I did it! Now I just have to shift it slightly to get the crucial bit…. Frowning with concentration, I move the probe around on my abdomen, tilting it this way and that, craning my neck to see the screen. This is a lot easier than I thought! Maybe I should become a sonographer. I’m obviously a bit of a natural—
There’s the head. Wow, it’s huge! And that bit must be—
My hand freezes and I catch my breath. I’ve just spotted it. I’ve seen the sex of our baby!
It’s a boy!
The image isn’t quite as good as the sonographer’s—but even so, it’s unmistakable. Luke and I are going to have a son!
“Hello,” I say aloud to the screen, my voice cracking slightly. “Hello, little boy!”
And now I can’t stop the tears rolling down my cheeks. We’re having a gorgeous baby boy! I can dress him up in cute overalls, and buy him a pedal car, and Luke can play cricket with him, and we can call him—
Oh my God. What are we going to call him?
I wonder if Luke would go for Birkin. Then I could get a Birkin to be his nappy bag.
Birkin Brandon. That’s quite cool.
“Hi, little baby,” I croon gently to the big round head on the screen. “Do you want to be called Birkin?”
“What are you doing ?” The sonographer’s voice makes me jump. She’s standing at the door with Luke, looking appalled. “That’s hospital equipment! You shouldn’t be touching it!”
“I’m sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes. “But I just had to have another quick look. Luke, I’m talking to our baby. It’s just…amazing.”
“Let me see!” Luke’s eyes light up, and he hurries across the room, followed by the sonographer. “Where?”
I don’t care if Luke sees it’s a boy and the surprise is ruined. I have to share this precious moment with him.
“Look, there’s the head!” I point. “Hello, darling!”
“Where’s its face?” Luke sounds a bit perturbed.
“Dunno. Round the other side.” I give a little wave. “It’s Mummy and Daddy here! And we love you very—”
“Mrs. Brandon.” The sonographer cuts me off. “You’re talking to your bladder.”
Well, how was I supposed to know it was my bladder? It looked just like a baby.
As we walk into the consultant obstetrician’s room, I’m still feeling rather hot about the cheeks. The sonographer gave me this huge great lecture about how I could have done damage to myself or broken the machine, and we only managed to get away after Luke promised a big donation to the scanner appeal.
And, she said, since I hadn’t been anywhere near the baby, it was very unlikely I’d seen the sex. Hmph.
But as I sit down opposite Dr. Braine, our obstetrician, I feel myself start to cheer up. He’s such a reassuring man, Dr. Braine. He’s in his sixties, with graying, well-groomed hair and a pin-stripe suit and a faint aroma of old-fashioned aftershave. And he’s delivered thousands of babies, including Luke! To be honest, I can’t really imagine Luke’s mother Elinor giving birth, but I guess it must have happened somehow. And as soon as we discovered I was pregnant, Luke said we had to find out if Dr. Braine was still practicing, because he was the best in the country.
“Dear boy.” He shakes Luke’s hand warmly. “How are you?”
“Very well indeed.” Luke sits down beside me. “And how’s David?”
Luke went to school with Dr. Braine’s son and always asks after him when we meet.
There’s silence as Dr. Braine considers the question. This is the only thing I find a tad annoying about him. He mulls over everything you say as though it’s of the greatest importance, whereas you were actually just making some random remark to keep the conversation going. At our last appointment I asked where he had bought his tie, and he thought about it for five minutes, then phoned his wife to check, and it was all a total saga. And I didn’t even like the stupid tie.
“David’s very well,” he says at last, nodding. “He sends his regards.” There’s another pause as he peruses the sheet from the sonographer. “Very good,” he says eventually. “Everything’s in order. How are you feeling, Rebecca?”
“Oh, I’m fine!” I say. “Happy that the baby’s all right.”
“You’re still working full-time, I see.” Dr. Braine glances at my form. “And that’s not too demanding for you?”
Beside me, Luke gives a muffled snort. He’s so rude.
“It’s…” I try to think how to put it. “My job’s not that demanding.”
“Becky works for The Look,” explains Luke. “You know, the new department store on Oxford Street?”
“Aah.” Dr. Braine’s face drops. “I see.”
Every time I tell people what I do, they look away in embarrassment or change the subject or pretend they’ve never heard of The Look. Which is impossible, because all the newspapers have been talking about it for weeks. Yesterday the Daily World called it the “biggest retail disaster in British history.”
The only plus about working for a failure of a shop is that it means I can take as much time off as I like for doctors’ appointments and prenatal classes. And if I don’t hurry back, no one even notices.
“I’m sure things will turn around soon,” he says encouragingly. “Now, did you have any other questions?”
I take a deep breath. “Actually, I did have one question, Dr. Braine.” I hesitate. “Now that the scan results are OK, would you say it’s safe to…you know…”
“Absolutely.” Dr. Braine nods understandingly. “A lot of couples abstain from intercourse in early pregnancy.”
“I didn’t mean sex!” I say in surprise. “I meant shopping.”
“Shopping?” Dr. Braine seems taken aback.
“I haven’t bought anything for the baby yet,” I explain. “I didn’t want to jinx it. But if everything looks OK, then I can start this afternoon!”
I can’t help sounding excited. I’ve been waiting and waiting to start shopping for the baby. And I’ve just read about this fabulous new baby shop on the King’s Road, called Bambino. I actually took a bona fide afternoon off, especially to go!
I feel Luke’s gaze on me and turn to see him regarding me with incredulity.
“Sweetheart, what do you mean, ‘start’?” he says.
“I haven’t bought anything for the baby yet!” I say, defensive. “You know I haven’t.”
“So…you haven’t bought a miniature Ralph Lauren dressing gown?” Luke counts off on his fingers. “Or a rocking horse? Or a pink fairy outfit with wings?”
“Those are for it to have when it’s a toddler,” I retort with dignity. “I haven’t bought anything for the baby.”
Honestly. Luke’s not going to be a very good dad if he doesn’t know the difference.
Dr. Braine is following our conversation, looking perplexed.
“I take it you don’t wish to know the sex of the baby?” he puts in.
“No, thanks,” says Luke, sounding determined. “We want to keep it a surprise, don’t we, Becky?”
“Um…yes.” I clear my throat. “Unless maybe you think, Dr. Braine, that we should know for very good, unavoidable medical reasons?”
I look hard at Dr. Braine, but he doesn’t get the message.
“Not at all.” He beams.
Drat.
It’s another twenty minutes before we leave the room, about three of which are spent in Dr. Braine examining me, and the rest in he and Luke reminiscing about some school cricket match. I’m trying to be polite and listen, but I can’t help fidgeting with impatience. I want to get to Bambino!
At last the appointment’s over and we’re walking out onto the busy London street. A woman walks past with an old-fashioned Silver Cross pram, and I discreetly eye it up. I definitely want a pram like that, with gorgeous bouncy wheels. Except I’ll have it customized hot pink. It’ll be so fab. People will call me the Girl with the Hot Pink Pram. Except if it’s a boy, I’ll have it sprayed baby blue. No…aquamarine. And ever
yone will say—
“I spoke to Giles from the estate agents this morning.” Luke breaks into my thoughts.
“Really?” I look up in excitement. “Did he have anything…”
“Nothing.”
“Oh.” I deflate.
At the moment, we live in this amazing penthouse flat which Luke has had for years. It’s stunning, but it doesn’t have a garden, and there’s lots of immaculate beige carpet everywhere and it’s not exactly a baby type of place. So a few weeks ago we put it on the market and started looking for a nice family house.
The trouble is, the flat was snapped up immediately. Which, I don’t want to boast or anything, was totally due to my brilliant styling. I put candles everywhere, and a bottle of champagne on ice in the bathroom, and loads of “lifestyle” touches like opera programs and invitations to glittering society events (which I borrowed from my posh friend Suze). And this couple called the Karlssons put in an offer on the spot! And they can pay in cash!
Which is great—except where are we going to live? We haven’t seen a single house we like and now the estate agent keeps saying the market’s very “dry” and “poor” and had we thought of renting?
I don’t want to rent. I want to have a lovely new house to bring the baby home to.
“What if we don’t find a place?” I look up at Luke. “What if we’re cast out on the streets? It’s going to be winter! I’ll be heavily pregnant!”
I have a sudden image of myself trudging up Oxford Street while a choir sings “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”
“Darling, we won’t be cast out on the streets! But Giles said we may need to be more flexible in our requirements.” Luke pauses. “I think he meant your requirements, Becky.”
That is so unfair! When they sent over the Property Search Form, it said, “Please be as specific as possible in your wishes.” So I was. And now they’re complaining!
“We can forget the Shoe Room, apparently.”
“But—” I stop at his expression. I once saw a Shoe Room on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous and I’ve been hankering after one ever since. “OK, then,” I say tamely.
“And we might need to be more flexible on area—”
“I don’t mind that!” I say, as Luke’s mobile starts ringing. “In fact, I think it’s a good idea.”
It’s Luke who’s always been so keen on Maida Vale, not me. There are loads of places I’d like to live.
“Luke Brandon here,” Luke’s saying in his businesslike way. “Oh, hi there. Yes, we’ve had the scan. Everything looks good. It’s Jess,” he adds to me. “She tried you but your phone’s still switched off.”
“Jess!” I say, delighted. “Let me talk to her!”
Jess is my sister. My sister. It still gives me such a kick to say that. All my life, I thought I was an only child—and then I discovered I had a long-lost half sister! We didn’t exactly get on to begin with, but ever since we got trapped in a storm together, and properly talked, we’ve been real friends.
I haven’t seen her for a couple of months because she’s been away in Guatemala on some geology research project. But we’ve called and e-mailed each other, and she’s texted me pictures of herself on top of some cliff. (Wearing a hideous blue anorak instead of the cool faux fur jacket I got her. Honestly.)
“I’m going back to the office now,” Luke is saying into the phone. “And Becky’s off shopping. Do you want a word?”
“Shh!” I hiss in horror. He knows he’s not supposed to mention the word shopping to Jess. Making a face at him, I take the phone and put it to my ear. “Hi, Jess! How’s it going?”
“It’s great!” She sounds all distant and crackly. “I was just calling to hear how the scan went.”
I can’t help feeling touched at her remembering. She’s probably hanging by a rope in some crevasse somewhere, chipping away at the rock face, but she still took the trouble to call.
“Everything looks fine!”
“Yes, Luke said. Thank goodness for that.” I can hear the relief in Jess’s voice. I know she feels guilty about me falling off the mountain, because I’d gone up there looking for her, because—
Anyway, it’s a long story. The point is, the baby’s OK.
“So, Luke says you’re going shopping?”
“Just some essentials for the baby,” I say casually. “Some…er…recycled nappies. From the thrift shop.” I can see Luke laughing at me, and hastily turn away.
The thing about my sister Jess is, she doesn’t like shopping or spending money or ruining the earth with evil consumerism. And she thinks I don’t either. She thinks I’ve followed her lead and embraced frugality.
I did embrace it for about a week. I ordered a big sack of oats, and I bought some clothes from Oxfam and I made lentil soup. But the trouble with being frugal is, it gets so boring. You get sick of soup, and not buying magazines because they’re a waste of money, and sticking bits of soap together to make one big revolting lump. And the oats were getting in the way of Luke’s golf clubs, so in the end I chucked them out and bought some Weetabix instead.
Only I can’t tell Jess, because it’ll ruin our lovely sisterly bond.
“Did you see the article about making your own baby wipes?” she’s saying with enthusiasm. “It should be pretty easy. I’ve started saving rags for you. We could do it together.”
“Oh. Um…yes!”
Jess keeps sending me issues of a magazine called Frugal Baby. It has cover lines like “Kit Out Your Nursery for £25!” and pictures of babies dressed in old flour sacks, and it makes me feel depressed just looking at it. I don’t want to put the baby to bed in a £3 plastic laundry basket. I want to buy a cute little cradle with white frills.
Now she’s going on about something called “sustainable hemp babygros.” I think I might end this conversation.
“I’d better go, Jess,” I cut in. “Will you make it to Mum’s party?”
My mum’s having a sixtieth birthday party next week. Loads of people are invited, and there’s going to be a band, and Martin from next door is going to do conjuring tricks!
“Of course!” says Jess. “Wouldn’t miss it! See you then.”
“Bye!”
I switch off the phone and turn to see that Luke has managed to hail a taxi. “Shall I drop you off at the thrift shop?” he inquires, opening the door.
Oh, ha-ha.
“Bambino on the King’s Road, please,” I say to the driver. “Hey, do you want to come, Luke?” I add with sudden enthusiasm. “We could look at cool prams and everything and then have tea somewhere nice….”
I already know from Luke’s expression that he’s going to say no.
“Sweetheart, I need to get back. Meeting with Iain. I’ll come another time, I promise.”
There’s no point being disappointed. I know Luke’s working full-out on the Arcodas account. At least he made time for the scan. The taxi moves off and Luke puts his arm round me.
“You look glowing,” he says.
“Really?” I beam back at him. I have to say, I do feel pretty good today. I’m wearing my fab new maternity Earl Jeans, and high wedge espadrilles, and a sexy halter-neck top from Isabella Oliver, which I’ve ruched up to show just a teeny hint of tanned bump.
I never realized it before—but being pregnant rocks! OK, your tummy gets big—but it’s supposed to. And your legs look thinner in comparison. And you get this brilliant cleavage, all of a sudden. (Which I have to say, Luke is quite keen on.)
“Let’s have another look at those scan pictures,” he says. I delve into my handbag for the shiny roll of images and for a while we just gaze at them together: at the rounded head; at the profile of a little face.
“We’re starting off a whole new person,” I murmur, my eyes riveted. “Can you believe it?”
“I know.” Luke’s arm tightens around me. “It’s the biggest adventure we’ll ever go on.”
“It’s amazing how nature works.” I bite my lip, feeling the emotions rise a
gain. “All these maternal instincts have kicked in. I just feel like…I want to give our baby everything!”
“Bambino,” says the taxi driver, pulling over to the pavement. I look up from the scan pictures to see the most fantastic, brand-new shop façade. The paintwork is cream, the canopy is red stripes, the doorman is dressed up as a toy soldier, and the windows are like a treasure trove for children. There are beautiful little baby clothes on mannequins, a child’s bed shaped like a fifties Cadillac, a real little Ferris wheel going round and round….
“Wow!” I breathe, reaching for the taxi’s door handle. “I wonder if that Ferris wheel is for sale! Bye, Luke, see you later….”
I’m already halfway toward the entrance, when I hear Luke calling out, “Wait!” I turn back to see a look of slight alarm on his face. “Becky.” He leans out of the taxi. “The baby doesn’t have to have everything.”
TWO
HOW ON EARTH did I hold off baby shopping for so long?
I’ve reached the New Baby department on the first floor. It’s softly carpeted, with nursery rhymes playing over the sound system, and huge plushy animals decorating the entrance. An assistant dressed as Peter Rabbit has given me a white wicker basket, and as I look around, clutching it, I can feel the lust rising.
They say motherhood changes you—and they’re right. For once in my life I’m not thinking about myself. I’m being totally selfless! All this is for my unborn child’s welfare.
In one direction are banks of gorgeous cradles and rotating tinkly mobiles. In the other I can glimpse the alluring chrome glint of prams. Ahead of me are displays of teeny-weeny outfits. I take a step forward, toward the clothes. Just look at those adorable bunny slippers. And the tiny cowhide padded jackets…and there’s a massive section of Baby Dior…and, oh my God, D&G Junior…
OK. Calm down. Let’s be organized. What I need is a list.
From my bag I pull Nine Months of Your Life. I turn to chapter eight: “Shopping for Your Baby” and eagerly start scanning the page.
Clothes:
Do not be tempted to buy too many tiny baby clothes. White is recommended for ease of washing. Three plain babygros and six tops will suffice.