I sigh. Brace myself. Answer.
“Hello.”
“So,” she says, no greeting, straight in, “why am I finding outsecond-handthat my grandchild is a girl?”
I can feel a bollocking coming on.
“…Who told you?”
There’s a pause. A smug one.
“Jasper,” she says. “Obviously.”
Of course it was. Youngest child. Lifelong over-sharer. Man has never met a secret he didn’t immediately take home to Mummy.
“I was going to tell you,” I say.
“Yes,” Mum replies, “and I was going to be six foot tall. We all have intentions.”
I laugh, because honestly, what’s the point fighting it.
“We weren’t planning to tell anyone yet,” I say, ignoring the fact that we had told my brothers and Ivy and Miranda... and I think even Lucy knows.
“You may have not been planning to,” she snaps. “But Jasper phoned to check in and somehow managed to mention it within thirty seconds. Clearly you told some people.”
I rub a hand over my face. Jasper is such a sneak.
“Well… yes we're having a girl and she’s fine. The baby is thriving.” I desperately try to steer my mother away from my apparent betrayal.
“And how’s Christa?”
“She’s good,” I reply. “Tired. Hungry. Emotionally invested in crumpets.”
“Good,” Mum says at once. “That’s exactly how it should be.”
I frown slightly. “How is exhaustion and carbs your gold standard?”
“Oh, Geoffrey,” she says, already gearing up. “Growing a baby is not a gentle hobby. It’s hard work. If she’s tired, it means her body’s busy. If she’s hungry, it means she’s listening to it.”
“She cried at an advert yesterday,” I add. “Something to do with a dog.”
“Was the dog sad?”
“Briefly.”
“Then that’s entirely appropriate,” Mum says briskly. “Pregnancy strips your emotional skin off. Everything gets felt. That’s not weakness, that’s biology.”
I grin as I walk, because obviously Mum has a whole internal manual for this.
“She’s resting when she can,” I say. “Though she’s not great at stopping.”
“No capable woman ever is,” Mum replies. “Tell her she’s not meant to be serene. She’s meant to get through it.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me, because this is not advice you argue with.
“And areyoufeeding her properly?” she adds.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m on crumpet duty.”
