Oh, sorry! Sally’s calling us back now, and I haven’t asked you anything!’

Jenny wasn’t worried about that. She was more concerned with getting the scoop on the funny side of pregnancy. Ruth didn’t seem a likely prospect: far too positive and nice.

Dan sat back down beside her. ‘How is it for you?’

She shielded her mouth with her hand. ‘Exactly as I expected so far. You?’

‘I had a good chat with David over there about a new shed he’s building. Have you noticed that there are only four men between five women?’

‘Are there?’ Jenny did a quick count. He was right. Which one was on her own?

Antenatal Sally didn’t waste any more time before getting to the nitty-gritty of labour: the contractions, the pushing the baby out, and then the placenta. She made a valiant effort to make it sound enjoyable, but Jenny wasn’t fooled. If you wanted a baby – which she did – labour was something you just needed to do. Up until then, she had done her best not to dwell on the realities of it, but now Sally had laid them all out before her.

It was terrifying.

She wasn’t alone. If the husbands were squeamish at the mention of the placenta, they looked even worse after a general discussion of some of the post-birth side-effects. The fatigue and ‘baby blues’ didn’t seem to worry them, but when the conversation took a turn onto the subjects of hair loss, bleeding nipples and tearing of the front bottom, there was a lot of uncomfortable shuffling in seats.

Then they got onto pain relief.

‘Whatever they’re offering, I’m taking them up on it,’ said a slim, well-spoken lady with a perfectly round, small bump. Her name-badge told Jenny she was called Antonia; the Boden dress and coordinating jacket told her a lot more.

‘Surely it’s better to be able to give birth without any drugs at all?’ This one – Naomi, according to her badge – looked about ten years younger than the rest of them, and was wearing a voluminous smock top and bangles that chinked against each other every time she pushed her long hair back from her face. ‘Women give birth all over the world without using drugs. I’m hoping to do the same.’ She smiled at her partner and he squeezed her hand.

‘Yes, and loads of them die in bloody childbirth,’ muttered Jenny to Dan. Neither Boden nor Bangles were her kind of woman. Maybe she should give Ruth another go?

During the break, Jenny followed Ruth to the kitchen, determined to see what she could uncover. ‘I'd kill for a black coffee.’

Ruth poked around the assortment of jars and plastic containers. ‘You might be out of luck; I can't find any decaf.’ Jenny opened her mouth and then shut it again: drinking coffee with caffeine here would be like eating a cream cake at Weight Watchers.

Ruth placed four mugs in front of the geriatric kettle, then slumped against the wall. ‘First thing I’m going to have after I’ve given birth – a latte with extra caffeine. And a big slab of pâté. And red wine. I haven’t eaten anything off the banned list since I did the test.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Blimey, I sound boring, don’t I?’

It was all boring, in Jenny’s opinion. The pain-relief discussion had petered out after Naomi’s proclamations about a drug-free birth. Jenny had been rooting for Antonia to take her on, but even Naomi’s speech about women in paddy fields had been met with nothing more from her than a well-bred roll of the eyes. They were halfway through the session and Jenny had nothing. There had to be something she could write about.