She stared at the yellow linoleum between her feet until the nausea passed. It appeared she wouldn’t throw up after all, small mercies. She peed and left the cubicle, stood in front of the mirror and splashed water on her face. She looked at her reflection and saw her tiredness, as well as something else. Her hair was thicker, perhaps, her face a little plumper, her breasts fuller – and it was only a matter of time before the men in the office noticed that.

She smoothed her hand over her shirt and felt the modest curve she’d so far successfully managed to hide under shirts and jackets, but it was getting warmer, and she would get bigger; she knew she couldn’t hide it for long. She’d have to tell Roger soon, but the thought made her feel sick again. She didn’t want him to know. Didn’t want her colleagues to know. She didn’t want to be one of those women who fucked up a promising career by having a baby. Though she was confident the new employment protection law meant Roger wouldn’t sack her for being pregnant, who knows if he’d agree to any maternity pay; that part of the legislation hadn’t come into force yet, and there was no formal arrangement at her paper. She knew some editors agreed to paid leave if they valued their female journalists – but did Roger value her enough? She wasn’t so sure.

She sighed. Just a little longer and then she’d face it.

‘Sylvia, dear, are you quite all right?’

She looked up and whipped her hand away from her stomach. She hadn’t heard Valerie come into the bathroom.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m fine. Just a little hot.’ She dried her face with a paper towel and reached into her pocket for her lipstick.

‘It is rather muggy outside,’ Valerie said. ‘Let’s hope we get that much needed rain soon.’ She came to stand next to Sylvia and looked at her in the mirror as she applied a slick of lipstick. ‘You look a little off-colour.’

She smiled. ‘Nothing a cup of Betty’s coffee won’t knock out of me.’

‘When’s the trip?’

‘Denmark? Next week.’

‘Quite a coup.’

‘Thanks. I’m pleased.’

‘You should be.’ Valerie plumped her hair in the mirror and turned to look at Sylvia directly. Her eyes flicked up and down her body, and there was something about her gaze that unnerved her. ‘You’ll be having my job if I’m not careful.’

Sylvia forced a laugh. ‘Hardly. I’m sure the Queen of Fleet Street is safe on her throne for a long while yet.’

Valerie smiled. ‘Ridiculous title,’ she said, but Sylvia saw the glint of pride in her eyes. ‘Anyway darling, must dash. Look after yourselves in Denmark.’

And she was gone.