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me.
    ‘Fatty.’ Ob answers after a few rings, sounding like a man who is drunk but trying to hide it. ‘How’s Piers? How are you ?’
    ‘He’s OK,’ I say, ‘and I’m OK, but what’s up with you?’
    Please let it be nothing serious.
    ‘What’s the prognosis?’
    ‘Ob,’ I say warningly. I don’t want to shoot the shit with him in a long drawn-out conversation. ‘I’ve not slept in nearly two days, I’ve travelled thousands of miles, and I received terrible news when I landed. Piers could be better, I’m OK, Felicity is dead, and Tabitha thinks I’ve sold her out,’ I list glibly with a sigh, remembering Tabitha’s accusing voicemail message. A story must have broken in the papers about her, and it hurts that Tabitha thinks it had something to do with me.
    I take a large swig of my drink and send up a silent prayer that Ob is OK, that he’s not been diagnosed with anything awful or life threatening, that his parents are in fine form, and that this is just some weird quarter-life crisis that has hit him. Basically, Ob being Ob and nothing too serious. I don’t have the energy to deal with anything else.
    ‘Spare me the merry dance, and tell me what’s up.’
    ‘I’m pregnant,’ he rushes out.
    I spit out my gin. I wasn’t expecting that .
    ‘Jade is. Might be,’ he amends. ‘She could be... I don’t know how this happened,’ he finishes quite pathetically.
    Bloody hell. Obélix could be a dad ? This is major .
    ‘Did you use a condom?’ I demand, not that I really want to know that because the thought of Ob having sex is something that should never be imagined. Any children of his are miraculous conceptions; exactly like I was for my parents.
    ‘Well...’
    That’s a no, then. What. An. Idiot . I know I wanted him to get laid, although not in lieu of payment for a vet bill, but this is something else. Why can’t he meet a nice normal girl and date her the good old-fashioned way?
    ‘You stupid bugger,’ I lecture. ‘Hop into bed with whoever you want, but keep yourself safe. STIs are on the rise. Irgh, get yourself checked out.’
    I read that cheering fact in the in-flight magazine on the way over here. It was, weirdly, written by a name I recognised: Geli Voyante. Moving from writing a national “hot or not” column to writing about sexual diseases in an in-flight magazine is a step-down career-wise, but who am I to judge? I didn’t even have a career until recently.
    ‘Not to mention the small matter of a baby popping out nine months later,’ I continue with a groan as his words sink in. ‘What are you going to do if she is?’
    I want to be supportive, I really do, but the gin has relaxed me and I’d like to crawl into that heavenly king-sized bed and sleep for a week. I take another sip.
    ‘I guess I’ll marry her,’ he says. At that, I splutter again, which is another waste of rather excellent gin. ‘Anyway,’ he continues, before I can interrupt. ‘we’re going to see her doctor in a few hours. Get it confirmed.’
    ‘Bloody hell, Ob. This is all sounding rather serious.’
    I don’t add – and grown-up. And terrifying . All this explains the drinking, although I hope he’s not going to be driving in this state.
    ‘A baby is rather serious,’ he replies dryly.
    ‘So. If she is,’ I prod, ‘are you happy about it?’
    He sounded so scared in his messages, or maybe he was overwhelmed. I have no idea how I’d react if I found out I was pregnant under those circumstances... Then again, I wouldn’t do what Jade did to settle a bill. 
    ‘I have no idea what I am. She didn’t want to see me again, you know, after our night together. You were right about that.’
    Hearing Ob’s sad tone, I wish I hadn’t been. I had suspected Jade only slept with him to write off her vet bill – in Jade’s mind this was never supposed to go any further than that night. Poor Ob.
    ‘OK, go and–’
    ‘I’d better go. Speak soon,’ he interrupts abruptly, hanging up