About the Book
A special short story by the ever-popular bestselling author of the Shopaholic novels.
As Christmas is approaching, Ginny is looking forward to the birth of her first baby. It’s a pity her partner Dan is so useless, and she has to keep reminding him where he’s going wrong. Luckily she’s enrolled into the most exclusive antenatal class going – all the highest achieving, smartest mothers-to-be aspire to be taught by the legendary Petal Harmon. Like the other five women in the class, Ginny already knows exactly what she wants, and how she’s going to handle motherhood.
But when they turn up for the final class it isn’t quite what they expect. As Ginny discovers what parenthood is really going to be like, she begins to realize the things that really matter…
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Six Geese A-Laying
Sneak Preview of I’ve Got Your Number
About the Author
Also by Sophie Kinsella
Copyright
SIX GEESE A-LAYING
A Short Story
SOPHIE KINSELLA
WE’RE A FAIRLY exclusive group.
Which, OK, I know sounds awful and conceited. If I were talking to anyone else I wouldn’t even say it. But you understand. This isn’t just any antenatal group. You can’t just turn up. You have to be chosen.
Petal Harmon, our teacher, conducts all the interviews herself. She isn’t affiliated to any of the hospitals or nationwide chains, but let me tell you, she gets enquiries from all over London. People travel miles to be in one of her classes. And she doesn’t even advertise. It’s all word of mouth.
The women who have had Petal Harmon classes are different. They have a strange look in their eye. They know something the rest of us don’t. The thing I’ve heard, over and over, is that Petal changed their lives.
Which sounds a leetle bit of an exaggeration to me, but I take the point. So naturally I applied for her classes as soon as I heard I was pregnant, like everyone else round here. I didn’t do anything special at the interview. So many girls have asked me if there’s some special trick but all I can say is, I was myself! We talked about my pregnancy…and my work in personnel…and Dan…
Dan’s my husband, by the way. He’s the one who dropped me off tonight – although he missed the street, and had to go round the one-way system. Which is just typical of him. He said the sign was covered in snow so he couldn’t read it, but honestly. He’s just useless. How he’s going to cope with a baby I’ll never know!
So where was I? Oh yes, the interview. So I was just very natural, very bubbly, and the next thing I knew a handwritten card had arrived, inviting me to the classes.
Obviously I was thrilled. Not that I would gloat or anything. I’ve barely mentioned it more than a few times to my neighbour Annabel. (She didn’t get in, poor love. Even though she took Petal a bunch of flowers and some of those earthy biscuits she makes.) We all feel the same way, all of us in the class. We’re not smug, obviously not. But the fact that we were all selected gives us…I don’t know. A little glow. We must have some special quality that others don’t.
There are six of us altogether, all due around the same time – Christmas. As I walk – well, waddle – into the room, the fire is glowing and the fairy lights are twinkling and it really looks quite Christmassy.
Geraldine’s holding forth about something or other, balancing a cup of tea on her bump. She’s still in tailored suits, believe it or not. Adjusted to fit, naturally. She had them made up on her last business trip to Singapore.
She’s fun, Geraldine, but a bit abrasive, if you know what I mean. When a midwife came to talk to us, Geraldine’s first question was ‘If you were negligent during my delivery, would I sue you individually or the hospital?’
‘So there I am, lying on the couch – and the midwife starts texting her friend!’ she’s saying now. ‘I mean, it’s tantamount to negligence, ignoring a patient like that. I’m complaining.’
‘Which midwife was it?’ asks Georgia alertly. Georgia has blonde highlights, is very posh, and has already put her baby down for Eton and Suzuki violin lessons.
‘It was that bloody Davies woman,’ replies Geraldine. ‘I tell you, I’m writing to the senior midwife, and I’m CC-ing the consultant and my chum in hospital management. I’m going to make her life hell. It’s the only way to get results with these people.’ She scribbles something on a leather-bound notebook and stuffs it into her Mulberry briefcase.
‘I saw my midwife today too,’ says Gina, who is sipping her own organic raspberry tea. ‘I told her my birth plan. No pain relief.’ She smiles contentedly around the room. ‘I’ve told Ralph, as well. I’ve said to him, even if I beg you. Even if I scream for an epidural!’ She leans forward earnestly, her plaits falling over her shoulders. ‘Don’t listen to me. I won’t know what I’m saying.’
Ralph is Gina’s partner. He has a goatee beard dyed three shades of red and apparently at the father’s evening he read out a poem he’d composed himself about placentas.
‘You’re brave!’ says Georgia. ‘Didn’t Petal say we should be open-minded about pain relief?’
‘I’ve been practising yoga and meditation for years.’ Gina looks smug. ‘I think I know how to work with my body. It’s all in the mind. You can see it as pain, or you can see it as empowerment. Plus, Ralph’s taken a course in aromatherapy. He’s going to make me my own personal blend of oils.’
‘He’s very supportive, Ralph, isn’t he?’ says Georgia, with a slight frown. Her husband is called Jonno and works non-stop at a merchant bank.
‘He’s great.’ Gina still looks smug. ‘We really connect, on every level. That’s why I’m so confident about labour.’
‘And Dan’s supportive, isn’t he Ginny?’ Georgia turns to me. ‘He seems really sweet.’
‘Oh, he’s crap!’ I say with a burst of laughter. ‘Utterly useless! He put up the changing table yesterday. I said, if you’re as cack-handed as that with the baby I’m not letting you near it—’
My laughter’s interrupted by the door opening. Petal is at the door in her purple crinkly skirt. She really does look like a witch sometimes.
‘Are we all here?’ she says, her eyes darting around the room. ‘Our special guest speaker has arrived, but I’ll wait until the whole group is assembled.’
‘No Gabby yet,’ says Geraldine. ‘I know her firm’s handling a big merger this week, so…’ She shrugs. We all know what she means. Gabby’s attendance hasn’t been great. She always arrives late and often leaves early – and one week she sent along her PA in lieu. It makes you wonder why she’s having a baby. Actually, we know why she’s having a baby. It’s because her husband wanted one. She’s already booked her Caesarean and her twenty-four-hour nanny, and is going back to work three weeks after the birth.
‘Last lesson!’ says Georgia brightly to Petal. ‘If we don’t know it now, we never will!’
Petal says nothing for a few moments, just looks at her with that mysterious, slightly eerie gaze she has. ‘There are certain lessons each of you has still to learn,’ she says at last. Her gaze moves around the room, lingering on each of us in turn. Then she quietly disappears out of the room.
‘Oh God,’ says Geraldine as the door closes. ‘It’s the breastfeeding counsellor, I know it. They’re worse than Bible bashers, my friend Lucy said.’
‘Breastfeeding raises the IQ,’ Georgia says at once. ‘Breastfeeding and Mozart. Did you read the article?’ She pulls a glossy magazine entitled Intelligent Baby out of her bag. ‘I’m planning to play the Mozart clarinet concerto every day to my baby.’