Chapter 38
Rachel
‘Bloody hell,’ Ingrid says, when I finally share my news with her and Poll.
Polly pulls me into her arms and squeezes so tightly, I panic momentarily that she might squash the bump.
‘Have to say I’m relieved. I thought you’d lost your tiny mind, walking into a pub and ordering Ribena.’ Ingrid raises her wine glass. ‘Anyway. Right. A toast to you both.’
I’m not sure if she means me and Lawrence, or me and the baby. But we all cheers anyway.
‘We’re thrilled for you, Rach,’ Polly says.
‘Really?’
Her smile slips slightly. ‘Of course. What did you think we would say?’
‘I wasn’t sure. You’re not exactly Lawrence superfans.’
Polly looks worried. ‘Rach, Lawrence is honestly very—’
‘That’s because no one, my darling, could ever be good enough for you,’ Ingrid interjects firmly, saving Polly from the perilous task of having to list what she likes about Lawrence.
I smile at Ingrid, shake my head. ‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘Is he excited?’ Polly asks.
I tell her yes, and it isn’t a lie. Last night, Lawrence came home with a musical baby mobile hung with tiny felt moons, and a pair of yellow curtains covered in bunnies for the nursery.
He’d picked up a Mothercare brochure too, and we spent a soothing couple of hours curled up on the sofa together, going over all the things we might need.
Last week he gave me a gift-wrapped book of baby names, surprising me further with the shortlist he’d been working on.
These small demonstrations of commitment have been blindsiding in the best way. Lawrence, as it turns out, is not a love-bomber after all.
I notice Polly kick Ingrid beneath the table, and realise Ingrid is probably itching to ask if I’m sure, to check I have no doubts. Because that is the kind of friend she is.
But it’s clear she and Polly have already argued about this, and that – by some miracle – Polly has won. So instead, Ingrid just asks me the question without words.
‘I’m really happy,’ I assure them both softly.
‘We can tell,’ Polly says, smiling till the edges of her eyes give way.
‘So, when are you going to break the news to Josh?’ Ingrid asks.
I know I should be the one to tell him. He deserves to hear it from me. But I’m not too sure how I would even begin to find the words. Words I know will say far too much – and yet, at the same time, nowhere near enough.