Whitehall Baby: A Surprise Pregnancy, Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy Perfect for Chick Lit Fans

by Laura Barnard

  I snort. ‘Of course you will.’

  Thursday 15th October

  Charlotte – 26 Weeks Pregnant

  Eloise pissed herself laughing and Arthur even found it funny when I told him what happened at the hospital. The nurse proceeded to give me a tour of the maternity wing, giggling non-stop to herself. I really hope I don’t get her when I deliver. Fortunately I’m too busy with this damn job and demanding Roger to dwell on it.

  Myself and Arthur both get in around the same time every night. The job is bloody killing me. I’m working harder than I ever did at the fashion house and I used to think that was hell. This civil servant shit is brutal. My feet ache, my boobs are heavy and I’m starting to feel a bit sick. Early night for me.

  ‘How was your day?’ he asks, scanning over my face and obviously realising it was shit. ‘Ah. Cup of decaf coffee?’

  I practically growl back at him. Damn decaf. I kick off my shoes and throw myself onto the sofa. I’m already starting to feel like a whale. Today I sneezed and I was so close to wetting myself. I’m sure I shouldn’t be at that stage already. Imagine pissing myself at work? It would be mortifying.

  ‘Oh, my friend James is back in town. Wanted to know if we’d go to dinner next Tuesday?’

  I perk up at this. Food. I’m already salivating wondering what’s on the menu. He keeps forcing all of his healthy food down me.

  ‘Okay. What restaurant?’

  ‘James wants the Italian on Grey’s Road. That okay with you?’

  ‘Mmm, Italian. Count me in.’ I beam back at him, already googling their menu. What should I have? Pasta or pizza? Whatever I have I want a side of French fries. Followed by a tasty dessert.

  I glance up to find him staring at me with a small smile. ‘Glad to have made you smile.’

  God, when he looks at me like that my heart blossoms. It would be too easy to believe he really cared for me and not just the baby.

  ‘So how do you know James?’ I enquire, suddenly nervous at the idea of meeting his friend. Lying to another person.

  ‘We went to uni together. Probably my closest friend. We always catch up when we can.’

  This is a big deal. He’s introducing me to one of his best friends. God, he’ll be introducing me to him as his fiancé. Unless he’s told him the truth? No, he swore we wouldn’t tell anyone the truth. But then I told Eloise. Not that I’ve told him that.

  ‘Have you told James our engagement is fake?’

  His forehead wrinkles. ‘Of course not. We promised not to tell anyone, right?’

  ‘Right,’ I nod, my cheeks heating.

  He narrows his eyes. ‘You haven’t told anyone, right?’

  ‘Of course not.’ I roll my eyes to look believable. I can’t have him find out. He’ll think I’m an untrustworthy flaky bitch and I do not want him to lose all faith in me so early in this pregnancy.

  13

  Saturday 17th October

  Charlotte

  Arthur’s always working. Even when he’s home he’s glued to his phone and laptop. It’s really hard to watch on a Saturday, so I’ve decided to get some fresh air. I’m wandering through a gorgeous boutique baby shop I’ve stumbled upon, when I see him. I know it’s him just from the back of his head, his chocolate brown hair and slim neck. My ex-boyfriend Josh. What the hell is he doing in a baby store?

  He turns, heading to the counter with a white baby grow. I try to hide behind a child mannequin but of course he spots me. I’m huge nowadays.

  ‘Charlotte?’ He peers behind the mannequin, one eyebrow raised. His face brightens. ‘It is you.’

  I walk around the mannequin. Too late now.

  ‘Hi.’ I wave awkwardly.

  God, is there ever a good time to run into your ex? When you’re pregnant with a man that you barely know it’s almost excruciating.

  ‘How are you?’ he asks, his green eyes warm. I’ve missed those eyes. He was such a great guy.

  I point down to my stomach. ‘Pregnant.’

  ‘So I hear,’ he chuckles. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw you on the news.’

  How embarrassing. I desperately try to think cooling thoughts and not blush crimson.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask him, wishing with everything in me that I looked better today. Didn’t have three-day greasy hair scraped back into a severe ponytail and the start of a red spot on my chin. Pregnancy is making me so oily. The only thing I have going for me is my cute outfit of a white band t-shirt tucked into a leopard print mid length pleated skirt and white sneakers.

  He must have settled down and got married. That’s why we didn’t work. He wanted to get married and have kids, but I was too interested in my career. Now look at me. Pregnant with no prospects.

  ‘My sister is expecting,’ he answers with a kind smile. ‘Thought I’d pick something up for her baby shower.’

  He was always the sweetest. He looks damn good too, like he’s just been on holiday, his skin tanned and his freckles out on his nose. To think I could have had a baby with this guy, but I was too focused on myself and building my career. Now I’m having one with a guy that’s not available emotionally.

  ‘Look, I know you’re engaged and everything, but would you like to grab a drink sometime? Catch up?’ He looks so hopeful.

  ‘Umm…’ Shit, what do I say to that? I doubt Arthur would be impressed, and I wouldn’t want to lead Josh on.

  ‘Obviously I mean just a decaf coffee and purely as friends.’

  What is it with men wanting me to drink decaf?

  God, where’s the harm in it really? I feel so lonely living in London. Everyone I know lives in Watford. Before weekends would have been spent surrounded by friends at the local pub gossiping about our week. I could still visit them all, but even the idea of the long train journey has me exhausted. I’d likely just fall asleep on their shoulder when I arrived. It would be nice to know someone else fairly local. And he’s always been easy to talk to. We were more friends by the end.

  ‘Yeah, why not.’

  Tuesday 20th Oct

  Charlotte – 27 Weeks Pregnant

  I’ve felt pretty crap all day. I thought in your second trimester you were supposed to feel amazing? Instead, I had a great first trimester and now I’m feeling shitter by the day. The fatigue is the worst. It’s clawed at me all day but I’ve fought against it. The thought of having to meet Arthur’s closest friend tonight has my anxiety through the roof.

  He’s not back yet so I draw myself a nice relaxing bath and okay… I might nod off for a little while in there. Okay, the truth is I slept way too long and woke up in cold water with only one of my legs shaved. Oh well, I’ll just have to wear tights.

  I scramble around getting dressed. I really need to invest in some maternity clothes because nothing bloody fits anymore! Even my wrap dresses are bulging inappropriately. A plain black one will have to do.

  I feel like a fat ugly frump as I plaster make up on my oily face to try and look more awake. I layer on lots of jewellery just so I don’t look so plain.

  I feel like I’ve aged five years since the start of this pregnancy. It shows too. I swear I’ve got crow’s feet that weren’t there before.

  God, Arthur is probably repulsed when he looks at me. He’ll no doubt be so humiliated introducing dumpy little me to his friend. It’s unbelievable to think someone like Arthur would settle for someone like me. I’m so ordinary.

  He comes in, late as usual, staring at his watch.

  ‘Shit, sorry I’m so late. I was hoping to jump in the shower, but do you think I’ll do like this?’

  I look over him. I love his hair by the end of the day. It loses its style and goes to its natural curls. His suit probably cost more than my last month’s rent and he fills it so well, all strong defined muscles. I’d climb him like a tree right now if it weren’t for the no sex rule.

  ‘You look great. I’m the fat frump everyone’s going to stare at.’

  I’m not even fishing for complime
nts. I couldn’t feel more low right now. I grab my purse and force a smile.

  He frowns down at me. ‘You look fabulous.’

  I roll my eyes but let him usher me out of the flat, his hand at the base of my back. Whenever he touches me it’s like electric currents pulse throughout my body. I don’t think he feels it.

  When we finally arrive at the dimly lit romantic restaurant I’m twiddling a tissue from my purse. My mum does this when she’s nervous. I never wanted to inherit it, but it’s funny how calming it feels to fidget out some of my anxiety.

  The hostess takes our coats and tells us that our guest is already at the table. I look around for a single guy but can’t seem to find one. Instead a woman with long brunette hair starts waving over at us, her gold bracelets jingling with the action. Who the hell is she?

  ‘Ah, there she is,’ Arthur says, waving back and pushing me forward by my lower back.

  ‘She?’ I ask, already being thrust towards the woman. James is a woman? He failed to tell me that.

  James stands up and she’s as lithe and as long as a supermodel. Damn, maybe she is. She embraces Arthur, squeezing her eyes shut as she crushes her boobs against him. Alright, that’s enough of that.

  ‘Artie, it’s been too long!’

  Jealous rage settles in the pit of my stomach. Artie. I hate that. He hasn’t told me to call him Artie. I hate her, purely because she’s gorgeous, and thin, and I feel like a heifer.

  ‘And Charlotte.’ Her ocean blue eyes light up as if I’m the most beautiful woman in the room. Maybe she’s an actress. ‘It is such a pleasure to meet you!’

  I smile back but then she’s suddenly leaning down and clutching at my bump. Her hands are far too close to my vagina for my liking. Buy me a drink first.

  ‘And lovely to meet you too, little one!’

  Jesus, we’ve just met. Don’t be talking to my baby. Don’t think you have any claim over this baby just because you’re besties with its father. It’s father that I’m quickly realising I know so little about. How could he have failed to tell me his best friend is a woman?

  We get seated as they begin to chatter about old university friends. People called Tabitha, Binky and Thomas. I know Thomas isn’t a posh name, but the way they say it you’d think it was. All Thooooomaasss.

  I take the time to have a good look over her. She must be Arthur’s age, so early forties, but she could easily pass for mid-thirties.

  ‘So.’ She claps her perfectly manicured hands together on the table, turning to look at me. ‘Charlotte, I want to know all about you!’

  Oh god. She’s someone that talks in exclamation points. Dread fills my veins. She is so. Damn. Cheerful.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ I ask, self-consciously tucking a bit of hair behind my ear. I should have at least curled it or something. Anything to make myself look even ten percent better next to this supermodel.

  Luckily the waiter catches me a break by giving us our menus. I pretend to look it over when I already know what I’m having. I stalked the menu hard last night.

  ‘Well first of all how did you two meet?’ She looks to Arthur. ‘Artie was so vague on the phone.

  This Artie business is making me want to grab a bread knife and shove it into her chest. I’m not normally so stabby.

  Arthur looks to me. Only a trained eye would see the split second of panic in his eyes. But she seems to know him so well so maybe she sees it too.

  ‘You know how he can be.’ She shrills a laugh, smiling at him as if he hung the moon.

  Not really. I barely know the man.

  ‘It was at the civil servants award,’ I answer for him.

  She frowns. ‘Oh, so over a year ago?’ She turns to Arthur. ‘You are such a dark horse!’

  He smiles tightly but doesn’t correct her.

  We place our orders and I start practically salivating at the thought of my garlic bread starter and rigatoni with aubergine and salted ricotta cheese, French fries on the side. Yummy.

  ‘So where are you from?’ she asks. Did she just side eye me slightly?

  ‘From Watford, but my parents now live in Devon.’

  In separate houses because they’re lunatics who love to hate each other. But she doesn’t need to know that.

  ‘Oh how lovely. My parents have a summer place in Devon. So lovely down there. And I’ve heard Watford is very… up and coming.’ She laughs as if that’s hilarious.

  I tense my jaw. Really? Insulting my hometown? What a bitch. Arthur hasn’t noticed. Of course he hasn’t. He’s too busy checking his phone in between smiling back at James.

  ‘I loved growing up in Watford,’ I say proudly, puffing out my chest. ‘I take it you’re from London?’

  ‘Oh no,’ she giggles, which is beyond annoying. ‘I grew up in the Kent countryside. I only moved to London after university.’

  Shit, I’ve just realised I don’t know where they actually went. I should probably know that about my fake fiancé.

  ‘And Cambridge was never the same again,’ Arthur chuckles, as if reliving a fond memory.

  Shit, this guy is in love with her. He doesn’t even realise it himself, but he is. He hasn’t looked at me once like that. I’m just the silly bitch that got pregnant and trapped him. Damn. I feel so small right now.

  And Cambridge? There’s no way little old me can have a happily ever after with a dude that went to Cambridge. We’re from different worlds.

  She smiles back at him. ‘We actually had dorm rooms next to each other. Then we decided to house share the years after that while we got our degrees and our masters.’

  I nod, forcing interest. ‘How lovely. What did you get your degree in?’

  ‘I got my masters’ she reiterates, ‘in International Relations.’

  ‘Oh wow.’ I can’t help but be impressed.

  There was me hoping she was just a glamorous bimbo that got into university thanks to Daddy’s donation.

  ‘What about you?’ She smiles encouragingly at me.

  ‘Well, I just got a regular old degree,’ I say with a self-conscious laugh. And there was me being pleased with my first.

  She smiles sympathetically like I’m already an idiot not to have a masters. I’m dreading telling her and I just know she’s going to push.

  ‘Don’t worry, that’s fine.’

  I know it is, bitch.

  ‘So, what was it in?’ She stares at me expectantly, her eyes feeling like they’re penetrating my soul.

  I look to Arthur who smiles encouragingly.

  ‘It was in Fashion Design.’ I try to say it with the same confidence she said, International Relations.

  Her smile drops, but she quickly recovers. ‘Oh how lovely! And are you a fashion designer now?’

  Oh god. I’m going to sound so pathetic.

  ‘Charlotte did work for the fashion house Blueberry,’ Arthur says, kindly jumping in to help.

  He smiles at me, as if to say, I’ve got you, and I need it more than he’ll ever realise.

  ‘But now she’s working at Whitehall doing amazing work.’

  ‘Oh marvellous.’

  ‘What is it you do?’ I ask quickly, eager to take the attention from me.

  She pushes her glossy hair back from her face. ‘I’m a diplomat. I’ve been stationed in Dubai for the last few years, but…’ She looks to Arthur. ‘I’ve decided that I’m moving back to London.’

  His eyebrows raise. ‘Really?’

  Shit.

  ‘Of course. I’m not going to miss baby Ellison being born!’ She grabs my belly again and squeezes. Ugh. It takes everything in me not to push her off and slap her round the face.

  ‘Well…’ I say, looking to Arthur. ‘We haven’t actually discussed whether it’s going to be baby Ellison or baby Bellswain Ellison.’

  His face drops. ‘I just assumed it would be Ellison?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she says with an amused squirm. ‘It seems you still have a few things to sort out before baby is born.’


  Yeah thanks for the reminder, James. This girl might as well have got a masters in being passive aggressive.

  Our starters arrive. Some funky smell is suddenly around us. I look to James’ plate and she’s ordered oysters. Normally fish doesn’t bother me at all, but these are pretty strong smelling. They must have gone bad, surely? I try to ignore it and tuck into my garlic bread, but my stomach starts recoiling.

  Keep it together Charlotte. Keep it together. It’s just a bloody smell.

  James starts telling a story about their university days while I try to reason with my own body. Is it hot in here? Its suddenly like I’m in a furnace, sweat prickling down my neck.

  ‘Mmm,’ James moans, cracking open another and letting it slide down her throat. ‘Artie you have to try this!’

  He leans in and lets her tip one into his mouth. Into. His. Mouth.

  That’s it. The last disgusting, inappropriate straw.

  My stomach rolls and before I can run to the toilets, or even stand up, I’m throwing up into my garlic bread. I look up, vomit dripping down my chin to see Arthur and James looking back at me in wide eyed horror.

  I pant, wiping my chin. Everyone in the restaurant has stopped to stare in a horrifying silence. My skin crawls from the humiliation. Please say this is a nightmare.

  Arthur jumps up and passes me my glass of water. I take it and then proceed to throw up into that.

  Oh my god. I have to get out of here. I’m behaving like that girl from the exorcist. Somebody call a priest!

  I push my chair out, standing so abruptly I take the tablecloth with me, dragging my plate to the floor, clattering loudly around my feet.

  ‘Ugh!’ I scream in horror, my cheeks on fire. I turn and run the hell out of there as fast as I can.

  14

  Arthur

  She runs from the restaurant without a coat. She’ll be freezing out there. I go to follow her but James stops me, hand on my arm.