There, look, that’s a foot! It’s like there’s an alien moving around inside her!” Soren holds his phone out, resting it on the table in the pub so that I can watch a video of Lucy’s pregnant belly undulating as the baby moves inside her. “Don’t say that to her. That’s your kid in there!” Angus says, placing a tray of drinks on the table and squeezing onto the leather sofa next to me. I like that he does this. There is a whole seat free on the other side of me, and yet he prefers to sit so close, he may as well be in my lap. I put my arm around him, not really giving a fuck if we get stared at. It’s Tuesday lunchtime, and the pub is mostly empty anyway. “Oh, she was the one who said it to me. She thinks it’s hilarious,” Soren replies. I can believe that. Soren and Lucy are made for each other. Strangely, the whole birth thing has yet to make me squeamish. I even sat through a birthing video last week at Soren’s house.
