasn’t sure you’d be keen.” She leaps off the bed. “I’ll go and get them now.”

“Mags,” I say, smiling. “That isn’t necessary.”

Lily clambers off the bed and races out of the room. The next second she’s back with the paper and pen I keep stuck to the fridge.

“Right. Let’s make a list. I’m a dab hand with a paintbrush, so I’ll come over this weekend and start on the painting. You just need to pick a colour, Trish, and I’m telling you now, I refuse to paint your spare room yellow.”

“What’s wrong with yellow?” Mags asks. “I like yellow.”

Lily scowls. “It’s the classic fallback colour when you don’t know the baby’s sex, but it’s a try-hard colour, Trish. Trust me.”