It was the second week in September and four weeks since my scan; I was eighteen weeks’ pregnant and according to the baby website I was addicted to, the baby only weighed 190 grams. I, on the other hand, had put on considerably more and I wouldn’t have been able to hide my pregnancy even if I’d wanted to. We’d had a team meeting a couple of weeks ago and I’d told everyone my news and handed round the scan photo. I’d become almost tearful at their display of kindness and excitement, feeling much loved, and to everyone’s surprise, Roger had welled up too and promptly offered his babysitting services when the time came. Matt had popped the cork on a bottle of 2015 Blanc de Noir and topped one up with a splash of orange juice for me and they’d all drunk to my health. Since then, they’d treated me with kid gloves, making sure I didn’t lift anything too heavy and spying on me to check I was taking a lunch break and eating properly. It was like having a flock of aunts and uncles tucking me under their wings and I considered myself very fortunate.

My so-called housekeeping duties had never really materialized and had dried up altogether once Betsy found out I was pregnant. Things had eased on the cash flow front, she assured me. A cleaning firm with a military-style attention to detail now came in once a week to ‘do’ for her. At the moment I was still enjoying being in charge of the cottage garden and veg patch, although Betsy had warned me that as soon as I struggled to bend down to pick the lettuce, she was getting a gardener in. However, Marjorie had phoned yesterday to tell me that she and Betsy were planning on tackling some of the wardrobes this morning and had asked if I’d be able to carry things downstairs to make it easier for them both to manage.

I took a tray of tea back into the living room and found both ladies fanning their faces with table mats.

‘Have you finished?’ I said, handing Marjorie a cup.

‘For now,’ said Betsy, adding a drop of milk to hers. ‘The wardrobe in the spare room is completely empty.’

‘Three bags full for charity, two for the bin and four new T-shirts for me,’ said Marjorie happily.

‘Hmm,’ Betsy sniffed. ‘We’re supposed to be sweeping away the old to make room for the new, remember?’

‘They are new to me,’ said Marjorie, crunching on a custard cream.

‘Making room?’ I asked. ‘Are you both planning a shopping trip?’

The two old ladies looked at each other shiftily.

‘Sort of,’ said Betsy, twisting her wedding ring round, not meeting my eye. ‘Have you heard from Jensen?’