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

by Laura Barnard

  ‘Let her go, Art. She’s obviously embarrassed.’

  I sigh, everyone in the restaurant is staring, all I hope is none of them sell this story to the paper. It’s the last thing she needs. Luckily they still haven’t uncovered anything about her parents yet.

  I call over a waiter. ‘I’m so sorry about this. My fiancé is pregnant.’

  He nods in understanding. ‘It’s no worry at all, sir.’ He signals for another waiter to start cleaning it up.

  ‘Actually, could I please have her main meal and a dessert to go?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  James touches my arm, a pout on her lips. ‘Artie, don’t go. I haven’t seen you for months.’

  This is just like James. Only thinking about herself. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to bits, but she’s always thinking of number one. It’s why I could never fancy her.

  ‘Yes, well the mother of my child is unwell, so I’ll be going home to look after her.’

  She follows me to get our coats while they cook the food. She continues pouting, deep in thought. I roll my eyes.

  ‘Oh for God’s sakes, James, just spit it out. It’s all over your face.’

  She sighs. ‘I just… I don’t see you two together. You seem polar opposites.’

  I lean against the wall. ‘Yes and they say opposites attract.’

  She raises her eyebrows at me. ‘They might attract but it doesn’t mean they’ll work.’

  I check my phone, only to avoid her. She’s been back two minutes and I’m already sick of her shit.

  ‘Plus, they’re saying you met at this year’s civil servant awards. Not last year. Is that right?’

  ‘Who is saying that?’ I ask, with a pointed stare. I hate being the topic of gossip.

  She rolls her eyes. ‘Everyone.’

  The waiter comes over with a bag of food. ‘Thanks.’

  I turn back to her. ‘Well, luckily for me I don’t give a shit what everyone thinks.’

  Charlotte

  I get in and throw my purse onto the sofa. That couldn’t have possibly gone worse. The sad part is that now I’ve been sick I’m bloody starving again. I look in the fridge and all that’s in there is healthy food. Lots of those chicken and vegetables meals he gets delivered. Ugh. Gross. I want carbs and cheese.

  I turn the TV on and settle down in front of it with my make up remover. As I start stripping my face I relive the horror of earlier, physically cringing whenever I think about it. What a first impression.

  God, how can he be friends with someone so bitchy? It’s just another reminder that I’m not part of his world. She works as a diplomat for God’s sake. She was born to be with him. Not that she’s diplomatic when she’s slagging off my hometown or fashion degree.

  And look how he didn’t run after me. It took me ages to get a cab and he still wasn’t out of there. I can’t pretend it doesn’t sting. I need to start thinking if I really want this. Do I want to feel second best for the rest of my life? Like I’m always so much less than him? Not that he’s said he’ll actually marry me. I have no idea when he sees this ending.

  I want my baby to have a family, but I don’t want to resign myself to a life of misery where I end up resenting him. I grew up in a toxic environment and don’t want that for my child.

  My make up is off when the door rattles and I automatically glance up to see him walking in.

  I quickly turn away. I don’t think I can look at him right now. I’d likely either growl or burst into tears.

  ‘Hey,’ he says.

  ‘Hi,’ I answer curtly, eyes not moving from the TV.

  He grabs something from the cupboard and then walks in front of me. He empties a bag and I see that he’s brought my dinner back for me.

  My mouth drops open at the kind gesture.

  ‘You brought me food?’ I utter in surprise, all anger dissipating.

  He nods, placing a knife and fork down for me. Wow. Just when I’m sure he’s a heartless bastard he does something sweet.

  I waste no time tucking in. Oh my god it’s amazing. Still warm.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  I look up to see his forehead puckered with lines. He’s genuinely concerned. For the baby I remind myself.

  ‘Better now.’ I squirm, thinking about it again. ‘Sorry to have embarrassed you.’

  He sits down next to me, loosening his tie. ‘You didn’t embarrass me. I was just worried about you.’

  I snort. ‘Is that why you didn’t come running after me?’

  Ugh, why did I say that? I just sound like a catty bitch. He hasn’t made me any promises.

  He frowns. ‘I just thought you’d be sad to miss out on the food.’

  I mean, he’s right, but it’s annoying that he is. I still would have liked him to have ran out onto the street after me. Is that too much to ask?

  ‘I’m sorry I ruined your night with James.’

  I can’t stop thinking about her judging tone. How he didn’t realise she was belittling me. And now she’s moving here.

  He grabs my chin and turns my face so that I have to look up into his dark brown eyes, finding them filled with warmth and kindness.

  ‘You didn’t ruin anything. You and this baby have made my life.’

  My mouth drops open. Oh my god. Did he really just say that? Swoon!

  I look down at his lips, desperate to kiss him. Desperate for him to want to kiss me. To tangle our bodies and forget this highly complicated situation we’ve found ourselves in. Too soon he pulls back and stands up.

  ‘Goodnight, Charlotte.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  I open up the dessert box, eager to find out what he ordered for me. He didn’t know what I’d selected. Toffee cheesecake. Damn. That’s what I planned to order.

  How is it I’ve met my dream man but we’ve been doomed from the beginning?

  Friday 23rd October

  Charlotte

  I’ve decided not to dwell on James moving back here. I can’t control that. I’m going to busy myself with something I can control, getting excited for the baby’s nursery. After work I find a tape measure in his drawer, grab a paper and pen and head to the baby’s room.

  I’m so excited, my stomach bubbling while my mind spins with potential ideas. I’m going to start a Pinterest board first for inspiration. Then I can’t wait to whittle it down to a theme, look for furniture, check out all of the safety reviews. I’ll do a spreadsheet in order of price. Organising is my thing. I actually enjoy it. One of the reasons I’m stuck being an assistant to people more important than me.

  I open the door but halt in my tracks when I see the room already decorated. I’m so confused I actually lean back out and check I’m in the right apartment. I’m not imagining things, right?

  No, this is our place. Only someone has snuck in and totally transformed the room. No longer is it set up as an office, instead the walls have been painted white with a plush white carpet fitted. Modern white and black furniture already fill the room. I walk over to the cot and look at the black and white sheep mobile, reaching in and feeling the black blanket.

  The room stinks of that overpowering perfume I smelt the other day. At least I know he’s not shagging around I suppose.

  Why the hell would he do this? Get the nursery decorated without consulting me first? And in black and fucking white of all colours. It’s a fine bedroom… if you’re Wednesday fucking Adams.

  More than my hate for the colour, and general theme of choice, is the devastation that this has been robbed from me. I wanted to do my own baby’s nursery. Is that really too much to ask?

  Before I know it I’m crying. Not just because of the nursery, but because it’s just another reminder that this is so far removed from what I imagined me having my first baby would be. I just assumed I’d be happily married to the man of my dreams. We’d be settled in some house in Watford and we’d spend our weekends at baby stores and B&Q, doing everything ourselves. I’d tell the baby how Mummy and Da
ddy decorated everything by hand, poured all of our love into making their room perfect. I wouldn’t be saying that its father went behind my back and paid some interior fucking decorator to do it all.

  ‘Ah, you’ve seen it.’

  I turn to see Arthur has come in. He smiles, as if expecting me to thank him, to be over the moon that he stole my privilege to do it.

  I quickly turn and wipe away the tears forming in my eyes. It’s too close to the restaurant vomiting incident to be causing a scene again. Especially when I’m sure he thinks he’s done a nice thing.

  ‘Yeah,’ I offer lamely, plastering a fake smile onto my lips.

  He rubs his forehead. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  God, this stranger doesn’t know me at all.

  ‘Thought it would take a worry off your mind.’

  ‘Mmm.’ It’s almost impossible for me to lie to his face. It’s easier to just smile and be vague.

  His face drops in realisation. ‘Oh no. You hate it don’t you?’

  How the hell can he tell? I’m grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Maybe I’m more grimacing?

  ‘No, no, it’s great,’ I insist. I even sound unconvincing, my voice flat.

  ‘Not your style?’ He walks closer to me and has a look in the cot. ‘I suppose it is quite a strong look. I just told her we wanted something gender neutral. And I’ve read babies can only see black and white in the first few months.’

  It’s sweet that he’s done some baby research.

  He turns to look at me, lifting my chin so I’m forced to look into his deep dark eyes.

  ‘Just be honest with me,’ he commands, his voice quiet, filled with sincerity.

  I sigh. Now or never I suppose. If I don’t speak up now I’ll be raising a goth child. Not that me and Eloise didn’t go through that stage ourselves. I hope to God no one ever unearths those pictures.

  ‘It’s not just the design. It’s that I was looking forward to us doing it ourselves.’

  He frowns. ‘Oh. I just… I’m always working. I thought this would be easier.’

  He’s not interested in other words.

  ‘And it is,’ I say with a nod. ‘But easier doesn’t always mean better.’

  His lips turn half-heartedly. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry, I should have checked with you. Just scrap it and start again. We can do it however you like.’

  I smile, even though that’s not what I wanted to hear. I wanted him to tell me he’s interested and that we can plan it together. Drive to Ikea and get the furniture, argue over putting it together. Just normal couple stuff regular people take for granted. But I’m quickly realising that nothing with Arthur Ellison is going to be regular.

  15

  Monday 26th October

  Arthur

  I can’t believe I fucked up so royally with the nursery. Charlotte keeps surprising me. Every other woman I’ve ever known would have loved a well-known interior decorator to do their decorating. They’d probably have tried to book an OK magazine shoot so they could brag about it.

  But with Charlotte all bets are off. I can’t seem to put a foot right recently. I know she’s extra hormonal with the baby, but I feel like I’m walking on eggshells.

  I’m just about to prepare for my next meeting when James calls.

  ‘Morning, James.’

  ‘Hey Artie, how are you?’

  I’m still pissed off with how rude she was about Charlotte the other night.

  ‘Fine thank you,’ I answer curtly. ‘And you?’

  ‘Oh please stop being upset with me.’ I can imagine her pouting. ‘I’m sorry about the other night. I was jet lagged and extra bitchy. Forgive me?’

  I’ve never been able to stay mad at her long.

  ‘Fine, but only if you put in more of an effort with Charlotte. She’s important to me.’

  ‘I will, I promise.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I actually bumped into Victoria. She was telling me she designed the nursery. She showed me some pictures and wow! It’s so chic. I can’t wait to see it.’

  She’s trying to get herself invited round. It’s not just my apartment anymore so I don’t.

  ‘Well, we’re not exactly keeping that design.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, Charlotte didn’t exactly love it.’ It’s hard to say it without her coming across as a spoilt princess.

  ‘Really? Why not?’

  ‘Err… I think she wanted more colour. Plus, she’s been looking forward to designing it herself.’

  ‘Ah, I suppose it’s the creative soul in her. Well tell her I’m around if she needs any help.’

  I roll my eyes. Yeah, as if Charlotte would want her help.

  ‘That’s really sweet of you. Thank you.’

  ‘Lunch next week?’

  I hesitate. If I have the time I’d rather take Charlotte out.

  ‘If I have time, yes.’

  ‘Oh and I’m helping your mum plan her Christmas Eve party. Remember to tell Charlotte to put it in her diary.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Wednesday 28th October

  Charlotte – 28 Weeks Pregnant

  I’m drafting a memo Roger’s asked me to sort out when that sick feeling creeps into my stomach again. Oh god, not now. I don’t have time to feel rough, there’s too much to do.

  My temperature soars and within seconds I know it’s coming. I stand, attempting to run to the toilets but it’s clear this vomit is not waiting for anyone. I search around in a panic. Where’s the bin? Why isn’t it under my desk? In my hysteria I choose the plant behind my desk. It’s not much, but as soon as it leaves my stomach I feel instantly better. I look around to see if anyone noticed but luckily my desk is away from others.

  I just need to clean this plant up before the smell creeps up and I vomit again. I stand and, as discreetly as possible lift it up, still in its pot and carry it towards the toilet. It’s a big heavy bastard and it’s hard in these red stilettos, but I wasn’t exactly expecting an active day when I got dressed this morning. That and the leopard print heel matches my new maternity dress perfectly. I felt so chic when I left the flat. Now I’m huffing and puffing like I’m going to blow the little pigs house down. I’m getting so out of breath doing the most basic stuff nowadays.

  ‘Charlotte?’ Edward, a man in his sixties with red braces, says, passing me in the hall. ‘What are you doing with that plant?’ He looks down his spectacles at me.

  ‘Oh, just… taking it to be watered.’

  He scowls back at me. ‘Surely it would be easier to bring a jug of water to the plant?’

  Of course that’s would be easier. I’ll have to play dumb. I hate having to play stupid. I feel like I let down every female I know.

  ‘Oh yes! Silly me! What am I like?’ I fake a laugh, my cheeks heating with embarrassment.

  I should have the right to vote taken away from me. I’m a disgrace.

  I turn and hurry quickly down the hallway to the bathroom. I take it out of its pot and run the tap, attempting to remove my own vomit from the earth. Ugh, and now I’m heaving again. This is a disaster, muddy soil going everywhere.

  I try to wash it from my hands, while heaving into another sink. I hear something clink against the porcelain. I look down to see my engagement ring has slipped off my finger and is circling the drain.

  No! I watch helplessly as it slips down just before I can grab it. Shit!

  I try to look down the plughole, but I can’t see it. Fuck a duck. Arthur’s priceless heirloom. The ring his Grandma told him to give to the woman he marries. And this dickhead has only gone and lost it. Crap!

  My heart starts beating so fast I can hear it thrashing in my ears. I open the cupboard under the sink and look at the tubes. Surely I can loosen them myself? I struggle but get nowhere. Crap I’m gonna have to call a plumber. But then they won’t let anyone in unless they’re on the cleared list.

  I run back to my desk and grab my phone. Then I go back to the bathroom and call
down to Pat on reception.

  ‘Pat, we need an urgent plumber. Do you have anyone on the books?’

  ‘We do, why? What’s happened?’

  ‘Oh it’s…’ I can hardly tell her the truth. ‘Um, I’ve got a… something… that I can’t flush and its flooding.’

  ‘Oh Jesus. Okay I’ll call them now.’

  Now every time Pat looks at me she’ll be imagining a giant floater.

  I can’t risk leaving this sink for someone to flush it further into the system, potentially never to be seen again. Just the idea of it is giving me palpitations.

  So I wait the excruciating hour and a half for the plumber to arrive. Then I grovel and tell him the truth, hoping he’ll take pity on a pregnant woman.

  ‘You’re that bird that was on the telly. Aren’t you engaged to the Cabinet Secretary?’

  I grimace. ‘Yep. And if we don’t find my ring I’m going to be in a mountain of shit.’

  He chuckles. ‘Don’t worry, love, I’ll sort it for you.’

  He eventually retrieves the ring, thank God! After thanking him and promising to call my baby after him (Geoff, no chance) I rush back to my desk, hoping no one has noticed my two hour absence.

  ‘Charlotte!’ Roger calls when he spots me. ‘My office. NOW.’

  No such luck.

  Arthur

  I walk by her desk at the end of work, wondering if she’ll still be here. Low and behold she is, typing away at her computer. Her eyes are not only rimmed with heavy purple bags but they’re also pink. Has she been crying?

  ‘Charlotte. Are you okay?’

  She looks up, her chin wobbly. ‘Yeah.’

  I can tell it’s taking all of her strength to even say that.

  ‘Are you sure? You look exhausted.’ I push some hair back from her face without thinking.

  I want to gather her in my arms and take away all her problems.

  ‘Please,’ she begs, looking up at me with those gorgeous hazel eyes. ‘Just let me finish.’

  I look at my watch. ‘It’s half past bloody eight. I’m not having this.’