Baby Be Mine

by Paige Toon

  ‘Is it serious?’ I find myself asking.

  ‘You could say that,’ he replies.

  ‘Do you love her?’ A buzzing starts up inside my head, but Johnny never gets to answer that question because Barney lets out an almighty cry from the living room. I run through to where I’d left him playing on the floor. His face is bright red and tears are pouring down his cheeks. He’s clutching the back of his head with his hand. I scoop him up and cuddle him. Johnny joins me a moment later.

  ‘What happened?’ he asks with alarm.

  ‘I think he must’ve fallen over,’ I say loudly over the noise of crying.

  Johnny holds his arms out in an offer to take him, but I clutch Barney to my chest and shake my head. Eventually his cries subside.

  ‘He’ll be tired,’ I say. ‘I should take him for a walk to get him to sleep.’

  Johnny nods, looking slightly helpless. I quickly get my things together and put Barney in the buggy before heading out of the cottage and down the dirt track.

  It’s quiet outside, and I need the peace to think. I stride purposefully down the road as thoughts whizz around my head. I shouldn’t be here. It was safer in France with my parents around. Maybe I should cut this trip short and go back early.

  No. I can’t let him get to me. I can’t believe I’m letting him get to me.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and glance into the buggy. Barney is starting to doze off, but I don’t want to go back to the cottage yet. Or maybe I do. And therein lies the problem.

  Johnny’s bedroom door is closed when I return. I transfer Barney to his cot and go downstairs with my book. I lie on the sofa, looking at the words but not taking them in.

  I wonder what he’s doing.

  After an hour, I can stand it no longer. I go upstairs on the pretence of checking on Barney. Johnny’s door is still closed and there’s no sound coming from inside. He’s probably gone back to bed. Barney is still fast asleep. I return downstairs, but can’t be bothered to try to read. I decide to make an early start on dinner. Fifteen minutes later, I hear footsteps on the stairs and look around with surprise to see Johnny carrying Barney into the kitchen.

  ‘Did he wake up?’ I ask, going over to them. ‘Oh, God, I forgot to bring his monitor downstairs!’

  ‘You’re a terrible mother,’ Johnny jokes, handing him over to me.

  ‘Where have you been?’ I ask.

  ‘Chilling out in my room. Trying to write.’

  ‘You like writing here.’ I place Barney on the floor with a wooden spoon and a saucepan to bang it on. He immediately starts making a racket.

  ‘Must be the fresh air,’ Johnny replies sardonically, then: ‘Jesus, please tell me you’re not cooking?’

  I whack him on his stomach and he clutches it in fake agony. ‘You’ll get what you’re given and you’ll act happy about it.’

  He grins and leans his elbows against the counter behind him. He hasn’t done the buttons up at the bottom of his dark-blue-almost-black shirt and I catch a glimpse of his navel with the Johnny Cash lyric tattooed across it. I look up to find him watching me.

  ‘Need a hand?’ he asks.

  ‘You can chop that carrot,’ I reply, handing him a knife but not meeting his eyes.

  This is not right . . . This is not right . . .

  ‘What are we having?’ he asks.

  ‘Chicken stew.’

  I wait for the teasing remark, but it doesn’t come.

  ‘Next!’ he calls after a minute.

  I pass him the celery and he cracks on with the job.

  ‘Who needs Rosa?’ I say with a small smile.

  He laughs quietly and shakes his head.

  ‘If only your fans could see you now . . .’ I add: ‘Super-cool rock god Johnny Jefferson chopping vegetables.’

  ‘Meg, did you just call me a super-cool rock god?’

  I laugh. ‘I’ve called you that before, remember?’

  ‘I do remember,’ he replies.

  An image suddenly fills my head of me encircling his waist with my arms and smiling up at him, as if we’ve been together for years.

  ‘Anything else?’ he asks, dragging me away from my strange vision.

  ‘Um, can you just entertain Barney for a while?’ I try to focus on trimming the chicken breasts.

  ‘Sure. Come on, buddy, let’s go into the garden.’

  He goes out of the back door and I put the knife down on the countertop, trying to get my breath back.

  Barney wakes up early again the following morning. I bring him into bed with me, desperately hoping he’ll fall back asleep, but he’s having none of it. I’m shattered, and so confused about all the thoughts that have been endlessly spinning around my mind.

  There’s a knock at my bedroom door.

  ‘Come in?’

  I pull the covers over my chest because my vest top is a little revealing, and an extremely sleepy-looking Johnny appears around the corner.

  ‘I’ll take him.’ His voice sounds gruff. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, which he probably slept in, and denim jeans, which he’s obviously just pulled on. No shoes or socks.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I ask hopefully. Despite yesterday’s reservations, all I want to do now is close my eyes and sleep for a week.

  He nods. ‘Yep.’ He comes around to the other side of the bed and reaches down for Barney.

  ‘Go and play with Johnny,’ I say. Daddy . . .

  Johnny lifts him up and carries him out of the room.

  ‘Wake me if you need me!’ I call. Damn. Breakfast. I leap out of bed and go to the door. ‘Will you give him breakfast?’

  ‘Rice Krispies,’ he calls back. He’s halfway down the stairs already.

  ‘And can you warm up so—’

  ‘Milk. Yep.’

  I pause, half in and half out of my bedroom door.

  ‘Go back to bed,’ he shouts.

  ‘Okay.’ I smile and shut the door before doing as I’m told.

  It’s nine o’clock before I wake again. I could sleep for another hour at least, but I should get up. For a minute, though, I just lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

  Did I make the right decision?

  I can’t believe I’m asking myself this question, but I keep seeing Johnny playing with Barney and helping me in the kitchen last night . . . This could have been my life, my simple, domesticated, uncomplicated life.

  Uncomplicated? Am I insane? I know what he’s like, and, anyway, it’s too late.

  I climb out of bed and pull on my dressing gown. I’m about to go downstairs, but I pause and go into the bathroom instead. I might shower and get dressed first.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Johnny says when I emerge.

  ‘Ha ha,’ I reply acerbically. ‘How’s it all been?’ I survey the mess in the kitchen.

  ‘Fine,’ he says, scratching his stubble.

  ‘Couldn’t be bothered to shave this morning?’

  ‘I haven’t had a second to myself!’ he exclaims. ‘Anyway, you don’t care if I shave or not.’

  ‘True,’ I concede with a smile. ‘Thanks for the lie-in.’ My tone is sincere.

  ‘Anytime.’

  ‘You mean that?’ I open my eyes wide with pretend delight.

  ‘Ha ha,’ he mimics, patting his pocket and nodding towards the door.

  ‘You’re officially off duty,’ I say and start to tidy the kitchen. I seem to be smiling more these days.

  I bet Christian isn’t smiling.

  And at that thought, neither am I anymore. It seems all I have to do is think of Christian and I’m brought back down to earth with a bump. I wonder if that will ever change.

  After a while, Johnny comes back inside.

  ‘You’re wearing make-up,’ he notes.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ I brush him off. ‘I don’t usually bother, but I felt a bit more human after the extra sleep.’ I force a laugh and hope he doesn’t see through me.

  I tried not to make an effort after my shower, but I couldn’t s
top my fingers from reaching into my cosmetics case.

  I turn back to Johnny. ‘Why don’t we go out for the day?’

  Johnny lights a fire that night, just like when we came here in the middle of winter. It’s a strange feeling coming downstairs and seeing him sitting there in front of the fireplace, watching the flames. It brings back old memories. I instantly feel nervous. I should sit at the table and carry on with the jigsaw puzzle, but I’m drawn instead to the place where Johnny is.

  I thought I was over him.

  It’s clear I was wrong.

  He doesn’t turn to look at me as I slide down beside him, our backs leaning up against the sofa. I wonder if he’s remembering the same thing as me. This was where we made love for the first time.

  ‘That was nice today.’ I force myself to make conversation.

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Barney likes you.’

  He stares ahead at the flickering flames.

  ‘Are you alright?’ I feel compelled to ask.

  He says nothing for a minute, then: ‘I’m going to miss him.’

  I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. ‘It’s good that you’re spending this time with him.’

  ‘I want to spend more time with him. I don’t want him to forget me.’

  I fold my arms and focus on the heat. It’s a little overbearing, but I don’t want to move away.

  ‘We’ve still got a few more days,’ I say, turning to face him. ‘Will you come back to France soon?’

  ‘Of course. If that’s where you’re going to be.’

  ‘You think I should move out of my parents’?’

  He looks at me, his eyes even more intense in this light. ‘Don’t you?’

  He still hasn’t shaved. My gaze wanders to his jaw, to the stubble gracing it, and then back up to his luminous green eyes. ‘I guess so.’ I know I should look away, but I’m finding it impossible. Abruptly, he turns his head towards the flames. It snaps me out of whatever strange mood I was entering into. I quickly stand up.

  ‘I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Already?’ He looks up at me with surprise, then glances at his watch. ‘It’s only eight o’clock.’

  ‘I know. I’m knackered,’ I stutter.

  ‘You had a lie-in,’ he points out.

  ‘I want to read my book. It’s a really good one,’ I lie.

  I couldn’t tell you if it was good or bad; I’ve barely been able to take in one sentence since I’ve been here.

  ‘Fair enough.’ He turns back to the fire.

  ‘Night,’ I say.

  ‘Night.’

  One foot in front of the other, Meg, one foot in front of the other.

  I reach the bathroom and go inside, closing the door and leaning up against it. I should leave. I should get out of here. This is wrong, so wrong. I can’t go down this path again. I don’t know if my head would survive it, and my heart clearly still hasn’t recovered from last time. What is it about him?

  I need to meet Dana. That’s what I need to do. I need a short, sharp, reality check. Meet his girlfriend and let it sink in that he’s off-limits. He’s obviously into her. This relationship is different for him, I think. I instantly feel jealous and hate myself for it.

  Chapter 26

  I wake up at six o’clock the following morning, despite the fact that I’ve tossed and turned all night. I feel jittery. I want to see him.

  I need to meet his girlfriend.

  I sigh and climb out of bed. Johnny won’t be up for hours. I can’t bear it. Yes, I can! I pull on my dressing gown and head to the bathroom, then suddenly halt in my tracks. My song . . .

  I step quietly down the stairs and walk into the living room to see Johnny sitting on the sofa, quietly strumming his guitar. He has an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. I clear my throat and his head whips around.

  ‘You’re up early,’ he says, leaning his guitar against the sofa.

  ‘I could say the same thing about you,’ I say. Should I comment on the fact that he was playing my song? He doesn’t look guilty.

  He sighs and leans his head back against the sofa, taking the cigarette from his mouth and tapping the filter end on his thigh. ‘I’ve gotta go back to LA, babe.’

  ‘Why?’ I sink down onto the sofa next to him.

  ‘Dana’s freaking out.’

  ‘About Barney?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Nah, I don’t think so. Danger of relapse. She needs me.’

  ‘Oh.’ A lump forms in my throat and I try to swallow it. He is serious about her. Scarily serious. ‘When will you leave?’

  ‘As soon as Lena can organise a car and ticket. Today.’

  ‘We’ve got a car,’ I say, confused. It’s sitting out there on the driveway, a nice little BMW lent to us by a dealer.

  ‘I’m not going to take that from you,’ he says, frowning.

  ‘I don’t want to stay here without you,’ I reply automatically.

  His brow furrows. ‘Really?’ He’s surprised and I wish I hadn’t revealed that.

  ‘We’ll go back to France,’ I say.

  He regards me for a moment before speaking. ‘Okay. I’ll ask Lena to sort it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I go to get up, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back down again.

  ‘Meg . . .’ he says.

  ‘Yes?’

  He pauses for a moment, as if an idea has just struck him and he’s unsure about whether or not to go on.

  ‘Tell me,’ I press him, curious now.

  His words come out in a rush. ‘Come back to LA with me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You and Barney. Come back to LA with me.’ He sits up with excitement, running with the idea now. ‘You could have your own rooms, you’d have your own life, but I’d get to see him every day. He would know me.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m not.’ He shakes his head fervently.

  ‘What about my parents? They haven’t exactly enjoyed reading about you in the papers, recently.’

  ‘Yeah, but surely they still want what’s best for Barney.’

  ‘You think this is what’s best for Barney?’

  ‘Yes. I do, actually. He’s my son. I’m his dad. He should be with me.’

  I take a gulp of air. ‘What about Dana?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Don’t you think you should talk to her about this?’

  ‘How do you know I haven’t?’

  ‘Have you?’

  Pause. ‘No.’

  I look at him sadly. ‘I can’t, Johnny.’

  He takes my hands and stares into my eyes, pleading with me. ‘Yes, you can.’

  I detach my hands. ‘No, I can’t, Johnny. I can’t go back there again.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the same as before,’ he tries to reason with me.

  ‘How do you know? It might be even worse, with you two getting off your heads on drugs . . . I can’t put Barney into a situation like that.’

  ‘I won’t relapse again. I promise you.’

  ‘I thought addicts weren’t supposed to make promises like that.’

  He shakes his head. ‘How did you get to be so smart?’

  ‘I’m not smart. Just one look at my crazy, fucked-up life should tell you that.’

  ‘Language . . .’

  We smile at each other sadly.

  ‘You’re not fucked-up, Meg. It’s time to move on. You’ve got a son, an amazing son. I’ve got an amazing son. I don’t want to be a peripheral part of his life – I want to mean something to him. I want him to call me “Dad”. I want the world to know he’s mine. Not yet,’ he says hurriedly. ‘We need space first without the press harassing us.’

  I shake my head and look away. ‘No. Just you saying that reminds me of how it is.’ I still remember being hounded by the paparazzi one time when I drove Johnny’s Porsche and they thought I was him. ‘I don’t want that for Barney,’ I add.

  ‘You don’t have a choice. The press are going to
find out about him sometime, whether you like it or not,’ he states. ‘At least in LA you’d both have protection; you know my security guys are some of the best in the business. Wouldn’t it be better for Barney to grow up with this life from the start, so he doesn’t know any different? Wouldn’t that be better than him getting thrown in at the deep end when he’s older?’

  ‘Like me?’ I say with a wry smile.

  He mirrors my expression. ‘Think about it. Please, Meg.’ I notice he’s not calling me Nutmeg. He must be serious. ‘Just think about it.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘It is so good to see you again, Miss Stiles.’

  I smile ahead at the driver, who’s grinning back at me in his rear-view mirror. ‘It’s good to see you too, Davey.’

  ‘I don’t know, I just had a feeling about you, that something was different. I see now that I was right!’ he exclaims, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at Barney, who is strapped into a brand-new and very smart car seat.

  I shrug, embarrassed. ‘What can I say?’

  He chuckles with amusement and shakes his head. I peer out of my window at the skinny-as-a-beanpole palm trees towering overhead. The sun beats down from a hazy blue sky. I’m thankful for the air-conditioning in the limo. Even in October, LA is warm and muggy.

  Did I just say LA? That’s where we are: the City of Angels. My head is still spinning about the fact that I agreed to Johnny’s crazy suggestion.

  My parents weren’t too pleased about it. It took only a few hours of being back in Grasse with them for me to make up my mind, and once that was done, there was no turning back. They’ve accepted it now. But they did make me promise I would tell Susan and Tony the real reason behind Johnny’s visit back in August. I still haven’t got around to it.

  Davey drives through the gates into Bel Air, past Elvis’s old house and countless other mansions belonging to the rich and famous. We climb upwards into the hills – the journey taking longer than I remember from when I used to live here – and then we reach some imposing wooden gates, equipped with intimidating security cameras. Davey speaks into the intercom and the gates slowly open, then it’s along a winding driveway until, finally, there’s a break in the trees and there, in front of us, is Johnny’s house.

  I stare out at the modern, white concrete, two-storey architectural masterpiece and feel slightly breathless.