Chapter One

It all started on my thirty-first birthday. You think you’re going to have those ‘What does it all mean?!’ wobbles when you hit the big three-oh but my thirtieth birthday actually went by in a lovely whoosh of rum, ear-ringing karaoke and two different Ryan Gosling calendars as gifts. I was too busy trying not to throw up cocktails to really take stock of where my life was going. But that’s because being thirty has a certain cute ring to it, a sort of shiny novelty. It’s heralded in by numbered balloons and special presents and everyone making you feel awesome, which definitely helps. Turning thirty-one has none of that cuteness. The fact that you’re in a whole other decade of your life has had 365 days to sink in. You know the tick boxes on forms, the ones that ask if you’re eighteen to twenty-five, or twenty-five to thirty-five? You catch yourself worrying that before you know it, neither of those boxes will be your tick buddies.

I’m not complaining about this year’s birthday, far from it. I had had a tops day in the pub, a nice clean and cosy one where our friends with babies could come in the daytime and the friends who still had lie-ins could then come after and sink cider till very late. I drank rum again, I was given great presents again (sadly no Ryan G this year. Had I grievously offended these people?!), I had funny and gorgeous and kind people around me. But something was different.

A more sensible Ellie would have paced herself on the drinks front. A more mature Ellie would have let go of the fact she had no Ryan Gosling filth in her hands. And an Ellie with any kind of heart would have been delighted by Pete’s present, rather than slightly horrified by it.

There was that lovely flash in his eyes that he gets when he’s excited and the crinkles that form just above his cheeks when he smiles really hard.

‘Don’t even try. You’ll never guess.’ After he handed over my present, Pete nudged elbows with my oldest mate Jules and she matched his grin.

It was beautifully wrapped in midnight-blue paper and with a gold ribbon knotted pretty sternly around the middle. I had to use my house keys to saw it off, all the while running through my mind: This is definitely a book. Is there a new Jamie out? Are Pete and I already at the couples’ stage where we just buy each other cookbooks? Maybe I should spice up my underwear collection or something.

And when I tore back the paper, I saw a book that was strangely familiar. But at the same time, not quite.

It was an A4 hardback with that maroon marbled-effect paper you always used to see at school. I turned the first page and saw in big block letters:

ELLIE REDFORD’S TWENTIES LEAVER’S BOOK

Say goodbye to your twenties and hello to the rest of your life!

I looked hard at Pete. I don’t think I was capable of blinking at that point.

‘Do you get it?’ He plonked down next to me on one of the pub’s trendily battered sofas. ‘I’m just kicking myself that I didn’t think of it in time for last year. But you know when we were clearing out the random drawer months ago, you pulled out your Sixth Form Leavers’ book and something clicked. We should do a leavers’ book for your twenties! Everyone helped with the pictures, see?’ He reached his arm around me to turn the pages.

There I was on nights out, holidays, hen dos, picnics, uniformly with my sandy hair pulled back into a doubled-over ponytail and with smiling cheeks forcing my eyes into a squinty line. Some really bad uni fashions – I took too long to accept that flares do NOT balance out your bum – one regrettably short fringe, but all memories I was very happy to relive on the printed page. I got a big thumping hit of warmth behind my chest. Pete was bloody great at presents.

I settled further back into the sofa and Jules and some of my other mates crowded round to have a nose as Pete explained the pages. I leafed through them slowly in smug pleasure and awe.

‘Now this bit, this is great. Like a time capsule, sort of.’ He pointed to a double-page spread titled THEN AND NOW … On the left hand was a copy of my actual Sixth Form Leavers’ book: the future aspirations bit. I had a dusty memory of sharing a plastic seat with Jules in the cafeteria, scribbling self-involved dreams. It started ‘When I’m thirty …’ and you had to fill in five blanks, predicting your own future. It had felt so far away then, but as I sat on the creaking leather sofa, Jules’s face peering over my shoulder like I was holding the 1999 Heat annual, it could have been yesterday.

So this is what I’d written.

When I’m 30 …

… I’ll have a massive penthouse flat in London, overlooking the Thames

… I’ll be a kick-ass executive doing something really creative!

… I’ll have been to New York a million times

… I’ll still be best mates with Jules, Stacey and Cherry!!!

… I’ll have a gorgeous husband and three children. Maybe a dog!

And then Pete, bless his M&S socks, had filled in on the opposite page:

And now you’re 31 …

… You rent a flat in one of South London’s most fancy boroughs. A deli on every corner in East Dulwich! With a house deposit building up nicely.

… You hold Crumbs magazine together with your amazing talents at work. They’d be printing it with potato shapes if it wasn’t for you.

… You’ve been to New York (though just the once – so far) and even had a snog on the Brooklyn Bridge, like that Sex and the City thing

… Jules is still one of your besties. Stacey made a nuisance of herself when she moved to Australia and we all know why no one speaks to Cherry any more.

… TOP MARKS for gorgeous husband. Nailed it on that one. The children bit won’t be far off, hopefully!!!!

I felt each and every one of Pete’s exclamations. Like you feel those early stomach cramps before you realise you’ve got food poisoning. Pete’s an accountant; he’s more likely to declare love via an Excel spreadsheet than he is to use effusive punctuation.

But I knew what was hidden under that seemingly jaunty clutch of exclamation marks. It’s the pregnant elephant in the room that neither of us knows how to mention, and just like a pregnant elephant, it’s been like this for a while now. Pete wants to know whether Ellie-at-thirty-one still wants what Ellie-at-eighteen clearly did. And if so, why is she taking so long about it?

Do I want a baby?

Exactly.

I felt something constrict in my throat, closed the book carefully and went to the bar.