'Mica!'
Now the toddler is staring into the middle distance, licking the book. A bit of snot is inching down his lip. Judgy woman gives a huge, exaggerated huff and heaves into a standing position.
'Mica, what did I tell you?' she says, pulling the book away with a jerk.
Mica's little bogey face starts to crumple in on itself and a high-pitched whine forms at the back of his throat. Something tells me this is only the warm-up. He sucks in a big breath through his nose and snot blasts out in a scream. I practically have to duck. Eww.
Just then, there's a beep and judgy woman glances at the screen and picks up her enormous baby bag in one arm and the kicking toddler in the other, sitting them on either side of her bump, and marches down the corridor, ignoring the wails and thrashing. You've kind of got to admire it.
I lean back and let out my breath in a tiny sigh.
'Well. That's as good a contraceptive as I ever saw. Bit late for us though, I suppose,' says the curly-haired woman.
I look round, then realise she's speaking to me. My first thought is pure panic. Do I look pregnant? OMGOMGOMG. I look pregnant. Or fat.
Or both.
She spots my mortified look and says, 'Oh gosh, sorry. I just assumed, since this is an antenatal clinic … '
I manage to locate my tongue. 'No, that's OK. I am, you know … ' I do a gesture around my stomach area, then wonder if I should do the pregnant woman belly-rub thing, for emphasis. I feel like I'm on the stage, wondering what my lines should be.
'Thank God. That would've been a bit mortifying. Quinn – that's my partner by the way – always says you should never ask a woman when she's due, unless she's literally having contractions in front of you. I sometimes think he should have been the woman, not me. He'd be better at this pregnancy lark anyway. It's awful, isn't it?'
I make a strangled noise that comes out a bit like 'mm-huh'.
'Precisely.' She smiles a really nice, wide grin. 'I'm Lois – I know, I know. But what can you do?'
'Hedda,' I say, and she sits back, impressed.
'Like the play?'
I nod. My turn to be impressed now.
'Saw a production of that a few years back, at the Fringe, I think. It was atrocious.'
I grin this time. 'I've never seen it.'
'Wise choice. So, let's do the boring questions, shall we? Looks like we'll be here some time. When are you due? Boy or girl or surprise? Feeling OK? Relative merits of travel systems versus prams? Makes and models?'
I don't know how to answer. I'm wrong-footed by how nice she is; she's not giving me that sideways look I had off the receptionist, it seems like she simply wants to chat.
'I think I'm due in May sometime,' I say. 'And yes, it was a surprise.' I realise the second I've said it that it wasn't what she was asking, but her face softens in sympathy.
'A spring baby will be lovely,' she says, then rifles through her notes and pretends not to notice my sudden tears that well up out of nowhere.
Stupid pregnancy hormones. Again.
A door opens along the corridor and we hear poor Mica wailing as he's swept through by judgy woman, who gives Lois a nod and me a swift once-over before disappearing through the double doors.
A moment later, the beep goes and Lois stands up.
'That's me then. And the bump.' She gives her stomach a rueful sort of pat, then looks me dead in the eye. 'Do you think we're allowed to kill all those people who insist pregnancy is some sort of magical time?'
I get a sudden sense she's nearly as adrift as me. Then she slips a piece of paper into my hand and gives me that lovely wide smile again.
When she's gone, I open it to see she's scrawled her name and mobile number in what looks like eyeliner. I pop it in with my notes at the bottom of my bag.
When it's finally my turn, I realise I'm both nervous and hungry.
It's not always easy to tell, after all these years, but the vaguely regular meals seem to be setting my body up to expect more, which is a bit of a worry, if I'm going in for the understatement of the year.
I knock on the door, like Mum taught me, even though the midwife just pressed whatever button they press to summon you in, so I'm guessing she's expecting me.
Inside is Mary and a woman in her early twenties who I assume is the social worker. She's wearing social worker uniform, in any case: jeans, tunic top, boots, slightly harried look. My old one left a few weeks ago – not that she did much. She was pretty much just there to make sure I had a roof over my head and benefits set up, seeing as I'm not eighteen yet, and she had a habit of looking at her watch every time I opened my mouth.
Sitting next to new social worker lady is also … Felicity.