Gina’s partner. He has a goatee beard dyed three shades of red and apparently at the father’s evening he read out a poem he’d composed himself about placentas.
‘You’re brave!’ says Georgia. ‘Didn’t Petal say we should be open-minded about pain relief?’
‘I’ve been practising yoga and meditation for years.’ Gina looks smug. ‘I think I know how to work with my body. It’s all in the mind. You can see it as pain, or you can see it as empowerment. Plus, Ralph’s taken a course in aromatherapy. He’s going to make me my own personal blend of oils.’
‘He’s very
supportive
, Ralph, isn’t he?’ says Georgia, with a slight frown. Her husband is called Jonno and works non-stop at a merchant bank.
‘He’s great.’ Gina still looks smug. ‘We really connect, on every level. That’s why I’m so confident about labour.’
‘And Dan’s supportive, isn’t he Ginny?’ Georgia turns to me. ‘He seems really sweet.’
‘Oh, he’s crap!’ I say with a burst of laughter. ‘Utterly useless! He put up the changing table yesterday. I said, if you’re as cack-handed as that with the baby I’m not letting you near it—’
My laughter’s interrupted by the door opening. Petal is at the door in her purple crinkly skirt. She really does look like a witch sometimes.
‘Are we all here?’ she says, her eyes darting around the room. ‘Our special guest speaker has arrived, but I’ll wait until the whole group is assembled.’
‘No Gabby yet,’ says Geraldine. ‘I know her firm’s handling a big merger this week, so…’ She shrugs. We all know what she means. Gabby’s attendance hasn’t been great. She always arrives late and often leaves early – and one week she sent along her PA in lieu. It makes you wonder why she’s having a baby. Actually, we know why she’s having a baby. It’s because her husband wanted one. She’s already booked her Caesarean and her twenty-four-hour nanny, and is going back to work three weeks after the birth.
‘Last lesson!’ says Georgia brightly to Petal. ‘If we don’t know it now, we never will!’
Petal says nothing for a few moments, just looks at her with that mysterious, slightly eerie gaze she has. ‘There are certain lessons each of you has still to learn,’ she says at last. Her gaze moves around the room, lingering on each of us in turn. Then she quietly disappears out of the room.
‘Oh God,’ says Geraldine as the door closes. ‘It’s the breastfeeding counsellor, I know it. They’re worse than Bible bashers, my friend Lucy said.’
‘Breastfeeding raises the IQ,’ Georgia says at once. ‘Breastfeeding and Mozart. Did you read the article?’ She pulls a glossy magazine entitled
Intelligent Baby
out of her bag. ‘I’m planning to play the Mozart clarinet concerto every day to my baby.’
There’s a sudden flurry of snow against the window, and we all jump in surprise.
‘Look at that!’ Gina exclaims. ‘It’s going to be a white Christmas.’
It hasn’t snowed like this for years. Real, proper snow. Dickensian snow, Dan called it this morning.
‘Speaking of Christmas…Georgia looks around, a little coy. ‘Has anyone thought of names yet?’
‘Holly?’ says Geraldine with a grin.
‘Ivy,’ I say with a laugh. ‘Or Noel. Dan suggested Bianca. I said, that’s the kind of name you
would
think of.’
‘Only I’ve thought of one that’s rather unusual…’ Georgia looks around, her mouth twisting with pleasure. ‘Melchior.’
‘Melchior?’ echoes Geraldine. ‘You can’t call a baby Melchior!’
‘I think it’s rather lovely,’ says Georgia, looking offended. ‘For a girl
or
a boy. Mel for short. What do
you
think, Grace?’
We all turn to look at Grace in the corner, and as usual, she stares dumbly back with that frightened-rabbit expression she always has.
Now. I’m sure Petal had her reasons for inviting Grace into the class. But frankly… she doesn’t fit. She’s barely out of her
‘You’re brave!’ says Georgia. ‘Didn’t Petal say we should be open-minded about pain relief?’
‘I’ve been practising yoga and meditation for years.’ Gina looks smug. ‘I think I know how to work with my body. It’s all in the mind. You can see it as pain, or you can see it as empowerment. Plus, Ralph’s taken a course in aromatherapy. He’s going to make me my own personal blend of oils.’
‘He’s very
supportive
, Ralph, isn’t he?’ says Georgia, with a slight frown. Her husband is called Jonno and works non-stop at a merchant bank.
‘He’s great.’ Gina still looks smug. ‘We really connect, on every level. That’s why I’m so confident about labour.’
‘And Dan’s supportive, isn’t he Ginny?’ Georgia turns to me. ‘He seems really sweet.’
‘Oh, he’s crap!’ I say with a burst of laughter. ‘Utterly useless! He put up the changing table yesterday. I said, if you’re as cack-handed as that with the baby I’m not letting you near it—’
My laughter’s interrupted by the door opening. Petal is at the door in her purple crinkly skirt. She really does look like a witch sometimes.
‘Are we all here?’ she says, her eyes darting around the room. ‘Our special guest speaker has arrived, but I’ll wait until the whole group is assembled.’
‘No Gabby yet,’ says Geraldine. ‘I know her firm’s handling a big merger this week, so…’ She shrugs. We all know what she means. Gabby’s attendance hasn’t been great. She always arrives late and often leaves early – and one week she sent along her PA in lieu. It makes you wonder why she’s having a baby. Actually, we know why she’s having a baby. It’s because her husband wanted one. She’s already booked her Caesarean and her twenty-four-hour nanny, and is going back to work three weeks after the birth.
‘Last lesson!’ says Georgia brightly to Petal. ‘If we don’t know it now, we never will!’
Petal says nothing for a few moments, just looks at her with that mysterious, slightly eerie gaze she has. ‘There are certain lessons each of you has still to learn,’ she says at last. Her gaze moves around the room, lingering on each of us in turn. Then she quietly disappears out of the room.
‘Oh God,’ says Geraldine as the door closes. ‘It’s the breastfeeding counsellor, I know it. They’re worse than Bible bashers, my friend Lucy said.’
‘Breastfeeding raises the IQ,’ Georgia says at once. ‘Breastfeeding and Mozart. Did you read the article?’ She pulls a glossy magazine entitled
Intelligent Baby
out of her bag. ‘I’m planning to play the Mozart clarinet concerto every day to my baby.’
There’s a sudden flurry of snow against the window, and we all jump in surprise.
‘Look at that!’ Gina exclaims. ‘It’s going to be a white Christmas.’
It hasn’t snowed like this for years. Real, proper snow. Dickensian snow, Dan called it this morning.
‘Speaking of Christmas…Georgia looks around, a little coy. ‘Has anyone thought of names yet?’
‘Holly?’ says Geraldine with a grin.
‘Ivy,’ I say with a laugh. ‘Or Noel. Dan suggested Bianca. I said, that’s the kind of name you
would
think of.’
‘Only I’ve thought of one that’s rather unusual…’ Georgia looks around, her mouth twisting with pleasure. ‘Melchior.’
‘Melchior?’ echoes Geraldine. ‘You can’t call a baby Melchior!’
‘I think it’s rather lovely,’ says Georgia, looking offended. ‘For a girl
or
a boy. Mel for short. What do
you
think, Grace?’
We all turn to look at Grace in the corner, and as usual, she stares dumbly back with that frightened-rabbit expression she always has.
Now. I’m sure Petal had her reasons for inviting Grace into the class. But frankly… she doesn’t fit. She’s barely out of her
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