Chapter Twenty-Six

I turn my key in the door and every millimetre it turns feel momentous: I am seconds closer to telling Pete the news that will change everything. How will he react? How will I react to his reaction? Will he drink celebratory booze without me?

As I open the door, it smells like he already has. And then a wall of sound hits me – roars, insults, yelps of laughter.

Filling my living room with their big feet, big trainers and big noises are three of Pete’s rugby mates and some seemingly life-or-death match is on the telly.

‘Hi love. Hey guys.’

Pete leaps up from his sofa slouching. I get another wave of beer fumes as he grips me in a tight bear hug. ‘Wifey! You’re back so soon! But now you can watch the game with us. Oh baby looooove,’ he growls this last bit into my ear. Fosters tends to make him handsy.

So maybe this isn’t the perfect moment to shout ‘You’re going to be a dad!’ I button my lip and swallow down this toasty warm secret. Kinder Baby will just have to sit there unwrapped for a little while yet.

The other guys have quietened down a bit now Pete has suggested I join in watching the game. I don’t mind if they call some player a prick in front of me, but for some reason they mind doing it, so it all becomes like a WI tea party. ‘What … rotters!’ is as rough as it gets.

‘You know what, we’ve got some pittas I can toast, and I can put some dips out. I think you guys could do with some carbs. Good, absorbent carbs.’ Pete follows me into the kitchen, squeezing my bum all the way.

‘I was hoping you’d come home,’ he whispers into my ear, standing so close I can smell the softener on his shirt.

I bat him away. ‘Liar. You were having bromance.’

‘I’ll kick them all out if you want me to. Say the word. But if I do, you have to do that thing I like where you—’

I can’t let Pete finish that thought. I can’t let him whisper lovely filth into my ear in the same day I tell him he’s going to be a dad. It’s not right.

‘Ha ha. No need, pervy person. All in good time. What are you drinking?’

Pete’s drunkenly hazy eyes lock onto mine. ‘Only the finest Fosters have to offer. Want one?’

‘Um, no, but I’ll grab … something then come in and join you.’ I slip my arms round his middle and walk myself right into his personal space. ‘God you’re nice. I think I’ll keep you.’

‘Damn right.’

I feel a funny ache and the urge to pee. Hadn’t Becca mentioned that – peeing constantly? Hey, we’re going to be pregnant at the same time! Oh, it will be so good to have a knocked-up wingman.

But when I go to the loo I find out the ache wasn’t a pregnancy symptom from the Kinder Baby. It was my period.

If Pete hadn’t been so drunk he might have noticed I’d been in the bathroom for twenty minutes. Luckily, he was pretty liquored up and oblivious to my pink-rimmed eyes. The guys’ howls of annoyance at the referee’s decisions cover for the fact I’m not really saying much. Finally Pete notices I’m just an inert lump on the edge of the sofa.

‘Hey you,’ he frowns at me, ‘something is very wrong.’

Man, I really need some coupley mindreading now. I need him to get rid of these guys so I can explain the whole stupid thing. I need a cuddle and a bath.

‘Very wrong.’ He wags a finger. ‘You don’t have a drink and you are so behind!’ His smile crinkles his eyes and actually I decide I don’t ever want to drag him into this stupid thing. It would put a tiny chip into his big perfect heart. ‘My friend JD is going to help you catch up.’

And when he puts the shot glass and the bottle in front of me, it seems like drinking one without thinking will be the best idea I’ve had. One, and then maybe some more.