If you manage to keep up this “Undercover Mother” blog, I’ll look at it.’ She walked to her desk and sat down. ‘But no promises about a regular column.’

Jenny left Eva’s office and walked towards Lucy, who was sitting at her desk, chatting to Brian about her promotion. Traitor. Hot pants and thick tights weren’t a look that everyone could carry off, but Lucy managed it.

Jenny leaned in as she walked past. ‘Thanks so much for taking “Girl About Town” off my hands, Lucy. I’ve been begging Eva for weeks to let me start an exciting new project, and now I can.’ Without waiting for a response, she flounced off outside. Well, as much as you could flounce when you were carrying an extra two stone around your middle.

It wasn’t until she’d walked out of the front door that she fished into her bag for her phone. She googled ‘Antenatal classes’.

Now, how was she going to sell the idea of them to her unsuspecting husband?

Chapter Three

Ever been to a singles night? Trying to look relaxed and cool whilst scanning the room for someone who might be your type? Antenatal classes are just like that. The only difference is, you are guaranteed to have at least one thing in common.

So far, I haven’t had much luck finding my Mrs Right, although they are a pretty mixed bunch. One of them is intent on a completely natural birth – I’m pretty sure she’d give birth squatting in the hospital garden if they’d let her. Another is so keen to find out about the drugs available, I’ve begun to wonder if she took a sedative during the conception…

From ‘The Undercover Mother’

‘Tell me again why we have to go to an antenatal class when you said, and I’m quoting, that you had “no intention whatsoever of sitting in a room with simpering women talking about babies”?’

Searching the lounge for her car keys, Jenny lifted the cushions next to her husband and looked underneath them. ‘Dan, I am a writer about to begin maternity leave. Eva has given my column away to someone younger than half my wardrobe and, when I go back to work, I am likely to be writing about the current must-have colour in nail polish, and not much else. I had to come up with something fast.’

Dan leaned over to the coffee table, located the keys and handed them to her. ‘Yes, you’ve already explained that. But why antenatal classes and, more importantly, why do I need to go with you?’

Jenny sighed. For a very clever man, he could be rather obtuse sometimes. ‘The antenatal classes are for research. You—’ she pulled him up out of his seat ‘—are my cover.’

It had been too late to book on to a full antenatal course, so Jenny had signed them up for consecutive Saturdays at the local clinic. As they entered, the door creaked and several expectant glances turned in their direction. Jenny scanned the pregnant women. Who looked the most normal? Who was most likely to provide her with interesting material? Who wouldn’t bore the pregnancy pants off her? Meanwhile, Dan just collected a sheaf of papers from Sally, the woman running the group, and sat down on a random chair in the semi-circle. Already, he was not following the plan.

Sally started with the obligatory ice-breakers – they had to pair up and introduce themselves. Dan looked at Jenny with a pained expression: this was his idea of hell. She’d make it up to him later, she decided. If he behaved himself.

A smart woman with long auburn hair approached Jenny tentatively. ‘Hi, I’m Ruth. Sorry, were you about to pair up with someone else?’

‘No, no, please, sit down.’ Jenny pulled out the chair next to her. ‘I’m Jenny. Married to Dan.’ She motioned in the direction of her husband, who was scrutinising a poster on the wall in an effort to avoid the pairing up.