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There was only one thing to do. She had to call in reinforcements.

Valentina arrived within twenty minutes carrying a bulging blue IKEA bag, from which Frankie caught tantalising glimpses of mustard satin sleeves, white lacy skirts and jewel-coloured dresses poking out the top.

‘Have you been watching Gok Wan again? Or those preachy lifestyle programmes that make you feel inferior?’ Valentina asked as she waddled toward the bedroom.

‘Eh? No.’

‘So, what’s prompted this sudden despair at your wardrobe?’

‘I realised I only have work clothes and thought it would be nice to mix it up a bit. Is it okay to borrow a couple of things until I get to the shops?’

Valentina cast an eye over the sad little array of Frankie’s clothes. ‘I thought you were exaggerating but you really don’t have anything to wear.’ She upended her IKEA bag on the bed.

‘I don’t even know if anything of yours will fit,’ Frankie said. She was around the same height as Valentina, sitting at a smidge under five foot seven, but while Valentina was slender – pre-pregnancy – Frankie had inherited her mother’s more curvaceous hourglass figure. She immediately discounted the adorable round-necked shift dresses, knowing she’d look like an overstuffed cushion in them. Agreeing, Valentina shoved them back into the bag.

‘Try these.’ Valentina thrust a pair of cream-coloured wide-leg trousers at Frankie. ‘I often wonder if I’ll ever fit any of these clothes again,’ she added mournfully.

‘Of course you will. You’ll probably snap back into shape in no time after giving birth,’ Frankie said as she slipped on the trousers.

‘People pay a fortune for a rounded bum lift that you have naturally, thanks to Italian genetics and dog walking,’ Valentina said as she handed Frankie a gorgeous pale-green off-the-shoulder top, but no matter how much either of them arranged the fabric, it strained too much across the chest to be flattering.

Frankie was pulling it back over her head when she heard her sister say, ‘I went to an antenatal class today.’

Free of the restrictive top, Frankie looked at her sister.

‘It was a bit weird. I was the only one there on my own.’

For the umpteenth time, Frankie wondered just who the baby’s father could be. It was his job to be supporting Valentina. Valentina was usually an over-sharer; a chatty gossip and blabbermouth, but as to the paternity of the baby, it was as if she’d signed the Official Secrets Act.

Working back from her due date, Frankie had calculated Valentina would have conceived in early April, around the time she’d had two social events; a weekend shopping trip to London with her old university friend, Leanne, and a work do at Valentina’s office.

Frankie had seen the amazing shopping haul Valentina had come back with and listened to the exhaustive list of cafés, restaurants, and pubs she and Leanne had gone to on their girls’ weekend, which would have given Valentina very little time to go off to find someone to sleep with, in a city where she didn’t know anyone.

Then, not long after she was back, Valentina had blown Frankie off for lunch, citing drinking too much at the office party the night before. Could Valentina have possibly had a drunken hook-up with one of her co-workers? Maybe even her very understanding and slightly overprotective boss, Todd?

At one point, Frankie had even wondered if it was planned. In her mid-thirties, had Valentina decided to become a mother using a sperm donor? Their mum often joked about being desperate to become a grandmother.

Could their mother’s gentle teasing have had that much of an effect?

Frankie seriously doubted it.

There was absolutely no way Valentina could have kept that amount of planning to herself. There had been a full-on family discussion lasting six months when Valentina was considering changing her car.

Frankie waited to see if any more information was forthcoming about the antenatal class, but Valentina was back rummaging through the pile of clothes.

Frankie wriggled out of the trousers and was laying them on the bed when she glanced at the label.

‘These are Stella McCartney! I can’t wear them! What if I spill wine down myself?’

‘Well, try not to!’

‘But they’ll have cost a fortune!’

‘I’m a very savvy sales shopper and I also got a ton from Vinted and other pre-loved designer outlets. As I see it, you can either wear them and risk spilling wine on them or I wear them and risk baby vom or purée’d carrots staining them.’

Frankie held up a lilac dress. ‘This is beautiful.’

‘I know. And you can try it on—’ Valentina reached over and deftly snatched the dress from Frankie, ‘—as soon as you come clean.’