Baby Be Mine

by Paige Toon

  I don’t know, Johnny. Have some respect!

  My phone starts to ring.

  ‘What?’ I snap.

  ‘Are you taking the fucking piss?’ Johnny asks down the line.

  ‘I can’t talk now,’ I reply crossly. ‘You’re going to have to wait!’

  ‘I’ve waited long enough, thank you very much. Two fucking years I’ve waited.’

  ‘Well, then, what’s another week?’ I say sarcastically.

  ‘A week,’ he replies smugly. ‘A week it is, then.’

  He hangs up on me. The bastard hangs up on me. Bloody hell.

  I glance up to see Christian getting back in the car, having already paid for his fuel. I start up the engine and follow him out.

  That evening, Christian doesn’t offer to help with any part of Barney’s bedtime routine. He sits in front of the telly watching Top Gear so I get on with Barney’s bath, milk, story and bed. Afterwards I walk across the hall with my head down, scratching my elbow absent-mindedly as I wonder if Christian will talk to me tonight. I reach the living room and glance first at the television and then at my boyfriend, and then I stop in my tracks when I see the look on his face. He has my phone in his hand and is glaring at me accusingly.

  ‘What the fuck is this about?’ He holds up the phone.

  ‘I was going to tell you,’ I say hurriedly.

  ‘Don’t make me laugh.’

  ‘I was!’ My voice rises. ‘I was!’

  ‘What were you going to tell me? That you and this bastard have been having cosy little chats with each other behind my back?’

  ‘We haven’t been! He texted me earlier—’

  My sentence is cut short by Christian hurling my phone in a fury across the room. It narrowly misses my face, clonking against the wall and clattering to the floor. In despair I pick it up and discover that my phone has a crack straight across the screen.

  ‘You broke my phone!’ I wail, unable to keep my cool.

  ‘You’re lucky I didn’t break your nose.’

  I stare at him in shock and his face instantly mirrors mine.

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ he says quickly. ‘Of course I didn’t mean that.’

  A cry from Barney’s room startles us both into action.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I say, leaving the room.

  It takes me a few minutes to settle him before I return with trepidation to the living room. Christian is staring straight ahead. He’s switched off the telly.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Johnny contacting me,’ I say.

  ‘It’s alright,’ he brushes me off, and it’s clear he’s calmed down somewhat. ‘I know you would have done eventually,’ he concedes. ‘So tell me what he said.’

  ‘You read the messages?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know they weren’t “cosy little chats”, then.’

  He nods. ‘He called you – I saw your recent calls,’ he explains.

  ‘Yes. Once again, not cosy.’ I take a deep breath. ‘He wants to . . .’ I pause, and then it all comes out in a flurry of words. ‘He wants to meet Barney properly.’

  Christian’s jaw is set in a straight line. ‘How do you feel about that?’ he asks with some effort.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ I admit. ‘The last thing I want to do is to cause you any pain. Any more pain,’ I correct myself. ‘But I guess this isn’t just about you and me anymore.’

  He nods abruptly. ‘So be it. I want the best thing for Barney. He’s still my son.’

  ‘Of course he is,’ I say. ‘He always will be.’

  Chapter 14

  ‘When are you going home again?’ I ask Christian two days later.

  ‘I don’t know. Dad’s still not ready to clear away Mum’s things.’

  ‘What about joining the band on tour?’

  ‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’ he asks drily.

  ‘No! Of course not.’ Do I sound guilty?

  ‘Have you called Johnny yet?’

  Yep, he’s onto me. ‘No.’ Don’t be a chicken. ‘But I should.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going away while all that’s going on. I want to be here.’

  I take a sip of my drink. We’re sitting out on the terrace and have just finished a dinner of pork cooked in cider. I’m trying to make it up to Christian through his stomach, but I’ve had no compliments for the chef.

  ‘I guess I’d better call him,’ I say.

  ‘I guess you’d better.’ He takes a gulp of his beer and plonks it down on the table, then he gets to his feet and starts to clear the table. I do the same, following him indoors to the kitchen.

  ‘You don’t want to ring him?’ I ask hesitantly. I’ve been wondering this for a few days now. Christian looks at me like I’m mad. ‘No?’ I double-check.

  ‘What do you think?’ he snaps.

  ‘I just thought . . . well, he’s your best friend.’

  ‘Was,’ he corrects me. ‘There’s no way in hell we’re getting past this one.’

  ‘But you’ve been through so much,’ I implore. ‘This whole situation would be easier—’

  ‘Meg,’ he cuts me off. ‘No.’

  I look down, disheartened. I could but hope. ‘I’ll call him, then.’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘If that’s okay with you?’

  ‘Yep.’ He scrapes the remnants of his dinner into the bin. I walk away, treading carefully over the eggshells that will no doubt line my path for some time to come.

  I take my phone and go back out to the terrace, leaving the door open so Christian thinks I don’t mind him listening in, even though I do. I dial Johnny’s number. My hands begin to shake. He doesn’t answer and it goes straight through to voice-mail. I’m dithering about whether or not to leave a message when my phone beeps to let me know there’s another call coming in. I look at my handset to see that Johnny is calling me back.

  ‘Hello?’ I say.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ He cuts straight to the chase. ‘When am I going to meet the boy?’

  ‘His name is Barney,’ I say tersely. ‘How soon can you get here?’

  ‘Friday?’

  That’s two days away.

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll get Lena to contact you with the details,’ he says.

  ‘Don’t palm me off onto your PA, Johnny,’ I say crossly. ‘You contact me yourself with the details.’

  ‘Ooh, tetchy,’ he says annoyingly, and I detect a hint of amusement beneath his tone. But this isn’t funny.

  ‘I mean it,’ I add.

  ‘Okay, Nutmeg, I’ll text you later.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say, but he’s already hung up. Damn. He’s irritating like that.

  I walk back inside to see Christian leaning up against one of the countertops in the kitchen. His face is expressionless.

  ‘He’s coming on Friday,’ I tell him nervously.

  ‘Great.’ Sarcasm, obviously.

  ‘Are you going to be alright with this?’

  ‘Oh, I’m going to be dandy,’ Christian says, false-merrily.

  The nausea inside my stomach swirls a little more. I’ve been feeling sick incessantly and I can’t imagine how that will ever cease.

  Johnny’s PA books him into a chateau about an hour’s drive away; he’s planning on staying in France for four days. He comes to the house on Friday afternoon on the same motorbike as before. Was it really less than a fortnight ago that he was last here? It feels like an age.

  Christian has barely left Barney’s side all day. He’s with him in the pool when Johnny arrives. I’m on the terrace waiting. Again, I hear his motorcycle before I see it. This time he doesn’t stop at the bottom of the hill, but zooms around the corner and straight up to our driveway. He pulls in on the gravel and kicks down his foot-stand. I get up and lean over the wall as he climbs off his bike. He looks up at me as he pulls his helmet off, his hair damp with sweat. This is Johnny Jefferson, rock star, father of my child.

  ‘Alright?’ he s
ays, unzipping his leather biker jacket. I can see his wet shirt from here.

  ‘Bit hot, are you?’

  ‘Fucking sweltering.’ He positions his helmet on his handlebars and climbs the terrace steps.

  ‘Where did you get your bike from?’

  ‘Brought it from LA on the jet.’

  Only in Johnny’s world . . .

  ‘Where’s Christian?’ he asks.

  ‘He’s in the pool with Barney.’

  He doesn’t attempt to hide his surprise. ‘He hasn’t gone out?’

  ‘No. He wanted to be here. Come inside,’ I motion towards the door and Johnny walks past me, removing his jacket and gloves as he goes.

  I know that Christian will have heard Johnny arrive, but he’s making no attempt to bring Barney to us. He’ll make us go to him, and who could blame him?

  ‘Have you spoken to Christian?’ I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

  ‘No,’ Johnny says.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘What do you mean, why not?’ He frowns. ‘I don’t think he wants to talk to me, do you?’

  I shrug, faking nonchalance. ‘I don’t suppose you want to talk to him either, but it’s not about want, it’s about should. Have you even considered apologising?’

  He snorts. ‘“Sorry” ain’t gonna cut it.’

  ‘We’re not talking about the time you shagged his girlfriend – the other time,’ I correct myself, because he had sex with one of Christian’s girlfriends years ago, way before I came along. ‘You didn’t say sorry then, either, and it all blew over eventually. But not this time, Johnny. This time he deserves to hear it, even if he never wants to speak to you again.’

  He regards me curiously. ‘I didn’t think he’d forgive you.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ I say honestly. ‘Anyway, he hasn’t, yet. I don’t know if he ever will, but we’re trying to get through it.’

  I hear Barney squealing hysterically. Johnny looks at me quickly.

  ‘Is that him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He shifts from foot to foot.

  ‘You’re nervous,’ I say, oddly fascinated by the realisation.

  He shrugs, but doesn’t answer. A minuscule wave of sympathy crashes inside me.

  ‘Come on.’

  I lead the way out onto the terrace and down the steps, turning right towards the pool. We can hear Christian’s deep voice behind the gate and when I push it open, the wood screeching loudly across the stone, we see Christian drying Barney off at the poolside with a blue and white striped towel. He glares at Johnny before turning his attention back to Barney. My little blond-haired, green-eyed boy glances at his biological father and then looks at me and grins a toothy grin.

  ‘Did you have fun in the pool?’ I ask him brightly, intensely aware of Johnny’s presence beside me.

  Barney pulls away from Christian and stands, wobbling on the spot, with his arms opened out to me. I whisk him up and give him a cuddle, immediately feeling the dampness of his swimming trunks seeping through my khaki-coloured T-shirt and white shorts. I’ve dressed casually today; I don’t want to look like I’ve made an effort for Mr Celebrity.

  Christian stands up and drops the towel onto a sunlounger. I know that he’s struggling to remain calm. If looks could kill, his former best friend would be on his way to the coroner right about now.

  Barney presses his cold, wet nose to mine and I can’t help but smile, despite the tension surrounding us.

  I give Christian a supportive nod and then turn to look at Johnny. He’s staring at Barney with a strange expression on his face. I don’t know how to describe it: a sort of awe and awkwardness all rolled into one. He can’t take his eyes off him.

  ‘Barney, this is Johnny,’ I introduce them for want of something else to say.

  ‘Hello,’ Johnny says quietly and he reaches out and takes Barney’s hand, shaking it slightly.

  ‘You’ve got a fucking nerve,’ Christian growls from behind me. I spin around, the action wrenching Johnny’s grasp from Barney’s hand. Christian’s whole body is rigid and he’s breathing heavily. He’s close to losing it.

  ‘Calm down,’ I urge nervously. ‘Shall we all go inside?’

  ‘No,’ Christian says bitterly. ‘I like it out here.’ He sits on the end of a sunlounger and eyes Johnny up and down in his long-sleeved shirt and black jeans. He knows that his enemy will be uncomfortable in this heat, on top of everything else.

  ‘Take a seat,’ I tell Johnny in a strained voice, and then I pass Barney to Christian and unwind the awning so at least we’re not sitting in full sun.

  Barney starts babbling and Christian manages a half-hearted smile at him.

  ‘How’s your hotel?’ I ask Johnny, trying to make small talk.

  ‘Yeah, it’s fine,’ he replies, his eyes on my son.

  He’s distracted. I’ve seen him distracted before, but not like this. This is weird. It’s one of the weirdest things I’ve ever seen. He’s not the cool, confident rock star that everyone knows; he’s just a guy.

  He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his head still turned towards Barney. Christian gets to his feet abruptly and takes Barney with him. He sits on the top step of the pool, with his back to us and Barney on his lap. Johnny and I meet each other’s eyes and his lips turn down momentarily. He gives me a small shrug.

  ‘Christian, shall we go out somewhere?’ I ask. ‘Shall we go for a walk into Cucugnan?’ He doesn’t reply. ‘Christian?’ I prompt.

  ‘I’m happy here,’ he says gruffly.

  ‘Do you want to get some writing done or something while we go?’

  Slowly, determinedly, he turns around and gives me a look of such pure hatred that my blood runs cold.

  ‘I. Don’t. Fucking. Think. So.’

  ‘Christian . . .’ I plead.

  Johnny interrupts us. ‘Maybe I should go.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘That’s probably enough for today.’

  He gets to his feet.

  ‘I’ll see you out.’ I glance at Christian, but he has his back to us again. Neither he nor Johnny says anything as I lead the way out through the screeching pool gate.

  Johnny follows me back indoors to get his bike stuff.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ I say as he puts his leather jacket back on.

  He shakes his head and pulls on his gloves. ‘Could have been worse.’ He stops suddenly and stares ahead as though in a daze, then seems to snap out of it. ‘Can I come back tomorrow?’ He picks up his helmet and moves towards the door.

  ‘Sure, of course.’ I offer him a small smile. ‘Hopefully it will be better. I’ll talk to Christian toni—’

  ‘Don’t,’ he interrupts. ‘It’s okay. I can handle it.’

  I open the door and he steps over the threshold. ‘I still think it would help if you apologised,’ I suggest.

  ‘See you tomorrow, Meg.’ He gives me a final look and jogs down the steps.

  I’m reluctant to go back out to the pool again because I know the mood that will be waiting for me there, but I force myself to.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

  ‘Take Barney,’ Christian says, getting up and handing my son to me. I look at him in surprise, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. I follow him back indoors, the sickness and dread kicking up a notch. He goes straight into the bedroom and angrily drags a T-shirt over his head.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I ask nervously as he exchanges his swimming trunks for shorts.

  ‘Out.’

  I follow him back down the corridor. He snatches the car keys from the ledge.

  ‘Christian,’ I say, disappointed. ‘Can’t we talk about this?’

  He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t look at me, he just slams the door in my face as I stand there, holding my son.

  He doesn’t come home until eleven o’clock that night. I’m waiting for him on the sofa.

  ‘I thought you’d be asleep,’ he mutters.

>   ‘I was waiting for you. I was worried.’

  ‘I’m back now. Go to bed,’ he commands.

  ‘I’m sorry, Christian. I know this must be hard for you.’

  He snorts. ‘You haven’t got a fucking clue,’ he says bitterly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. I’m not even going to try to convince him I can imagine how he must feel. I get up and go to him. He glares at me as I put my hand on his arm, trying to get through to him.

  ‘I’ll do anything I can to make this easier,’ I say softly, but he shrugs me off, his chest moving up and down aggressively with every breath.

  ‘Go to bed,’ he says warningly.

  I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath and then I look at him and nod. ‘Okay.’

  I stroke his arm one last time and find his bicep rigid with tension.

  ‘Goodnight,’ I say. He doesn’t answer.

  Chapter 15

  How are we going to get through this? I don’t see how we can.

  Barney’s presence improves the atmosphere the following morning, but the pressure is bubbling away below the surface, threatening to burst through at any given time.

  We eat breakfast out on the terrace and look at the mountains cast in morning sunlight. There’s a slight haze across them today. It probably means it’s going to be hot again.

  I need to talk to Christian about Johnny, but I feel like my lips are glued together. Christian is saying nothing. I can hear him crunching on his cereal as he stares up at the view. He’s having cornflakes this morning, and not even the Crunchy Nut variety. He’s not giving in to his sweet tooth. I don’t know what this means, but it feels ominous.

  Barney is being unusually quiet in his highchair.

  I push away my barely touched toast. I don’t have an appetite.

  ‘So,’ Christian starts, and I can hear the sarcasm even in this one word. ‘What exciting things have you got planned today?’

  ‘Please . . .’ I give him an imploring look.

  He shovels in another spoonful of cornflakes and munches angrily.

  I try to speak soothingly. ‘I wondered if you might find it easier if we go out.’

  ‘“We”, as in you, me and Barney?’ he asks jollily and doesn’t wait for my answer. ‘No, I didn’t think so,’ he sneers.