‘Listen,’ he continued brightly. ‘Provided I’m done before seven, which I really hope I will be, how about I take you for a burger this evening, to make up for today?’

He was pushing the right button there – along with almond croissants and custard creams, the quarter pounder with cheese and bacon from Honest Burger was another pregnancy craving. And don’t get me started on the salty, skinny fries.

‘Now you’re talking,’ I said, softening. ‘I’ll head home after the class, so text me what time to meet.’

‘Will do. And make sure you take notes – you’ll need to tell me what I’ve missed, so I can prepare for the arrival of whoever is in there.’ Then he bent down and spoke to my belly. ‘Yes, we are talking about you, little bean. Your mummy is going to be brilliant today and I love her very much.’

‘We love you too.’

This wasn’t the first time Jason had told me he loved me via my belly recently. He hadn’t actually said it to my face – or rather the round moon that used to be my face, complete with cheekbones – very often since I got pregnant. He used to tell me all the time, back in the days when we were dating, and when we were newly married. He would kiss me like his life depended on it and constantly tell me he loved me to bits. He’d leave loving Post-it notes on the fridge and text me sweet compliments while I was at work, which had the ability to make me smile all day, and feel like I was the only woman in the world. But he didn’t tell me so often these days, I’d noticed, and to be honest, I needed to hear it now more than ever.

Twisting to check the time on the cooker clock, I realized I’d have to waddle as fast as I could to the deli. I picked up my bag and kissed Jason goodbye.

After begrudgingly putting almost thirty pounds onto my card for eight ciabattas hastily stuffed with tomato, mozzarella and basil – the quickest thing they could do – and awkwardly asking the guy not to wrap the sandwiches, but put them straight onto my plate and cover the whole thing in cling film, I made my way towards the door. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach and my chest became tight. For a brief moment I thought again about not going to the class. Although I’d always known Jason would have to miss this first session, going alone suddenly seemed impossible. Plus my nagging worry that the class might involve something hideously embarrassing like acting out labour or talking about discharge with a bunch of strangers would still not go away. Imagine if we were expected to get our boobs out to practise breastfeeding or something? Could that be a possibility? Please God, no.

But I knew I had to make myself go. Jason was right, I did need to meet like-minded people – I needed some friends with babies. My closest friend Tara had two toddler boys, but she was so busy running them to and from nursery while holding down her city job that we didn’t see each other as much as we used to. And I was yet to open any of the ‘baby manuals’ she had thoughtfully passed on to me, so I needed to learn; I had to do this for the bean.