I looked at the clock. It was midday. I was going to struggle to survive a whole seven hours in possession of this huge secret until Jason came through the door late tonight. Besides, the little blue lines might have faded by then and I wanted him to see them too. I touched my stomach, trying to work out if I felt pregnant; it was all very surreal.

I took a shower and stared at my naked body in the bathroom mirror as I searched for non-existent signs that I looked different this morning. I tried calling Jason one last time but still no reply. Nothing for it – I’d take a leaf out of his book from when we lived in Hong Kong and go and surprise him at work for lunch. I had to tell him the happy news in person.

When I reached Jason’s office building near Moorgate, he still hadn’t responded to any of my messages so I asked the man on reception to let him know I was there.

The City building couldn’t have been more different to my cosy workspace at our kitchen table. I looked at my reflection in the tall, mirrored wall next to the elaborate reception desk. It was still me all right, but if I wasn’t mistaken, I looked a little paler than usual, perhaps a bit fuller around the face. Could pregnancy hormones be kicking in already?

When the receptionist had located Jason, he finally appeared through the lift doors. ‘Hey, what are you doing here?’ he said, looking more concerned than overly happy to see me. I became conscious of my jeans and trainers, a contrast to the smart pencil skirts with matching jackets of the women walking with purpose around me.

I took in his appearance – unkempt hair, bloodshot eyes, and the same shirt he was wearing yesterday, only now it looked like it had been thrown around a dressing room by a team of rugby players.

‘You look awful,’ were my first words. They were allowed because I was his wife and it was true.

‘Thanks, I feel it too,’ he murmured, not looking me in the eye.

‘I’m serious, you look shit.’ I bit my lip; stress wasn’t good for the baby. He was spoiling my special news.

‘It’s been a long night, babe, don’t make me feel any worse. Please,’ he said, firmly and slightly too loud, because a woman nearby glanced over at us.

Self-consciously I rubbed my wedding band. ‘Did you get any sleep at all?’ I probed.

‘A little, in one of the pods,’ he replied defensively. ‘I feel like I’m coming down with something too.’

‘And you had a few beers?’ I continued. I knew the smell of last night’s alcohol and he reeked of it. It reminded me of our early dating days, when he’d sometimes rolled into bed at my flat at 3 a.m. stinking of beer, but desperate to see me, blabbering soppily. A heightened sense of smell was another pregnancy symptom I’d read about.