by Paige Toon
‘Boo!’ he shouts, grabbing me around my waist and swinging me full circle, his phone pressing into my skin through my flimsy dress. He kisses me squarely on the lips and puts me down on the baking-hot terrace. I’m too taken aback to say or do anything other than hop, barefooted, back inside to the cool stone floor.
He laughs. ‘Sorry.’
‘I didn’t think you were coming home until next week!’ I exclaim.
‘I’m back for only two days,’ he cautions. ‘Then I have to go away again, but the band is taking a break and, after everything that’s happened recently, I needed to come home and chill out for a bit and see my little family.’ He seems so happy, like the weight from his mother’s death has momentarily lifted off his shoulders. ‘Where’s Barney?’ he asks.
‘Still asleep. He’ll wake up soon.’
‘I’m bloody boiling!’ he says. ‘Let’s grab our swimmers and go to the lake.’
I stare at his excited face and despise myself for having to put on a pretence for the rest of the day. Then again, what’s one more lie?
‘Okay,’ I say.
There’s a lake not far from here, down a beaten track off one of the mountain roads. Only the locals know about it, but Christian’s friend let us in on the secret when we first moved here.
We pull into the car park. Christian hired a car to bring him from the airport and he got upgraded to an Alfa Romeo 159 Sportwagon, which is the next size up from the Alfa that he currently owns. He has to return it in two days when he flies out to join the band at the next concert, but he’s really pleased to be getting an extended test drive because he’s been thinking about getting us a bigger car. His delight is just another nail in my coffin: there won’t be any need for a bigger car now.
The air-con has barely had a chance to kick in, but the heat when I open the car door makes it hard to breathe. The lake shimmers behind the trees as Christian leads the way across a small stream via stepping stones. Barney is in his arms.
We normally approach the lake via a wider stream and a grassy bank, but now we reach a concrete platform that looks down at the lake below us, deep and green and crystal clear. There are some teenagers dive-bombing into the water nearby. There are no steps here and it’s a drop of about six feet. I don’t think I’d fancy it even if I didn’t have Barney to think about. Christian looks at me with a cheeky grin on his face.
‘Can I?’
‘Can you what?’
‘Can I jump in and meet you over there?’ He indicates the bank in the distance.
I smile at him. ‘Of course you can.’
He hands me Barney and the two of us stand and watch as ‘Daddy’ takes a running jump and dive-bombs into the water, creating quite a tidal wave. Christian rises to the surface, gasping at the cold temperature. It’s impossible not to laugh.
‘Whoa! That was amazing!’ He looks like a child on Christmas Day.
It’s at times like these that I remember why I love him.
My throat aches and my nose starts to itch. I turn away and head towards the wider stream, stepping extra carefully so I don’t drop my son.
I remember why I love him . . . What a strange expression. Surely you always know why you love someone? Is it possible to forget? Sometimes in my darkest moments I wonder if I actually love Christian at all. That’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true. I’m fond of him – very, very fond of him – and I like him immensely, but love?
I loved Johnny. I loved him passionately. I just didn’t like him very much.
I see Christian walking across the grass to meet us on the other side of the stream. The rocks are sharp underneath my feet, but I’m wearing flip-flops so it’s not too treacherous. I am struggling to carry Barney and our bags, though, so I’m glad Christian has come to help. He grins at me as he waits at the muddy exit to the stream. His dark hair is dripping wet and his broad torso sports quite an impressive tan. He’s looking better than he ever has, with happiness and contentment etched into his face.
I do love him. Right now, right this second, I love him so much that my heart aches. Because I know I’m going to lose him.
‘Let me take that from you,’ he says, grappling for Barney and my beach bag. ‘You should do that next time,’ he adds. ‘It was so much fun.’
‘It looked it,’ I reply.
‘Let’s go up to the waterfall,’ he suggests.
‘Okay.’
I try to hold back my tears as I follow him across the grass to a tiny dirt track behind a dilapidated old stone building. The narrow pathway requires some concentration – there’s a hefty drop into the lake below – but eventually it widens and we reach some sandy-coloured rocks below a waterfall. Christian holds Barney while I lower myself into the water with a sharp intake of breath. The hotter I am, the colder the water feels, but I’m desperate to cool down. It must be forty degrees today. Christian hands me Barney and I dip him up and down. He gasps and wriggles in my grasp and I can’t help giggling.
‘How was Barcelona?’ Christian asks, sliding into the water beside me.
‘Good,’ I reply. ‘The hotel was stunning. Thank you again for that.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He smiles. ‘We’ll have to go back there sometime, just the two of us. Well, three of us . . . Maybe for your birthday in October.’
‘Mmm.’
I can’t do this. I just can’t.
‘You alright?’ he asks.
‘Me? Yeah, I’m fine.’
‘You seem a bit . . . off.’
‘I don’t feel that well.’ At least that part’s the truth.
‘Coming down with something?’ He presses his hand to my forehead.
I shrug and turn away, not wanting him to be kind. ‘I don’t know. I’ll be okay.’ I hope.
By the time Barney is in bed that night, I’m feeling so tense and ill that I’m actually dizzy with it. The fact that I’ve barely touched a morsel of food all day doesn’t help.
‘Are you still feeling rotten?’ Christian asks sympathetically.
This is it. This is it.
I nod, not meeting his eyes. Don’t be a coward, Meg. I drag them up to look at him.
‘Do you want me to make you some toast or something?’ he asks.
I shake my head slowly. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
‘What?’ he asks, his brow furrowing.
‘I . . .’ Again the words fail to come.
‘Come and sit down.’ He takes my hand and leads me to the sofa. His touch is warm and comforting. I gently detach myself and go to sit on the other sofa. He stares at me in bewilderment.
‘You won’t want to be near me in a minute,’ I manage to say. ‘You should sit down.’
He does, hesitantly. All of the happiness and contentment from earlier has gone. Now he looks worried and confused.
I glance down at my hands and then up at his face. I haven’t rehearsed this. Why haven’t I rehearsed this? I had enough time to do that. I don’t know where to start, what to say. How can I break such awful news to someone so inherently decent?
Christian speaks first. ‘It’s Johnny, isn’t it?’
His question takes me aback. It is, in a way.
‘You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?’ he says flatly.
‘No.’ I shake my head vehemently. ‘No! No, I’m not.’
‘Then what is it?’
Oh, God . . . Oh, God . . .
For a moment, I wish I had that magazine. I could have put it in front of him with a picture of Barney and that would have revealed the truth in an instant. But no, I should start at the beginning. I might not get a chance to explain otherwise.
‘I have to tell you something.’ I finally find my voice. ‘And I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.’
‘What is it? This is driving me mad.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. ‘I’m so sorry about your mum and what you’ve already been through. I can’t believe what I’m about to say . . .’
&nb
sp; ‘Meg.’ His tone is firm.
I take a deep breath and then it comes to me, the way I’m going to tell it. ‘A bit under two years ago, Johnny came to the house and tried to persuade me to leave you and to choose him instead.’
Christian nods tensely, willing me to go on.
‘I refused,’ I tell him. ‘But . . . I’m so sorry.’
‘What?’ he practically shouts.
‘We slept together.’
‘Oh, fuck,’ he curses, dragging his hands through his hair and slumping back on the sofa. He glares at me.
I haven’t even started yet . . .
‘Did you fuck him at my parents’ place last week?’ he spits.
‘No!’ I exclaim. ‘Of course not! It was just the one time. It’s never happened since.’
Some of his anger dissipates, and I sense that he would have forgiven me for this as it was quite a long time ago. But he will never forgive me for what I’m about to say next.
My eyes well up. ‘I fell pregnant.’ I stare at him and he stares back at me, not comprehending, not yet. Tears start to trail down my cheeks.
‘What do you mean?’ He’s confused. ‘You had an abortion?’
I shake my head, very, very slowly, not taking my eyes from his. Then, suddenly, he gets it.
The look on his face . . . It will haunt me for the rest of my life.
‘Barney?’ he whispers. ‘Barney is his?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, no, no . . . NO!’ He starts to pull at his hair, scratch at his face. ‘NO!’
‘I’m sorry.’
He leaps to his feet and stalks towards the balcony window. I stay seated, giving him space.
‘No,’ he says again. ‘No.’ He turns on me. ‘When did you find out? Have you always known?’
‘No!’ Words flood out of my mouth as I try to explain. ‘I wasn’t sure. I wanted him to be yours. I hoped he would be born with dark hair, and when he was, I cried with relief! But now . . .’ I stare at him miserably. ‘Now he doesn’t look like you at all.’
Christian regards me with hatred in his eyes. He’s never looked at me like this before and I deserve it, even though it’s cutting me to the bone.
‘Does Johnny know?’
‘He worked it out.’
‘When?’
‘In Newcastle. As we were leaving. He saw a picture of Barney with your mum . . .’
‘I’m going to fucking kill him.’
‘Christian, I’m so sorry.’
‘I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL HIM!’
Christian stands with his back to me, facing the mountains, breathing heavily. And then suddenly he puts his face in his hands and starts to sob. It’s the most awful, heart-wrenching thing I will ever hear. I hurry over to him and put my hands on his shuddering back, but he violently pushes me off.
‘I’ve started packing some things,’ I say quietly. ‘We’ll go to my parents in the morning if you’ll just let us stay tonight. I don’t want to wake Barney if that’s at all possible.’
His sobs stop abruptly and he looks at me in disbelief.
‘You’re leaving me? You’re not fucking leaving me! You’re not taking my son away from me. He’s my son!’ He aggressively points down the corridor and then turns his finger on me. ‘That bastard might’ve fucked you, but I raised him and YOU’RE NOT TAKING HIM AWAY!’
‘Okay, okay!’ I put my hands up to calm him. ‘I will do whatever you want me to do. I love you.’
He stares at me, his eyes wide and his shoulders visibly moving up and down with every breath.
‘I love you,’ I say again, willing him to believe it, hoping it will somehow dull the pain.
His face crumples and this time I can’t give him space. I throw my arms around his neck and he gives in, crying into my shoulder.
‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’ I say it over and over again. I’ll never stop saying it.
‘I don’t want you to go,’ he says in a muffled voice and I almost dare to hope that it will all be alright, that somehow we will work this out.
‘I won’t go,’ I promise. ‘I won’t leave you. I’m here for as long as you want me. I’m so sorry.’
‘Have you told your parents?’
‘No.’
‘Does anyone else know?’
I hesitate before owning up. ‘Bess worked it out in Barcelona.’
‘For fuck’s sake!’
‘She won’t tell anyone,’ I add quickly.
‘Good. Don’t tell your parents. I don’t want anyone else to know.’
‘Okay,’ I say, because I don’t want to hurt him anymore. But this is going to be complicated. Johnny is aware of Barney’s existence now. I can’t imagine how this is going to pan out, but there’s one thing I’m certain of: there’s more heartbreak to come.
Chapter 13
Christian cancels his trip to join the band, claiming there’s no way he can concentrate on work now. I don’t know how we get through the next few days, but we do.
His devastation is crushing, though. He can barely look at Barney without crying. It’s the most horrible thing to witness and I hate myself more and more with every hour that passes. I think Barney is confused. He’s acting fairly normally, but sometimes he regards his father with wariness. I hope with all my heart that we can get through this, but I’m far from convinced that we can.
Christian won’t look at me. He won’t touch me. He won’t come to bed with me. He sleeps on the sofa – refusing to let me sleep there – and speaks to me amicably enough when Barney is around. When Barney isn’t there, he hardly speaks to me at all. He doesn’t want to know any more details about what happened. He doesn’t care that this lie has been killing me. He sniggered when I told him I didn’t want to hurt him, but mostly his pain is pure, not poisoned by sarcasm or cruelty. Not yet, anyway.
I still haven’t called Johnny. I know that I have to. I just don’t know how. I’ve already been so deceitful and I don’t want to cause Christian any more pain, but we’re going to have to go there soon. Johnny won’t wait forever.
After six days, Christian tells me he has to return his rental car, because the rental company have started to charge him extra money for his upgrade. He needs to drop it off at Toulouse airport, which is two hours away, so I offer to follow him in our car to save him from catching a train back. He nods curtly, and I tentatively ask if we should relocate Barney’s car seat to my car.
‘No,’ he snaps. ‘He can ride with me.’
It feels strange driving his Alfa without Barney in the back. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. Christian drives faster than me around the winding mountain roads – he always has – but I’m struggling to keep him in my sights and I don’t feel as in control as I should be. What if something happens to me? Who would look after my son?
I put my foot on the brake pedal to slow myself down. If he drives away from me, so be it. I’ll find my own way.
He speeds around the corners and out of sight. I wish he’d slow down. What if he crashes and kills Barney? Suddenly I’m overcome with panic. I want to catch them up, even though I feel dizzy. I should pull over, but what if he kills himself and my son with him? Up ahead I see Christian’s rental car and I realise he’s slowed down, waiting for me. I take several deep breaths and try to compose myself, but it takes me a good ten minutes before I return to normal. Finally we hit the motorway and I relax.
When am I going to call Johnny?
Hang on, how am I going to call Johnny?
That second thought hasn’t even occurred to me until now. I doubt Johnny has the same mobile number that he had when I worked for him – he lost his phone twice during that time and I assume that’s fairly standard behaviour. Everyone used to go through his PA, but I don’t fancy calling her. What was her name? Lena, that’s it. How would I convince Lena that my message is one she should definitely pass on? I wonder if she even knows who I am. ‘Meg Stiles. I used to work for Johnny.’ The ghost of another PA befo
re her. Again I wonder if he’s come onto her, too, just like he did with Paola, his PA before me. Envy jabs at me and I’m revolted by myself. How can I feel envy after everything I’ve been through, after everything I’m putting Christian through?
Well, he won’t have shagged her if she’s still working there. I doubt it, anyway.
Christian will have his private number. But I can’t see that going down too well.
My phone beeps and I wonder if it’s Christian trying to tell me something. I keep my eyes on the road and rummage around in my handbag until I find it. I give the screen a quick glance to see if it’s from Christian, but there’s no caller ID – only a telephone number. I return my attention to the road but, moments later, curiosity gets the better of me and I slow down and take a look at the message.
Have you told him yet?
Johnny? My heart skips a beat. It must be from him. That’s so weird. So weird. I was only just thinking of him.
The weirdness continues to plague me as we drive on. What should I say? I can’t text and drive. I mean, I can, but I shouldn’t. Anyway, he can wait.
What should I say? What should I say?
‘Yes’?
No, that won’t do. I’ll have to explain, to stop him from contacting me again. Something along the lines of: ‘Yes. It’s been awful. Please give us more time to adjust. I’ll text you soon.’
That sounds about right, but like I said, he’ll have to wait.
I try to keep my resolve, but the urge to text him back keeps itch, itch, itching at me until I can hardly keep from scratching it. I’m about to give in when Christian pulls into a petrol station. We’re near the airport so he needs to refuel. Immensely relieved, I drive into a parking space and snatch up my phone. I type out the message and throw the phone back into my handbag.
Ping!
Another message.
Christian is still filling the car. I pick up my phone and read it:
How soon?
Oh, for pity’s sake. Leave us alone! No, I won’t reply. I won’t. Bugger it.