Baby Be Mine Page 11

  I bite my lip and stay silent for a while before continuing, ‘I don’t know what to do. I want to make this easier for you. I just don’t know how,’ I admit. He doesn’t answer. ‘Please, Christian, tell me what to do.’

  ‘How about, don’t fuck your boyfriend’s best friend? How about that? And if you absolutely must,’ he says acidly, ‘then have him use a fucking condom.’

  Barney starts to rap his spoon noisily on the bar of his highchair.

  I take him inside to play with his toys, without saying another word.

  It’s a good twenty minutes before Christian comes indoors. I’m sitting on the living room floor, building blocks with Barney. I look up at him. He seems defeated.

  ‘Go out today,’ he says flatly. ‘I don’t want to see him again anyway.’ He’s talking about Johnny, of course.

  I nod slowly. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. But go soon before I change my mind.’

  I wait until I’m in the car before I call Johnny. ‘We’re on our way to you,’ I say. ‘Just me and Barney.’

  ‘Okay,’ he replies with surprise. ‘Do you know where I’m staying?’

  ‘Yes, Johnny,’ I say sardonically. ‘Your PA texted me the details two days ago. We’ll be there in an hour.’ I end the call and throw my phone into my bag. Now I can concentrate on driving.

  To be fair to him, he did tell me his time of arrival himself. But Lena sent me the rest.

  I suppose it’s best that she knows about me, even if she isn’t aware of all the details. I wonder if anyone else is. I wonder if he’s told the elusive Dana Reed.

  Johnny is staying in a chateau in the hills about forty-five minutes west of Perpignan. It takes me about an hour to get there on the mountain roads and by the time we arrive it’s eleven o’clock and Barney is fast asleep. I climb out of the car and look up at the beautiful grey-stone castle surrounded by leafy green trees. I can see why his PA booked him in here, even though one of the hotels in Cucugnan or a nearby town would have been a hell of a lot easier to get to.

  I wonder if Lena has hired out the whole thing. I doubt she would have managed it on such short notice – if she did, she’s a better PA than I ever was. I think we’ll be safe from the paparazzi, in any case. The press in France are slightly less intrusive than those in the US and the UK.

  I manage to transfer Barney to his buggy, but getting him across the gravel makes for a bumpy ride. I look around to see if there’s anyone who can help me carry the buggy up the steps, but the whole place seems deserted. Maybe Lena is more skilled than I imagined. I pull out my phone and text Johnny to tell him that we’re downstairs.

  I squint my eyes against the glaring sunshine and peer inside. The front hall is dark and enchanting, long tapestries hanging on the walls. Moments later, I see Johnny jogging down the spiral staircase. He pushes open the gothic doors and emerges into the daylight.

  ‘Hey, how’s it going?’

  I put my finger to my lips and indicate the buggy.

  ‘Is he asleep?’ he whispers.

  ‘Yes. Help me carry him up the steps?’

  I put my hands on the handles, but Johnny wraps his arms around the centre of the buggy and takes off with it.

  ‘Are you alright with that?’ I whisper loudly after him. That buggy is a nightmare to carry on your own.

  ‘Yep,’ he grunts, not bothering to put it down on the floor to cross the stone tiles to the staircase. I follow him up the winding stairs, trying not to look at his tattooed biceps.

  We reach a long corridor and Johnny pushes open the first door he comes to.

  ‘No key?’ I say wryly.

  ‘No valuables,’ he replies.

  ‘I’m not sure souvenir hunters would agree with that,’ I say, looking around the spacious suite. Johnny’s biker jacket and helmet are lying where he threw them on a seat under the window. The dark-wood shutters are wide open, allowing sunlight to spill into the room, revealing walls of polished ochre and antique furniture. Oil paintings of family members from years gone by hang on the walls. I glance through to the next room to see a large four-poster king-sized bed, made up with a golden silk bedspread.

  ‘Nice room,’ I comment.

  ‘It’s alright,’ he brushes me off. ‘Where do you want him?’ He indicates Barney.

  ‘Can I park him in the bedroom?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘How long does he sleep for?’ he asks when I come back through.

  ‘Hopefully another hour,’ I tell him, sitting down on one of the sofas. ‘He has two hours a day at this age. If he wakes up early, he’s usually a grump.’ Am I boring him? Oddly, I don’t think so.

  He sits down on the sofa opposite me and picks up the phone on the side-table next to him. ‘Want a drink?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a latte.’

  He dials a number and places an order for room service.

  ‘It’s quiet here,’ I say. ‘Have you got the whole place to yourself?’

  ‘No.’ I feel a strange relief. Lena didn’t quite manage it, then. ‘Only a couple of honeymooners in the rooms upstairs, though,’ he explains, picking some fluff off his jeans.

  ‘Have you told Dana about us?’ I ask suddenly.

  He looks up at me. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘But you will?’

  He nods. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How do you think she’ll take it?’

  ‘She’ll cope.’ Pause. ‘How was Christian last night?’

  ‘Not good,’ I admit. ‘But I don’t want to talk about him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It feels like I’m betraying him and I’ve done enough of that already.’

  There’s a gentle knock at the door. Johnny gets up to answer it. A neatly dressed man comes in with a silver tray and places it on the coffee table between us. Johnny pulls his wallet out of his pocket and hands him a note as he leaves.

  I get up and look out of the window. I’d forgotten what it was like living in such luxury. Actually, that’s not true. You never forget it once you’ve experienced it, and I experienced it repeatedly during the eight months I worked for Johnny.

  Surreal realisation hits me again. Johnny Jefferson is Barney’s father. This changes everything. Life will never be normal again.

  I turn around and watch him as he lifts up a silver-coloured coffee cup from the tray and blows at the hot liquid. Steam swirls away from him in a tiny cloud. He’s clean-shaven and his hair looks blonder in the sunlight. He’s wearing a light-grey T-shirt and I notice that he has a new tattoo on the inside of his arm, just up from his wrist. He glances up at me and his green eyes meet mine. For a split second I feel like I’m falling and I must look shocked because his coffee cup freezes inches from his lips.

  ‘What?’ he asks.

  ‘Nothing.’ I avert my gaze and go to sit down. ‘What do you want to do today?’ Try to act normal, for God’s sake. I take a sip of my latte.

  ‘It’s up to you. I wasn’t expecting you to come this way. Did you take the mountain roads or the motorway?’

  ‘Mountain.’

  ‘Me too.’ He grins. ‘Awesome on the bike.’

  I smile back at him, feeling strangely relaxed considering recent – and past – events. ‘So, today . . .’

  ‘There’s a spa here. Does Barney like swimming?’

  ‘Mmm, he does, actually. Oh. I don’t have any swimming gear.’

  ‘We can sort that.’ He reaches for the phone again, dials a number and then speaks into the receiver. ‘My friend and her son want to use the pool. Can you have someone bring up some swimming costumes?’

  I know from experience that the manager here will be pulling out all the stops to impress a client of Johnny’s stature. It may seem quiet, but you’d better believe that there are two or three times as many staff as usual buzzing around behind the scenes to make sure everything runs as smoothly as possible for their super-prominent guest.

  ‘And swimming nappies . . .’ I suddenly remember.


  ‘And swimming nappies,’ he passes on. ‘For a one-year-old.’ Pause. ‘Size ten in the UK, six in the US. I don’t know how your sizing works over here.’ Pause. ‘Thanks.’ He hangs up.

  I try to mask my surprise that Johnny remembers what size I am.

  Within five minutes, there’s another knock at the door and we’re brought in a selection of designer swimming costumes for me, from bikinis to one-pieces, plus children’s swimming trunks and nappies for Barney. I take the collection and go through to the bathroom, reeling slightly.

  When I emerge, my chosen bikini on underneath my skirt and top, Johnny is not in the living room. I go through to the bedroom to see him perched on the end of the bed, gazing into the buggy.

  He glances up at me as I stand at the doorway. ‘Still asleep?’ I whisper.

  He looks down again. ‘I thought I heard a noise.’ He gets up and walks towards me. I turn and lead the way back to the sofas.

  ‘Find one you like?’ he asks.

  ‘Yep.’ I ping the strap poking out from underneath my T-shirt.

  ‘Black,’ he notes.

  ‘I know, I’m boring.’ I cast my eyes heavenwards and sit down.

  ‘Suits you.’ He collapses onto the sofa opposite and rests his arm against the back of it. ‘Always did.’

  Is he mocking me? Barney lets out a sharp cry and I leap to my feet as I always do, even though there’s no rush.

  ‘Hello,’ I say sweetly, peering into the buggy. He’s rubbing at his eyes and looks like he’s about to burst into tears. ‘Come on.’ I unclick his buckles and lift him out. He sleepily buries his head into my neck as I carry him back through to Johnny, then he lifts his head and looks around before cuddling back into me. ‘It usually takes him a little while to wake up,’ I explain.

  Johnny nods, lost for words. His face is that strange mix of emotions again and I notice that he’s sitting up a bit straighter.

  ‘We’ve come to see Johnny,’ I say in a high-pitched tone into my son’s ear. He doesn’t move from his snug position. ‘Do you want a biscuit?’

  His head shoots up. He might not be able to say the word, but he certainly knows what it means. I smile at Johnny as he passes over the plate that came up with our coffees. Barney takes a biscuit with his chubby fingers and has a small bite, before glancing across the coffee table with mild interest at Johnny.

  ‘Your mum thought you might like to go for a swim,’ Johnny suggests hopefully, mimicking my high-pitched tone. I try not to smile.

  Barney continues to eat his biscuit without making any indication of having heard him.

  ‘Would you like that?’ I ask. He continues to munch. I glance at my watch. It’s after twelve. ‘Maybe we’ll have some lunch first. Shall we go downstairs for a change of scenery?’ I ask Johnny before he can pick up the phone again.

  ‘Sure.’

  Twenty minutes later, we’re downstairs in the sitting room. There’s a fireplace to my left already laid out with logs for this evening’s blaze, and on the right is a small bar area. More family portraits line the walls and there’s an abundance of fresh flowers in large vases. We’re seated at a table with Barney between us in a highchair. I’ve already started the messy business of feeding him. It’ll be interesting to see how Johnny copes with this.

  ‘How’s your work going?’ I ask Johnny. ‘Are you writing at the moment?’

  ‘No. Haven’t written anything for a while.’

  ‘Too busy partying and ending up in rehab,’ I say wryly.

  Barney reaches across and tries to grab Johnny’s heavy metallic watch.

  ‘No, darling,’ I say, catching his arm before he smears tuna mayonnaise all over Johnny’s – platinum, probably – timepiece.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Johnny says, shaking his arm so his watch jangles slightly. I flinch as Barney’s grubby fingers grapple with their prize. Johnny unclasps the watch and hands it to him.

  ‘Do you like that? You can have it, if you like.’

  ‘No, baby, give it back to Johnny,’ I insist, knowing it probably cost more than our car.

  ‘Why?’ Johnny asks. ‘It’s not like I can’t afford it. I want him to have something from me.’

  ‘Buy him a teddy,’ I say, taking a baby wipe out of my nappy bag and giving the watch a good polish before handing it back to its owner. I give Barney a plastic car to play with instead.

  A waiter interrupts us with our croque monsieurs. ‘Merci,’ I tell him.

  When we’re alone again, I look across at Johnny. He’s distinctly unimpressed.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t like it that he has to call me by my first name.’

  I sigh, wearily.

  ‘I don’t,’ he continues obstinately.

  ‘We can’t do anything about that now,’ I say calmly. ‘It’s too soon. Anyway, it’s not like he can even say “Daddy” yet.’

  ‘But he will learn. Probably soon. And technically the term applies to me.’ Not Christian, he refrains from adding.

  ‘Be patient,’ I plead.

  ‘I don’t want to be patient,’ he bites back.

  ‘Well, of course not.’ Sarcasm kicks in. ‘You’re used to getting everything you want, aren’t you?’

  Barney grizzles.

  ‘Sorry, baby.’ I instantly come out of my mood. I know I’m being a bitch. I glance at Johnny. ‘Sorry,’ I mouth.

  He starts to cut up his toasted ham and cheese sandwich. ‘Not everything,’ he murmurs.

  What’s that supposed to mean?

  The chateau staff clear the spa area in advance for us so we have the swimming pool to ourselves. It’s in a beautiful ornate glasshouse and it’s heated to just the right temperature.

  Despite the fact that Barney is in my arms and consequently covering a large portion of my body, I feel self-conscious as I walk down the steps into the pool. Johnny is already waiting in the water.

  ‘Can he swim yet?’ he asks me.

  I can’t help but laugh. ‘He can’t even walk.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ he says defensively.

  ‘No, that’s true.’ I try to keep a straight face. ‘Why would you?’

  ‘Exactly. I haven’t been around kids before.’

  ‘You’re coping with this far better than I ever thought you would.’ I find myself speaking frankly.

  He nods slightly, staring at Barney. ‘I can’t believe how much he looks like me. When did you know?’ He gives me an inquisitive look. ‘For sure.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘When his eyes turned green. It was about six months ago, maybe a bit longer.’

  ‘Jesus, Meg,’ he breathes.

  ‘Language,’ I berate, for want of anything else to say.

  ‘Can I hold him?’ he asks, opening up his arms.

  ‘You want to swim to Johnny?’ I ask Barney and don’t wait for his answer before zooming him at breakneck speed around in a circle and over to his bio-dad. He’s giggling by the time he reaches him. Johnny repeats the action and zooms him back to me.

  It’s not long before I acknowledge to myself that I’m having a nice time, and then, of course, the guilt kicks in.

  ‘I guess we should set off soon,’ I say reluctantly.

  Johnny’s face falls. ‘You can’t stay a bit longer?’

  ‘We should get back,’ I reply. I walk to the steps and climb out, feeling self-conscious again. I grab a towel and quickly wrap it around myself before tending to Barney.

  ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’ Johnny asks, reaching for a towel and patting himself dry. He doesn’t bother to cover up his body. He’s toned and tanned and has been told time and time again that he’s one of the fittest guys on the planet, so he’s hardly lacking in self-confidence.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ I reply, averting my gaze. ‘Have you ever been to Carcassonne?’ I ask.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I enthuse. ‘There’s a medieval village on top of a hill with views all around. Maybe we could go there
for lunch.’

  ‘That’d be great.’

  I suddenly get a reality check. ‘Um, sorry, I’ll actually have to speak to Christian first.’ I was getting carried away. ‘Let’s talk in the morning.’

  Later, Johnny walks us out to the car. I put my nappy bag in the front passenger seat and turn around to see him trying to figure out the car seat. ‘I’ll do that.’ He watches over my shoulder as I buckle in my son. ‘These things are a nightmare.’ I shut the car door and turn around to face him. ‘I’m sorry for not telling you about him,’ I blurt out. His green eyes study mine for a moment, the smile gone from his lips. He nods abruptly and then pats the car roof with finality.

  ‘Let’s move on.’

  My nose starts to prickle. ‘Okay.’ I climb in the car. Johnny raps on the back window and motions for me to put it down.

  ‘Bye, Barney,’ he says cheerfully. ‘See you tomorrow, okay, buddy?’

  It’s only when we’re driving away that I hear a rattling sound and look back to see Barney playing with Johnny’s watch. I smile and shake my head, then make a mental note to hide it in my nappy bag before Christian sees it. It’s not worth enraging him anymore tonight.

  The house is empty when we arrive home. I call Christian to let him know we’re back, but the phone goes straight through to voicemail. Hopefully he’s just out of reception. I leave a message and then get on with Barney’s dinner.

  By the time Christian’s keys sound in the lock at ten o’clock that night, his shrivelled-up dinner in the oven looks almost as bad as I feel.

  ‘Christian?’ I call anxiously, getting to my feet. I’ve been sitting in the living room fearing the worst. ‘I was worried something had happened to you.’

  He walks into the living room wearily and stares at me.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ he says.

  ‘Can’t do what?’

  ‘I can’t do it.’

  ‘You can,’ I implore, a lump forming in my throat.

  He shakes his head. ‘I can’t, Meg. I wanted to. I wanted to do the right thing by Barney. But I don’t have the strength. He won’t remember me—’

  ‘No!’ I interrupt.

  ‘He won’t,’ he continues. ‘Not when he’s older. Kids adapt very quickly, especially at this age. It’s better that I walk away now before it all gets too confusing for him.’