Baby Be Mine

by Paige Toon

  I force a roll of my eyes at him, but it’s disconcerting hearing him speaking as frankly as this. I lead the way back through to the living room.

  ‘How are your book sales coming along?’ I ask Christian.

  He grins. ‘Really well. Really, really well. Better than expected.’

  ‘Oh, Christian, that’s brilliant!’

  ‘I’ve been offered another book deal.’

  ‘Have you?’ I squeal, getting to my feet. He gets to his and we both hug each other happily.

  Christian glances over his shoulder at Johnny, but he’s steadfastly ignoring us. We both sit down again, but I can’t stop beaming. ‘What did your dad say?’ I ask. ‘I bet he’s proud of you.’

  ‘He’s thrilled.’

  I know from a previous conversation with Christian – after I’d finally built up the courage to ask – that his family haven’t forgiven me for deceiving them about Barney. They can, however, understand Christian’s desire to have a relationship with him. It hurts a great deal, but I hope that time will heal their wounds and that one day they’ll want to spend time with Barney themselves, if not with me.

  Barney starts to whinge, so we both turn around. He’s trying to take one of his toys from Johnny, a pull-along caterpillar that breaks into three pieces.

  ‘I’m fixing it for you, buddy,’ Johnny murmurs. Barney just whinges more.

  ‘He likes it like that,’ Christian chips in, a frown on his face.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Johnny asks, challengingly.

  ‘He prefers to bang the bits together. He doesn’t like pulling it along.’

  ‘Don’t try to tell me what’s good for my son,’ he warns.

  ‘You’re a piece of work,’ Christian says darkly. ‘I swear to God, if Barney weren’t here . . .’

  ‘Enough!’ I hiss. ‘I’m not having this anymore! We’ve all been through enough over the last year. It’s time to move on. Time for us all to move on. Barney wants both of you in his life, so you’re going to have to deal with each other whether you like it or not. You both claim to want the best for him – well, this is it! So get on with it.’

  Johnny, Christian and Barney all freeze and stare at me. I get to my feet and go over to Barney.

  ‘I’m going to make him his dinner. You two: talk. Sort it out. Don’t break things, for God’s sake, but when I come back with Barney in half an hour I want you to at least know how to be civil to each other.

  ‘No, I . . . I should get off.’ Christian starts to get up.

  ‘Sit. Down,’ I command. ‘Do this for me. No, not for me. Do it for Barney.’

  With that I walk out of the room.

  I return to the kitchen and secure Barney in his highchair before getting on with his dinner. I can’t hear anything for a while, but then come the raised voices. It gets very heated at one point and I have to resist going back through to mediate, but I know this is necessary. Finally I can’t hear anything and that almost makes me more nervous. Dinner over, I clean up Barney and tentatively walk back through to the living room.

  ‘Is it safe to come in?’ I ask from the doorway.

  They’re both sitting on the sofas, facing each other. Christian gets to his feet. ‘I should be going.’

  ‘Don’t you want to stay for dinner?’ I ask him, disappointed.

  ‘Not if you’re cooking.’

  I cast my eyes heavenwards at this much-abused joke. Barney leans out of my arms to go to Christian. I sense Johnny watching as Christian hugs him goodbye. ‘See you soon,’ he says, kissing him on his nose. Then he hands him down to Johnny on the sofa. ‘Go to Daddy,’ he says.

  Startled, Johnny glances up at him. I’m also in shock.

  ‘Walk me out,’ Christian says to me, touching my arm.

  I follow him in a daze.

  ‘See you soon,’ Johnny calls after us. We turn around. ‘Seriously,’ he says. ‘We should catch up again.’

  Christian pauses and then nods.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ Johnny says.

  ‘Was that okay?’ I ask Christian when we reach the hallway.

  ‘Not as bad as it could have been,’ he replies, before qualifying it. ‘No, it was alright.’

  ‘Did he say sorry?’

  He laughs. ‘What do you think?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Thanks for having me,’ he says.

  ‘You’re always welcome. Very welcome. When will you next come?’

  ‘Sara and I are going to a wedding next weekend.’ It’s not often he speaks about his girlfriend and it still makes me start to hear him say her name. ‘But the weekend after? Maybe go for a picnic in Hurley, if the weather’s nice?’

  ‘That’d be great. You know, you could always bring Sara along,’ I say, wanting to make amends in any way possible.

  ‘Maybe sometime.’

  I wait until he’s in his car and has driven out of the gates before I return to the living room. Johnny is tickling a giggling Barney on the sofa. I stand at the doorway watching them for a moment, remembering a time last year when I saw Christian doing a similar thing. I recall how sick I felt, seeing the dissimilarities between them – Christian with his dark hair and dark eyes, and Barney the polar opposite. Now, witnessing Johnny and Barney face to face like this as they laugh at each other, I know this is the way it’s meant to be.

  Johnny senses my presence and looks up.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ I ask him.

  ‘I thought I might stay here?’ he replies hopefully.

  ‘Of course you can. Not like we don’t have enough room.’ I start to tidy up.

  ‘Want me to do anything?’ he asks.

  ‘Actually,’ I pause. ‘You could take Barney upstairs and get on with his bath.’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  He whisks Barney up into his arms and carries him out of the room. I look after them. The whole time we were in LA he never offered to help with basic parenting chores. But then I never asked him to. It could never have worked because we never gave it a chance.

  I toy with the idea of staying away, to see how Johnny gets on with bath time, but then I see sense. Even Christian, when we were together, still managed to forget to do simple things like wash Barney’s face and brush his teeth, and Johnny won’t have the foggiest about where to find pyjamas or nappies. So I go up the stairs and head towards the noise. Johnny is on his knees, leaning over the side of the bath. He’s pushed his sleeves up and is zooming a toy boat around, crashing it into my hysterical son’s legs. Chuckling, Johnny glances up and sees me.

  ‘Having fun?’ I ask.

  He looks back at Barney and exhales deeply. ‘He’s grown.’

  ‘Children tend to do that.’

  ‘I didn’t think he’d change this much in the space of a few months.’

  I sit down on the toilet seat and rest my elbows on my knees. ‘You’ve got a new tattoo,’ I muse, staring down at Johnny’s arm. It’s a ‘B’. ‘Wait . . .’ I frown. ‘Is that for—’

  ‘Barney,’ he interrupts a touch awkwardly.

  ‘No way.’

  He shrugs.

  ‘I didn’t figure you for the sentimental type.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’ he asks, giving me a cheeky grin. The song he wrote for me comes to mind and I find myself blushing. Then it occurs to me to wonder how many songs he wrote for Dana. I stand up.

  ‘Would you get him out and dry him off? I’ll go and get his PJs ready.’

  I walk out of the room and down the corridor towards Barney’s bedroom.

  I’m standing on the cliff and Johnny is cupping my face with his hand . . .

  I shake my head. Then I see a naked Dana on top of him outside by the pool. I shake my head again, more violently this time.

  ‘Got something in your ear?’ Johnny asks drily from behind me.

  I jump. ‘That was quick. Oh, he’s still wet.’

  Bloody men.

  ‘Thought I’d get him dry in here,’ he explains.

  ‘Be
tter to keep him in the warmth of the bathroom in future.’

  He says nothing, but I feel bad for nagging. It’s not like he’s going to do this much – I should let him make his own mistakes.

  ‘Do you want to read him a story while I get his milk?’

  ‘Okay.’

  This is all very domesticated, I think to myself as I whack Barney’s sippy cup full of milk in the microwave. I don’t like to admit it to myself, but I miss having a man around.

  Oh dear. It’s so not healthy for me to have Johnny here.

  He does seem different, though. More stable, somehow.

  Definitely not healthy if I’m thinking things like that. Where’s that image of Dana again? That’ll sort me out. Urgh, yes, there it is. Job done.

  I go back upstairs and hand over the milk. ‘What do you want for dinner?’

  ‘Happy with beans on toast.’

  ‘Are you being diplomatic?’

  He grins up at me and the room shrinks. ‘No. I’m just not very hungry. I’m still on LA time, remember.’

  ‘In that case, toast it is. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and all that . . .’

  In the end I make us both an omelette and we eat it in the opulent dining room under the low-level light of a chandelier. It feels fraudulent – a five-course meal would have felt more apt – but it’s nice to sit across the table from someone and have a conversation that doesn’t involve talking about yourself – Mummy – in the third person.

  ‘Do you like living here?’ Johnny asks me.

  ‘I do. I really do, actually.’

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘I guess I am a little bit. But I haven’t felt this happy or more at home in a house or an area for a long time. Possibly ever. Mum and Dad moved abroad while I was still at university, so I lost my family home then,’ I explain. ‘Bess and I lived in a student hovel, obviously, then I came to stay with you—’

  ‘My crib wasn’t good enough for you?’ he interrupts.

  ‘Your house is lovely. But, as you well know, Johnny Jefferson, being in LA with you was not without its complications.’

  ‘Go on,’ he urges.

  ‘Anyway, Christian’s house was always Christian’s house—’

  He interrupts again. ‘Even though you lived there for two years?’

  ‘Even then.’

  ‘France – lovely, but, again, somebody else’s house. Mum and Dad’s place, and then back at yours.’

  ‘My place could have felt like home.’

  ‘No. Your place could never feel like home.’

  It’s true, I never did feel like anything more than a house guest. We were always visitors – never permanent residents.

  He frowns. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Don’t be annoyed with me.’ I try to explain: ‘It’s incredible – you know I love it – but it has too many bad memories. It would never feel like my home. It would always feel tainted.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear you say that,’ he says quietly. ‘But now this place feels like home?’

  ‘Yes. Even though it’s not. Henley does, too. I’ve made some friends here. I never had that in France. I’ve met a couple of other mums down at the playground. We’ve been to toddler groups together.’ He nods, watching me. I shrug. ‘It might sound trivial . . .’ I pause. ‘I do feel bad about not working, though.’

  ‘You can’t put Barney in a nursery because it wouldn’t be secure enough if anyone found out who he was.’

  I nod. ‘I know.’

  ‘Still against the idea of a nanny?’

  I nod again. ‘I couldn’t cope with someone else being as important a part in his life as I am.’

  ‘No one will ever be that,’ he says, the unusual voice of reason.

  ‘Maybe not, but I thought . . .’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I thought I might do some charity work.’

  He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. ‘That’s a good idea.’

  ‘I wouldn’t use your name.’

  ‘You can, if you want.’

  ‘No, I mean, amazingly, no one’s found out about us here, yet. I’m enjoying my return to anonymity.’

  He sighs. ‘You know that won’t last.’

  I look down at my hands. ‘I know.’

  ‘Have you told any of your friends who you are?’

  I laugh. ‘Who I am? You mean, who Barney is.’

  He shrugs.

  ‘No,’ I admit. ‘No one’s been back here, either. I don’t really want to explain how I came to live in a house like this.’

  ‘You could say you won the lottery,’ he suggests with a grin.

  ‘I don’t want to lie anymore.’

  He smiles sympathetically. ‘I was joking.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’re happy.’ He starts to get up. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink. Want anything?’ He sighs at the look on my face. ‘Water, not whisky, Nutmeg.’

  ‘Oh, okay. Sorry.’ I smile shamefacedly after him as he leaves the room. I get up and clear the plates, taking them through to the kitchen. Johnny is looking in the fridge.

  ‘What are you after?’ I ask him.

  ‘Water,’ he replies.

  ‘The tap’s over there.’

  ‘Don’t you have any bottled water?’ he asks.

  ‘No!’ I grab him a glass and fill it from the tap. ‘Bloody celebrities,’ I mutter under my breath. He grins and takes the glass from me, leaning up against the countertop. God, he’s gorgeous.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asks with amusement.

  ‘Let’s go through to the living room,’ I reply, my face heating up.

  ‘That’s not what you were thinking,’ he says, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘How long are you planning on staying?’ I ask over my shoulder, ignoring his tone of voice.

  ‘Couple of days?’ he replies and I experience a surge of disappointment.

  ‘Just a couple of days?’

  ‘Don’t want to outstay my welcome.’

  ‘You’re not. You can stay longer, if you want.’

  ‘Maybe next time,’ he replies, and I wish I hadn’t said anything.

  I sit down on the sofa and Johnny takes an armchair. Barney cries out on the monitor and Johnny is out of his seat like a shot. ‘I’ll go,’ he says, before I even have a chance to move. I stare after him in surprise as he leaves the room. He’s never done that before. He returns a few minutes later.

  ‘Okay?’ I ask, still slightly in shock. I know I shouldn’t be – he is his father and everything.

  ‘Fine.’ He collapses in his chair and stares up at the ceiling.

  ‘You do seem different, you know,’ I find myself saying.

  ‘I’ve missed him,’ he admits. ‘I thought I could kill the pain with drugs, but I can’t. The ache is still there.’ I hold my breath. Johnny rarely opens up like this. ‘I don’t want to be a fuck-up forever, like my dad,’ he adds.

  Johnny’s mum died when he was thirteen, and he moved down to London to live with his dad. Back then his dad overdosed on drink, drugs and women, and even though Johnny’s mum warned him not to end up like his father, he always worries that he has.

  ‘I thought your dad had changed since he got married?’ It was almost three years ago.

  He laughs bitterly and shakes his head. ‘He’s getting a divorce.’ He meets my eyes. ‘Shelley is pregnant,’ he explains.

  ‘No! But how old is she?’

  ‘Forty-five, something like that. Dad has been having an affair for the last year with some bimbo from the social club. So now my half-brother or half-sister is going to grow up having a shitty excuse for a father, just like I did.’

  ‘Oh, no, Johnny, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Just like Barney has,’ he adds.

  ‘Hey,’ I say warningly. ‘You’re not a shitty excuse for a father.’

  He puts his head in his hands and moans. ‘I can’t believe I let all those fucked-up
losers come over when he was in the house.’

  I say nothing. I still can’t believe he did that either.

  He glances up at me. ‘I didn’t take drugs that night.’

  I avert my gaze.

  ‘I know you don’t believe me.’ He stares at me, anguished. ‘But it’s true. Not knowingly. Someone spiked my drink.’

  I stare at him, not sure whether or not he’s telling the truth.

  ‘I swear to you, Meg. I was only drinking. That night, at least,’ he admits, because he can’t fool me that he was only abusing alcohol on the nights in December when the paps kept snapping him for the papers.

  ‘Who spiked your drink?’ Dana?

  He looks down. ‘I don’t know.’

  Neither of us says anything for a while.

  ‘I just wanted to explain,’ he tells me. ‘I really need you to understand.’

  I shake my head. ‘I’ll never understand you.’

  He regards me sadly. ‘No. I guess not,’ he says quietly.

  ‘Dana understood you,’ I point out, as sick nerves start to plague my insides.

  He shakes his head. ‘No.’

  ‘More than I ever have.’

  ‘No,’ he says resolutely. ‘No, that’s not true.’

  I pause. ‘I thought there was something about her that you couldn’t give up?’

  He looks at me for a long time with those piercing eyes and I struggle not to look away. ‘Turns out I was wrong.’

  ‘You think,’ I say wryly.

  ‘If she’s capable of hurting herself like that to get back at me, then I’m as bad for her as she is for me. I assume you saw the stories in the press.’

  I nod. ‘What if she changes?’

  ‘She won’t.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’ Why am I playing devil’s advocate?

  ‘Believe me, I do. Even if she gives up the drink and drugs she won’t change. There’s a darkness inside her. She’s not a good person to be around. For anyone to be around, not least my son.’

  ‘I never thought I’d hear you talking about her like that.’

  He stares at me directly and I try to ignore the swirling nerves. ‘I had a lot of time to think about things while she was in rehab.’

  Seconds pass before I tear my eyes away. ‘I think I’m going to go to bed.’