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.
‘Mrs Anderson, she’s back!’ little Becca screeched as Imogen walked into the room.
Mrs Anderson came over to her, immediately looking worried and, if she was honest, a little pissed off. ‘Everything okay?’ she asked, cautiously eyeing her up and down.
‘Yes, sorry. I just felt really sick all of a sudden.’ She put her hands onto her hips to help convince her that she was okay.
Mrs Anderson eyed her up and down before saying, ‘You don’t look too great. Do you need to go home?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Just need to grab some water, that’s all.’
‘You don’t need to be a hero, we all get sick. If you need to go, then go. I don’t want the whole class coming down with a bug.’
Imogen closed her eyes for a second as two little boys ran past her screaming, one of them barging into her and causing a wave of nausea to wash over her again. ‘I can’t, you need me in here. There’s no one to cover. I’ll be fine, honest. I just need some water.’ She felt another surge of acid in the back of her throat and frantically swallowed to hold it back.
‘Imogen, that’s not your problem. You can’t help being ill. We can pull in another assistant from somewhere, just let Mr…,’ It was too late. She had to run again. This was not a good feeling, she thought to herself, as she bolted back into the toilet. After round two had finished she admitted defeat and went home.
Walking through the front door and throwing her keys down into the bowl, she slumped onto the sofa and picked up her phone, pulling up Alice’s number.
Had to come home, been sick twice this morning already. 
Alice almost immediately called her back. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I was fine when I got up but I’ve been sick twice at work.’ Just the thought of it made her stomach churn.
‘Really?’ The excitement in Alice’s voice did not go missed. ‘Well, that’s great news!’
‘Thanks. Glad to see my misery is causing you so much happiness.’ She let out a feeble laugh and immediately stopped because of the feeling it gave her in her stomach.
‘Sorry, baby, but you know what I mean. This could be it!’
Imogen shook her head. ‘No, don’t do that.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t go getting your hopes up again. Not like last time.’ The painful memories of previous attempts of checking and every time it being negative swam around her brain, making it feel cloudy.
‘Oh come on. This is different. You don’t normally feel sick, let alone actually be sick. This could be our month! Oh my God, I’m so excited. Have you done the test yet?’
‘No.’
‘What? Come on, don’t be silly. Just do it already. You were going to do it tomorrow anyway, what’s a day early?’
‘Don’t you want me to wait until you get home?’
‘No way! It’s 10.30 in the morning; I’ll never be able to concentrate all day knowing this. Come on, just do it. It’s in the cupboard.’
Imogen stood up, but immediately sat back down as a wave of sickness began to descend again. ‘Fine, I’ll call you back.’
‘Make sure you do. I’ve got a meeting in about fifteen minutes so I’m timing it. You’ve got ten minutes. Go!’
Imogen laughed. ‘Okay,
