Golden Luckenbooth

Thirty-Seven

I watch as Harry's authentic smile fades slightly at the question about our bairn. He becomes somewhat wooden, and I worry that he'll flip out. After all, I'm confident it was in his rider that they not ask about me or the pregnancy, but I guess it's too juicy a topic. Cara grabs my hand, holding it between her two hands. "It won't be that bad," she breathes. "He'll take care of it swiftly."

"Oh, you're getting ahead of me, ladies," he grins, his dimple deepening. "I'm here to talk about this baby – my song about my mum and how amazing she is. Indeed, how amazing all mothers are."

"Well, then. Let's hear the song," Stacey announces, and Harry rises and moves towards the stage where the band is prepared to launch the single.

"Whew," I breathe. "Bullet dodged."

"For now," Kai reminds me.

I know Harry's going to get the question often over the next few days, and I wonder which interviewer will get the true answer. Because something else I know is that he's practised how to answer the question in multiple ways, including with full honesty. These interviewers weren't the right ones in his mind, and I wonder why not.

"That was a smart show to launch the song," Kai remarks. "It's a fun song, too, even though it's clearly a tribute to his mum." I'm reminded that Harry chose to launch his Harry's House album with Better Homes and Gardens. He's such a numpty.

"Plus he looks amazing," Cara breathes. "He doesn't ever look like that when he's hanging out here with us."

I laugh because she's correct. With us, he's usually in joggers or hole-filled jeans, and he's almost always wearing his trainers. Plus, he keeps trying to grow his awful moustache and what he attempts to call a beard. But on this show, in this jumper and trousers, he is every woman's dream.

"You need to ask if you can borrow that jumper," Cara laughs. "It looks warm and cosy and so cute with those sheep."

"Oh, you better believe I'm going to be borrowing that jumper," I laugh.

Mrs. Campbell sighs, "If only I were 20 years younger." Her cat, Mabel, is in a carrier on the floor at her feet.

"Honey, if I were 30 years younger and straight, I'd be all over that," hoots Ms. Dinwiddie, holding Bonnie, her pregnant golden retriever.

Paddy's eyebrows rise, but there's no other indication that he's surprised by the statement, and I mentally give him bonus points for his demeanour.

"Well, you can't be all over that," Cara chortles, "because he's already got a beautiful lass to call his own."

"Oh, I know," Ms. Dinwiddie waves her hand dismissively, "but if Dr. Anna were ever to get tired of dating him..."

The entire front room giggles, and I smile at the gentle ribbing as I invite Ms. Dinwiddie into the exam room to check out Bonnie and make sure her pregnancy is proceeding as best as possible.

"You're as pretty as my own girls," I coo to the golden retriever who licks at my hand as I examine her.

"Those girls out front?" The older woman begins, "Looks like they left. I wonder if they're driving to London even now."

"I meant my two golden retrievers." Then, as I contemplate the fans, I tack on, "They'll miss him," leaving her to guess which girls I mean. I turn on the ultrasound. "Who's a good girl?" I tickle Bonnie's belly before placing the wand on her fur to measure the growth of the babies.

"Hmmm? What's that, love?" Ms. Dunwiddie demands.

"Harry has one more show today on BBC Radio 2 with Scott Mills, but he catches a flight to New York City soon afterwards. He'll be gone before the girls can drive there – if that's where they've gone."