The Honeymooners

Twenty-four. IKEA and French kisses

Five weeks pass in a blur of work, sweet cravings and out of control emotions. One day I'm determined to do this whole single parent thing and then the next, I'm a mess of tears and anxiety. Last Friday Enzo and I got the most amazing news. The tiny baby in my belly is a girl. My mini-me. I burst into tears, feeling like I knew her already from my dreams. So ready to meet her. 12 weeks to go. 84 short days. And then my cherub will be in my arms, where she belongs.

"Are you sure you want to paint the room pink, love?" mum says, glancing over my shoulder at the paint swab book in my hands.

We're in IKEA looking at the paint for the nursery. I'm staying at mum's house until I get on my feet and have enough saved up to rent an apartment somewhere close to work. For the time being, I'm happy where I live, and mum won't stop going on about how excited she is to have the baby and me with her. Let's see if she's still keen when the newborn is screaming at all hours of the day, wanting food and a nappy change.

I nod, loving the dusky pink colour. It's girlie with a touch of class. "I was thinking about painting the walls cream and using the pink as a feature wall behind the crib and nursery furniture."

There's a white angel crib I want to get from a bespoke baby shop in Mayfair. The wood at the end of the crib is carved up into angel wings, the edges high enough to last her until after she's mobile enough to attempt to climb out. It's a small fortune, but it's worth it. I'm currently on the six-week waiting list, and the owner said to expect four weeks for the craftsman to make it. Just in time for baby's arrival. I'm tempted to put my name down for the matching wardrobe and change table, but I'll max out my credit card if I do. Enzo said that he'd buy them, but I want this to come from me.

I don't know where Enzo and I are in our relationship. There's too much rushing around at the minute to sit down and think about it...apart from when I lie awake at night and feel the baby moving. Then all my mind obsesses over is how torn up I am, wishing he was laid next to me, experiencing it all. I send weekly bump dates in the form of pictures, often telling him how big the baby is now, referencing it with fruit. A pear, I'd said to him one week, answering his call when he phoned right away, telling me that he couldn't stop staring at the fruit bowl, wondering which one would be next.

I miss him. Terribly so.

An empty pit is open on my chest, and it doesn't seem to be healing.

"These are too good," Gabe says, appearing at our side with a tray of meatballs covered in gravy. One of the reasons he wanted to come shopping with us. Food. "Do you want some Am?"

I eye the juicy meat, feeling my taste buds salivating. "Go on then. Just one or I'll be battling indigestion for the rest of the day."

Gabe almost misses my mouth, the gravy dripping down my cheek. "Oh, crap. Sorry," he laughs, moping it up with his fingers, licking them after.

"You idiot," I say, chewing on the food.

Gabe goes in to wipe my cheek for a second time when the voice of my husband sends my heart plummeting to the bottom of my stomach. I push Gabe away, flushing when Enzo stands behind us, pushing a trolley full of bed linen, curtains and baby stuff. Of all the days, he has to shop now? I don't know what to say, knowing what it looks like with another man putting his fingers on me.

"What's going on?" Enzo says, voice cracking, eyes filling with what look like tears.

Oh, hell.

"Nothing," my heart beats ten to the dozen. "Nothing is going on. We're just shopping."

Enzo slides his gaze towards Gabe, watching him for what feels like an eternity, before switching to me. "I'm getting stuff for the nursery. I thought I'd go all white and pink accessories. What do you think?"