Baby Be Mine Page 7

  ‘Get this down ya,’ Bess says a little while later, handing me a champagne glass full of Prosecco mixed with peach juice. ‘Cheers!’

  ‘Happy birthday!’ I exclaim.

  ‘It’s tomorrow.’

  ‘I know.’ I grin at her as she turns to Barney.

  ‘I can’t believe how much you’ve grown!’ He looks distracted as he tears a yellow digger sticker in half. ‘Not quite getting the hang of those yet, then,’ she jokes. ‘His hair has gone blonder,’ she comments. ‘You look just like Mummy!’ she says to Barney. She studies my son’s face before glancing swiftly at me. My heart is in my throat for a moment, but Bess pinches Barney’s chubby cheek and takes a sip of her drink.

  ‘We’ll go for a swim in a little while.’ I pat my son’s arm and try to sound breezy, but inside I’m shaken.

  By the time we return to our suite, I’m feeling chilled out again.

  ‘I can’t believe Christian booked this place for us,’ Bess says enthusiastically. ‘That was so, so nice of him.’

  ‘I know.’ I beam. ‘He’s a sweetie.’

  ‘How is he? I’m so sorry about his mum, that’s terrible news.’

  ‘Shocking. I think he might still be in shock. I don’t know if it’s properly sunk in.’

  ‘How awful.’ She shakes her head sadly.

  ‘I must call him later,’ I add.

  ‘I’ll look after Barney if you want to call him now?’

  ‘Actually, I might do that quickly. Do you mind?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  I go into the adjoining room and find my phone before sliding the doors shut.

  ‘Hey, you,’ I say warmly when he answers. ‘How’s it all going?’

  ‘Not too bad,’ he replies with a small sigh. ‘Dad hasn’t looked at any photos today, so that’s a step in the right direction.’

  I murmur with sympathy.

  ‘How are you?’ he asks. ‘Cheer me up. How’s your room?’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ I say earnestly. ‘Thank you so much.’

  He chuckles softly. ‘You’re welcome. What are you up to?’

  ‘We’ve been for a swim and now we’re getting ready for an early dinner. I’m hoping Barney will fall asleep in the buggy after that so we can stay out for a while. You know how he sleeps through anything when he’s knackered.’

  ‘Good luck. I wish I could be there.’

  ‘I wish you could be, too,’ I say sadly. ‘Have you booked your return flight home yet?’

  ‘No.’ Another sigh. ‘I think I’m going to fly straight into Berlin for the band’s next show.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I ask worriedly. ‘Isn’t that a bit too soon?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Joel’s going to be here for a couple of weeks, and Dad won’t let us help him clear away any of Mum’s things yet. I’ll have to come back in a month or two anyway, so I should get back to work.’

  ‘How long will you be away?’

  ‘Could be another week or two.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well, I missed the tour’s opening night so I’ve got a bit of catching up to do. Maybe I’ll only need ten days.’

  That still seems like forever to me.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  I take a deep breath. He’s already been through so much. ‘No,’ I reply. ‘It’s fine.’ But inside I’m disappointed.

  Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for Bess to lift my spirits. She’s cracked open the complimentary champers in the minibar and has poured me a glass.

  ‘I shouldn’t really drink any more,’ I say solemnly. ‘I’m a mother now.’

  ‘Bollocks to that!’ She chinks my glass. I grin and then cough as the fizzy bubbles hit the back of my throat.

  ‘You alright, love?’ Bess asks wryly. ‘You don’t drink much these days, do you?’

  ‘Not as much as I used to,’ I admit.

  ‘We’ll soon rectify that,’ she jokes. ‘How was Christian?’

  ‘Relieved that his dad has stopped trawling through photo albums of his mum,’ I reply with a sad smile as I put my champagne glass down on a table. ‘He also told me he’s going to join Contour Lines on tour instead of coming home again.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she says.

  ‘Mmm,’ I reply unhappily.

  ‘Sounds like you need a night out on the town!’

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more. Let’s get ready.’

  ‘Good plan.’ She turns to rummage through her suitcase. ‘Ooh, I forgot about this.’ She plucks out a box-shaped parcel brightly wrapped in paper decorated with rocket ships. ‘Barney!’

  ‘You’ve just given him a present!’ I exclaim as my little boy leaves his torn-apart stickers for a moment and comes crawling over.

  ‘This is his birthday present – I only sent him something small last month,’ Bess replies.

  ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ I chide. ‘But that’s very sweet, thank you.’

  ‘You won’t thank me when he opens it.’ She gives me a cheeky grin and helps Barney remove the paper to reveal a white toy bunny. ‘I’ve already put some batteries in it,’ she says, taking it out of the box and switching it on. The thing squeaks into life immediately before doing a sudden back-flip and landing on its feet again. A delighted Barney picks it up.

  ‘That is seriously going to do my head in,’ I joke, as the fluffy rabbit keeps on squeaking.

  ‘The joys of parenthood,’ Bess says smugly. ‘Now, help me decide what to wear.’

  ‘Come into my bedroom,’ I urge. ‘In fact, why don’t you sleep in there with me? We’ll put the travel cot in this room so we can chat and watch telly without waking Barney up.’

  ‘Alright, as long as you keep your hands to yourself,’ she warns. ‘I know your type.’

  I shake my head in amusement and we relocate her bags to the adjoining room.

  We used to live together and it’s lovely to be able to get ready for a night out, just like old times. Barney entertains himself with his new toy while I quickly unpack. Bess refuses to do so, even though the clothes in her suitcase already look like they’ve been in a jumble sale.

  ‘I’m only here for two days, you nutcase. You’re too bloody organised, that’s your problem.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I reply. ‘Right, what’s it going to be?’ I hold up my outfit options.

  ‘The jeans and sparkly top,’ she decides. ‘Save the black dress for my birthday tomorrow night.’

  ‘Good call.’

  It’s almost four o’clock in the afternoon by the time we leave the hotel, but the sun overhead is still beating down from above and there’s no shade even as we walk between the tall buildings of Plaça de la Cucurulla. Luckily there’s a slight breeze to take the edge off the heat and the shops are air-conditioned, so Bess uses that as an excuse to go into them and trawl through the merchandise.

  ‘Lots of shoe shops,’ she comments. ‘I’m right in my element.’

  Bess loves shoes.

  We wander down Las Ramblas. There are crowds of people gathered around a stall as we approach and I soon realise it’s a pet shop, right out in the open. Barney is beside himself, gleefully pointing out rabbits, hamsters, mice, birds, tortoises and even chipmunks.

  ‘That is so out of order,’ Bess complains. ‘Look at all those poor animals!’

  ‘They seem happy enough,’ I try to convince her. She drags me away, much to Barney’s dismay, but moments later we happen upon another pet stall.

  ‘This stretch is full of them!’ Bess exclaims. It’s true. One look ahead confirms this part of the city is animal mad.

  ‘You can’t get away from them,’ I say. ‘So let’s let Barney . . . Oh my God, that is the cutest hamster I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Meg,’ she warns.

  ‘No, seriously. I think I have to buy it.’

  ‘Meg, no,’ Bess says firmly.

  ‘But I wan
t it,’ I say like a small child.

  ‘You can’t have it,’ she replies like a mean old mummy. She gently eases me away, taking control of the buggy at the same time. My son continues to point at the critters like a little maniac.

  ‘Please,’ I beg. ‘Just one tiny little hamster?’

  ‘No,’ Bess tells me. ‘You’ve already got Barney.’

  I stop and stare at her, trying to keep a straight face. ‘Are you comparing my son to a rodent?’

  She tries to keep a straight face also. ‘You once told me Barney was the best pet you’d ever had.’

  Now I laugh out loud. ‘That was when he was a baby. He seemed a bit like an animal then.’

  She giggles. ‘Call yourself a mother.’

  ‘Obviously I was joking!’ I slap her arm.

  ‘Bin ladies!’ she screeches, as we turn to cross the busy road. I follow her gaze to see two blonde female refuse collectors, who are bloody gorgeous.

  ‘This city is bonkers,’ I say as we both stand there and watch them in awe.

  ‘I love it. Come on.’ She drags me away. We head down a side street as the city’s bells ring out to announce it’s five o’clock. I suggest we look for somewhere to eat before Barney gets overtired and after a while we happen across a pretty tapas restaurant called Bar Lobo. Herbs in terracotta pots adorn the wooden tables outside, and the metal chairs are painted in muted tones of green and grey.

  ‘Too hot,’ Bess complains, dragging me towards the door. ‘I know I’m a traitor to the Brit abroad. I should be sitting outside getting prawn crackered, but I need air-con,’ she says.

  ‘Prawn crackered?’ I laugh as I follow her.

  ‘Pink like a prawn and, you know, all crispy.’

  ‘Crispy prawn wonton? Prawn toast?’

  She grins over her shoulder at me. ‘Prawn crackered sounds better.’

  Inside there’s a big, open bar and kitchen and lots more seating. Dozens of oversized Chinese lanterns hang from the ceiling. It’s very trendy. We take a seat at a table and a waiter brings over some menus. We order a bottle of sparkling water to quench our thirst before starting on something more serious.

  ‘It is such a beautiful city,’ Bess comments. ‘This is the second time you’ve been here, right? The first time was when you went on tour with Johnny?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  This is the city where I saw him take drugs for the first time. My mum had just told me my grandmother had died. Upset, I went to confide in Johnny and walked into his room to see him snorting a line of coke. I was stunned. How naive I was back then.

  Suddenly I don’t feel quite so happy to be back in Barcelona.

  ‘So, he walked out of rehab,’ she says drily.

  ‘To come to Christian’s mum’s funeral,’ I reveal.

  ‘No shit?’

  I nod.

  ‘How did you feel, seeing him again?’

  ‘It was strange,’ I admit. A waiter comes over, interrupting us. We apologise for not consulting our menus yet and get down to the business of food.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ I say.

  Bess nods back, understanding that for now, at least, this conversation is over.

  Later, much later, after we’ve wandered the streets of the Gothic Quarter near our hotel and Barney has fallen asleep in his buggy, we find a couple of outdoor seats at a bar and order two glasses of Prosecco.

  ‘I’ve been very patient,’ Bess says mock seriously, her face lit by the tea lights on the table. ‘But now it’s time to talk about Johnny.’

  I sigh. ‘Do we have to?’

  ‘Meg, don’t clam up,’ she says firmly. ‘I know you. And you know you can talk to me about anything.’

  ‘True,’ I say quietly.

  ‘So what was it like, seeing him again?’

  I concentrate on the earlier part of seeing Johnny, and simultaneously try to forget about the look on his face when he saw the photo of Barney with Mandy.

  ‘I told you, it was strange.’

  ‘Go on.’

  I fill her in on the initial shock at opening the door to him and how he acted like he barely knew me. I tell her about how supportive Christian was and how Johnny put on an act in front of him. Eventually I get to the part about me coming downstairs in the middle of the night.

  ‘He was . . . different,’ I reveal. ‘More like the Johnny I used to know.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she says, shaking her head.

  ‘Bess, cut it out. I don’t mean I felt the same way about him as I did back then.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Definitely!’ I exclaim, trying to convince her. ‘I mean, look at him; he’s a mess. Has he even gone back into rehab?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ she says. ‘But he always was a mess, Meg. That didn’t stop you back then.’

  ‘I’m not the same person I used to be.’

  She examines me across the table. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘What about you?’ I change the subject. ‘Anyone on the scene?’

  ‘I had a drunken snog with some bloke in a bar last weekend, but that’s about it.’

  Envy racks me for a moment. The idea of being able to go out on the pull again, snog guys I fancy . . . I’ve hardly ever done that. I’ve gone from boyfriend to boyfriend, with not enough space in between. Now I’m tied in for good. Not that we’re married. Christian doesn’t believe in marriage. I’m not sure if I do or not. I always thought I did, but I can kind of see his point. Why do we need a piece of paper to validate our relationship?

  Barney stirs in his buggy and lets out a small squeak.

  Bess giggles. ‘He sounded like a hamster then.’

  I smirk. ‘We should get back. He’s going to wake me up at the crack of dawn.’

  ‘Sure thing.’ She flags down a waiter and asks for the bill.

  The next day, we go to see Gaudi’s Sagrada Família, and it still takes my breath away, even though it’s half covered with scaffolding. Bess holds Barney’s hand as he toddles along the top of walls and it makes me smile to watch them. After lunch we wander aimlessly around the city, down by the harbour, through the shops. Bess points wildly at a shop with a familiar red H&M logo gracing the front.

  ‘Ooh, ooh, ooh, Hennes!’ she squeals, pulling me in that direction.

  ‘Hennes?’ I ask in disbelief, pulling her back. ‘You’ve got Hennes in England!’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s different abroad.’

  ‘Bess, no, don’t be silly.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you don’t want to go into Hennes.’

  ‘Of course I don’t.’ I giggle. ‘I had a Hennes fix a few weeks ago in Perpignan.’

  She laughs. ‘I knew I recognised your bikini! Come on, it’s my birthday, I can do what I want to . . .’

  Forty minutes later, we emerge with more shopping bags to add to our already quite impressive collection.

  ‘Right, I think we should quit while we’re ahead,’ I say.

  ‘Rooftop pool?’ she suggests.

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  Everyone takes children out at all hours here, so I feel only slightly guilty about going for drinks again while Barney sleeps in his buggy beside us. We’ve found a gorgeous bar not far from the hotel and are sitting right at the back in black velvet seats. The lighting is warm and inviting. Bess fingers the sterling silver and crystal charm bracelet that I gave her this morning for her birthday.

  ‘Do you like it?’ I ask again.

  ‘I love it,’ she gushes as the waitress brings our drinks and some nibbles.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ I exclaim as we chink glasses for what feels like the hundredth time in twenty-four hours. ‘This has been the nicest weekend,’ I say, and I mean it. I’ve even managed to half convince myself that everything will be alright – that things will continue as they always have done, because there’s no way Johnny will interfere if it means him becoming a father.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it,’ she says, looking down, and for a spl
it second I get an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I choose to ignore it.

  I’m halfway through a story about the latest annoying thing my annoying older sister, Susan, has said, when I realise that Bess isn’t really listening.

  ‘Are you alright?’ I ask her.

  ‘Hey?’ She sits up straighter.

  ‘What did I just say?’

  ‘“As if a child should know how to say please and thank you when they’ve only just turned one.”’

  ‘Oh, okay, then, so you were listening.’

  Apparently, Susan told my mum I should have taught Barney better manners by now, which is just ridiculous. She and her annoying husband, Tony, don’t have children, and they act like spoiled children themselves most of the time, even though they’re eight years older than me. I don’t get on very well with my sister, as you might’ve guessed. Luckily I don’t have to see her often.

  ‘Yes,’ Bess says, then: ‘No, I wasn’t really. I just heard that part.’

  ‘What’s on your mind?’ I pry, as the uncomfortable feeling returns.

  She glances at Barney in the buggy. She looks shifty.

  ‘He’s asleep, don’t worry,’ I say, curious now.

  ‘No, it’s not that.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  She’s not meeting my eyes and suddenly the discomfort swells into nausea. I stare at her, the smile long gone from my face. I wait for her to speak.

  ‘I didn’t know if I should say anything,’ she says, edgily.

  ‘Then don’t,’ I reply quickly, willing her to shut up.

  She turns to look again at my son, sleeping peacefully.

  ‘Don’t,’ I repeat, my voice firmer. I was wrong to lower my guard. I’m remembering Bess’s face when she first saw Barney on the rooftop deck yesterday. It’s the same look she’s giving him now.

  ‘He doesn’t look like Christian.’

  ‘I know. He takes after me.’ I force a tinkling laugh.

  ‘He doesn’t look like you, either,’ she says seriously. She reaches into her bag and carefully pulls out a celebrity magazine. I know before I even see the front cover that it’s the same magazine that I threw out, the one with a picture of Johnny as a child inside.