The First Time Mums’ Club

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HarperCollinsPublishers

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

Copyright © Lucie Wheeler 2017

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Lucie Wheeler asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

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and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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written permission of HarperCollins.

ISBN: 9780008216221

Ebook Edition © May 2017

Version 2017-10-10

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Part One: The First Trimester

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Part Two: The Second Trimester

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Part Three: Third Trimester

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

For Gracie – you are the most precious thing in my whole world. Never give up on your dreams. You can achieve anything you want and I will always be right here beside you, believing in you.

And for Craig – thank you for working so hard and making it possible for me to take the time out to study and to write. Without your support, I wouldn’t have had the chance to follow my dreams.

I love you both xx

PART ONE:

Chapter 1

Ellie

‘Come on, Ellie, how long are you going to be in there?’

‘I’ll be out in a minute,’ she called back, pulling some toilet paper off the holder so that it made a noise and sounded authentic. She pulled her long blonde hair back into a ponytail so that it was off her neck – she was so hot, it made her feel sick.

‘You’ve been in there ages, is everything okay?’

She had a little laugh to herself. Not because it was funny, more because she actually couldn’t believe what she was doing. If someone had said to her years, even weeks, ago that this is what she would be doing on a Friday in November, she would have laughed in their face and told them not to be so stupid.

Yet, here she was. Locked in a bathroom at the hotel she was staying in for the photoshoot job she was on. The subtle cream walls were splashed with various shades of mocha, which did nothing but accentuate the sheer grandeur of the place. It was one of those places that had posh handwash and moisturiser for every basin – a far jump from Ellie’s tiny flat in the centre of London, in which her bathroom rarely had a towel to dry her hands, let alone moisturiser.

She had hoped that it would have been at least another five minutes until Jenni, the photoshoot manager, noticed she was missing, though. Who was she kidding? People don’t just forget that there is a make-up artist on set. ‘Everything’s fine. I’m just… um…,’ she frantically looked around the bathroom for inspiration and spotted some tweezers on the windowsill, ‘plucking my eyebrows!’ She creased her face as she cringed at her terrible attempt of lying.

‘What? Why have you locked the door if you’re just plucking your eyebrows? I’ve got Suzie out here waiting for her make-up for the photoshoot and you’ve picked now to lock yourself in a bathroom to pluck your eyebrows? I pay you to do other people’s make-up, not sort your own face out!’

‘I know, I’m … uh…. doing it whilst I’m on the toilet – I must’ve eaten something dodgy.’ She really was clutching at straws now. This is what her life had come to. She felt stupid but she had to do this. There was no other time and she couldn’t face another day tearing herself apart inside with the constant worry and wondering about what the hell was going on – it had taken over her life. Yeah, sure, she could have done this at home, but she acted on impulse this morning at the chemist – her bag had felt like a lead weight ever since. She needed to just get rid of it and do it.

She heard Jenni exhale impatiently outside the door and stomp off. She listened to her footsteps quieten and then, finally, a door slammed.

‘Eyebrows?’ she said to herself and laughed. ‘Bloody plucking my eyebrows?’ She looked up to the ceiling aghast and threw her hands up to her head to rub her cheeks.

Finally she turned her attention back to the task in hand; still another minute to go. This was the longest two minutes of her life. She should be out there, doing Suzie’s make-up, laughing and joking on set and doing what she did best. She had been a make-up artist for about eight years now and she absolutely loved her job. The buzz she got from working with the models and photographers on set to help create some really beautiful masterpieces was pure indulgence. She could remember spending hours as a child, doing her own make-up with her mum’s stash. Her and Zoe, who was three years older, would sneak into their mum’s bedroom and take all her best make-up to practise with. The trouble they got into when Ellie once used their mum’s MAC make-up to make Zoe look like a clown for her ninth birthday party. Their mum had thought Ellie used face paint and was full of praise and showing off about how talented her six-year-old was, and then she realised when she saw the lipstick barrel lying on the side, tip squashed down into mush from the pressure applied to create the crimson circles on Zoe’s cheeks. The girls had joked that their mum’s face went the same colour. She had her pocket money removed that week and she never used her mum’s make-up again. That was when she started buying her own and Zoe was the perfect model to practise on. And now she got to do it for real, every day. Although she saved the clown faces for special occasions. And then there was art class at school. Ellie wasn’t a grade-A student, but in art she totally aced it. When Zoe was bringing home straight A’s in every subject and making their parents proud as punch, Ellie was bringing home an array of C’s and D’s and making their parents exhale in frustration that she ‘wasn’t more like Zoe.’ They didn’t even acknowledge the A* in art because it wasn’t a subject that they saw would get her anywhere in life.

Well, who’s laughing now?

Her phone chimed to indicate a message and she swiped it up quickly for something to do with her hands. Minimising the stopwatch, she opened the message.

Hey. Sorry I haven’t been in touch recently. I was just a bit freaked out about what happened between us that night.

You’re not the only one, she thought as she scrolled down.

I don’t want things to change between us. Are we OK?

She felt a strange feeling in her stomach as she read Chris’s message. She had known Chris practically all her life. They’d grown up together on the same street and became firm friends at the tender age of six when Ellie stood up for Chris against some older boys, who were picking on him for having ginger hair. ‘I like your hair,’ she would often say to him. But that didn’t stand up against the nasty taunts of ginge and carrot top that he frequently got from others. Not that he had that problem nowadays. His hair had darkened into a nice deep red as he grew older and it was actually shaved now anyway. He had certainly grown into a gorgeous man, but they had stayed firm friends – most of the time. They occasionally strayed into dangerous territory, especially where drink was involved.

Throughout high school and starting their own careers, Chris and Ellie still hung out together and were regulars in each other’s lives. Their friendship was on a completely different level to any other friendship she had, or probably ever would. The closeness between them would challenge a married couple of twenty years, yet that was all they ever remained as: friends. Because they didn’t work as anything else.

Which made what happened the other night even worse. They should never have slept together again. They said after the last time that they wouldn’t do it again because it was starting to affect their friendship. Being friends with benefits was a good laugh, but it made things complicated. She had watched him fall in love and have his heart broken – which had broken her own heart a little bit, too. Watching him fall deeper into despair and not being able to stop him. It had taken him years to get over what Chloe had done to him and Ellie had not wasted any time in making sure that that bitch knew exactly where she stood on the matter.

But what with a few too many Sambucas and a killer new dress that she’d bought, which clung to all the right places around her sleek, well-toned body, one thing had led to another and they’d found themselves in a hotel room at the function they had been at. She woke up the next day, frustrated at giving in to Chris again, so being the idiot that she was, she had just left. Just like that. She knew things were bad when he didn’t contact her for a bit, but she had left it too long and then it became a thing. She tried so hard to not make a big deal out of it that, as a result of her being so blasé, she did make it a thing. Then she was too far in and couldn’t come back from it. It was a weird feeling because up until then, any problems she’d ever had, she’d always gone straight to Chris. Problems in the male department – call Chris. Problems at work – call Chris. Bad period pains and she needed (yes, needed) chocolate ice cream at 11pm – yep, you got it, call Chris. And he was always there. Always. Never asking questions. Good old reliable Chris. They always came back from their awkwardness after sleeping together, but this time she felt different. She felt really emotional about it all and that fact alone pissed her off – she didn’t do emotion.

So why was it so hard to talk to him now? She typed a response and pressed send.

Don’t be silly, I didn’t even notice. Been so busy with work and stuff.

That was a lie. She had thought about it. She thought of nothing else. A reply beeped back almost instantly.

Good. I don’t want things to change between us, so don’t go all weird on me now. We agreed – remember!

He added a geeky smiley. It did make her smile.

Oh please, don’t flatter yourself. Now go away I’m working!

She went to press send, but hesitated. She went back into the message and added a kiss. Nodding to herself, she went to press send again but decided last minute to delete the kiss. Exhaling with frustration she added the kiss and pressed the send icon. Since when did she agonise over what to text him?

She got thumbs up in return. That was it. No kiss. But did it matter? She didn’t know any more. Because as much as she wanted to act fine, she wasn’t fine. It had made things weird. And she was about to find out why.

Her phone started beeping again and it was a split second before she realised it wasn’t another text but the alarm. It was time.

She walked over to the windowsill on the other side of the bathroom and turned the white stick over.

‘Shit,’ she whispered, and began to cry.

*****

Pippa

‘The usual, Pip?’

Pippa shook her head as she took out her purse from the floral Cath Kidston bag she wore over one shoulder. ‘No, I’m off the caffeine now. I’ll take a decaf tea with soya milk, please.’ She paused as she saw Zoe’s face in response to her request. ‘What?’

‘Decaf… with soya? What’s the reasoning?’

‘I don’t have to have a reason for trying something new, do I?’ She pulled her deep-brown plait over her shoulder and began to play with the end, purely for something to do with her hands.

Zoe looked at her suspiciously and Pippa found it hard to keep the smile hidden that was already creeping across her face. The two women stood for a couple of minutes looking at each other, neither one of them wanting to be the first to break the stare. Pippa, with the smile creeping ever so slowly over her lips and Zoe, keeping her hard stare of suspicion.

Eventually Pippa cracked. ‘Okay, fine. I am watching what I eat from now on.’ She gave her that snippet, but that was all. She released the smile – she was enjoying this tease. The excitement was bubbling in the pit of her stomach, ready to explode from her in a torrent of words and squeals. But not yet, she needed to keep her cool and wait for the right moment.

‘And why would you be doing that?’ Zoe asked, and Pippa saw the corners of her mouth starting to turn up. She knew. She had blatantly guessed.

‘Why do you think?’

‘You’re not?’

‘Not what?’

‘Stop it, you know what I mean!’ Zoe was springing up and down on her feet like an excitable five-year-old that had just been told they were flying to Disneyland, her choppy blonde bob bouncing around her face.

Pippa squeaked and nodded.

‘Oh my God, you’re pregnant?’ Zoe shouted, throwing her arms up and slapping them down onto her head.

Pippa immediately shushed her and looked around at the café full of customers. Laughing, she said, ‘Alright, the whole world doesn’t want to know.’

‘Eeek! Pip!’ Zoe rushed around from behind the counter and practically jumped into Pippa’s arms. She squeezed her tight, squealing constantly in her ear. ‘This is amazing news! When did you find out?’

‘This morning. I did the test this morning and it was positive!’

‘Have you told Jason? What did he say?’

Pippa opened her mouth to speak but Zoe held her hand up to silence her. ‘Hang on, let me get you your drink and a chair and you can tell me all about it.’ She rushed back behind the counter and set about making the tea. ‘Oh shit,’ she said as she fished the teabag out of the cup. ‘That’s not decaf. I tell you, I’m all over the place.’ She turned to look at Pippa again and smiled. ‘Pip, I’m so happy for you.’

‘Thank you, I’m so happy for me too!’ She really was. ‘It bloody took its time but it finally happened.’

‘I told you it would.’ Zoe pulled the chair from the side and placed it up against the serving hatch. ‘Sit here so you can tell me everything.’

Pippa gratefully took the chair and placed her bag down beside her. ‘I know you did, but it was just taking so long, I really thought it was never going to happen for us. No amount of planning, sex scheduling, positioning, reading… nothing was working.’

‘Well no, I don’t suppose reading would help to make a baby, Pip. You have to actually do the deed, not have your nose stuck inside a book. Unless you did it from behind, I suppose…’

‘Zoe! You know what I mean. I must’ve read like a million books about conceiving and tips to conceive and how to conceive…’

‘Again, sex pretty much does that job.’

‘Well, you would think, but Jason and I were at it like rabbits at one point and it still never happened.’ She became very aware of the elderly woman sitting on the table just to the left of her who had looked up at the mention of ‘at it like rabbits’ and seemed a little embarrassed. ‘Sorry,’ Pippa added, and turned back to Zoe, lowering her voice. ‘I actually think we had sex nearly ten times one day.’

Zoe passed her the tea over the counter and creased her brow. ‘Nearly?’

‘Well, it kind of slipped in but the door went so we had to stop.’ She glanced over her shoulder at the lady, who had decided enough was enough and was getting up to leave. ‘Oh, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to put you off your food.’

The lady shook her head and left, muttering something about kids these days…

‘Cheers, you’re now costing me customers, thanks to your potty mouth.’ Pippa began to apologise again but quickly realised Zoe was far from being serious. ‘So, have you told Jason? What did he say? Is he as excited as you are?’

‘I haven’t told him yet. Look, I’ve got this.’ She pulled a card out of her bag.

‘Surprise!’ Zoe read the swirly lettering that embossed the front of the card. Opening it she smiled, saying ‘You’re going to be a Daddy.’

‘Isn’t it lovely? Do you think he’ll like it?’

‘He bloody better! Couldn’t you just, you know, ring him and tell him the good news?’

‘No! I’ve waited seven years for this moment.’

‘And how long have you had the card for?’ Zoe smiled at her and Pippa felt embarrassed that they both knew what kind of answer she was going to give.

‘About six years.’

Zoe laughed again and cut a slice of Bakewell tart from the counter. ‘Here, you nutter, have this. It was made with love by a very special person.’ She winked at her.

‘Flattery will get you nowhere. Which reminds me, I’ve made a coffee and walnut cake in addition to your order this week as I had a load of walnuts left over from that wedding cake I made.’

‘Amazing! I love coffee and walnut cake – can we just add that to the regular order anyway?’

‘No problem, I’ll drop it all in tomorrow afternoon as I’ve got doctors first thing. Have you got enough stuff to tide you over?’ She looked into the display cabinet at the nearly empty containers that normally housed her cakes and pastries.

‘Yeah, should be okay. I’ve still got some Victoria sponge out the back, too.’ She pushed the plate with the Bakewell on it over the counter. ‘Anyway, enough of work. Eat!’

‘Oh no, I can’t. I really need to watch what I eat from now on.’ She slid the plate back towards her friend.

‘Oh behave! It’s a slice of cake and we are celebrating! You can be all strict with your food after you’ve had the baby, when you’re trying to shift the baby weight.’

‘Well, if we’re celebrating, where’s your slice?’

‘That, Pip, is a good question.’ She cut herself a piece.

‘Oh my goodness, do you know what I just thought?’

Pippa looked at her with suspicion, ‘What?’ she asked, cautiously.

‘Now that you are expecting, you can come to the mums’ meetings here!’

Pippa smiled, feeling warm inside. Zoe didn’t realise how long she had waited to hear those words. ‘You’re right. When do I start?’ She couldn’t hide the grin from her face.

‘As soon as you are ready, my love.’ Zoe shuffled behind the counter, ‘Cheers,’ she said, holding up her slice. ‘To baby Pip!’

Pippa smiled as a warm, fuzzy feeling drizzled through her body. She tapped her cake with Zoe’s. ‘To baby Pip!’

*****

Imogen

‘Miss, can I get the paint out?’

Imogen snapped her attention to the little blond boy staring up at her from the table and realised she had been completely daydreaming. She glanced over to the class teacher, who was teaching phonics to some children on the carpet.

‘When Mrs Anderson has finished her sounds, we will get the paint out. Let’s wait for the others so they can join in, yes?’

The little boy ran off without even acknowledging their conversation.

A wave of nausea started to build up from Imogen’s stomach and she felt the sweat begin to bead over her forehead. She needed to get to a bathroom, and quick! She tried to discreetly get Mrs Anderson’s attention, but it failed and she soon found herself in a position she would never want to be in again, where she had no choice but to run out of the classroom with no warning whatsoever to the class teacher. She practically skidded around the corner of the corridor at the end of the hall, where she sprung into the staff toilets just in time to reach the toilet bowl. A tirade of mixed feelings erupted as she vomited. She took a moment to compose herself afterwards – and to make sure there wasn’t any more – before standing to look at her reflection in the mirror.

She looked a mess. Whilst her wavy, light-brown hair was still in the ponytail she had placed it in just a couple of hours previously, there were numerous straggly sections that had dropped out around her face and were now stuck to her cheeks with the sweat from the hot flush she had just seconds before the vomiting started. Her eyes were red and bloodshot and her eyeliner had bled slightly into the fine lines around the edges of her eyes. Sporting a look that was a cross between someone who had just finished a marathon and a gothic clown, she spent a few minutes sorting her appearance before making her way back to the classroom.