Baby Be Mine (11 page)

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.

I bury my face in my hands, my stomach churning horrendously.

‘I saw this a few weeks ago,’ she says.

‘I’ve seen it,’ I mumble. ‘You don’t have to show me.’

‘I thought they looked similar,’ she continues. ‘But I didn’t realise how similar until I saw Barney yesterday. I didn’t know whether or not to talk to you about it, but you’re my best friend. How could I not?’

I don’t say anything.

‘Meg? Please look at me.’

I let my hands fall to my lap, my face expressionless. She stares at me for a long time, a mixture of sympathy and concern written all over her features. But none of it gets through to me. I feel dead inside.

‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ she asks.

‘Right about what?’ I say slowly, wanting her to spell it out, not just to be sure about what she’s saying, but to make it harder for her. I’m certainly not going to help make it any easier for her. A feeling of dislike for my so-called best friend is starting to invade me. I know that’s unfair, but it’s how I feel. I hate her for discovering the truth.

‘Does Christian know?’ she continues.

‘Does Christian know what?’ I spit venomously.

‘Meg.’ She reaches out to touch my arm, but I snatch it away.

‘Get off!’ I all but shout, shocking myself at how out of control I feel. I glance quickly at Barney, but he doesn’t stir.

‘He’s Johnny’s, isn’t he?’ Bess whispers, and I can hear her perfectly, even with music playing in the background. ‘He looks just like him.’

I meet her eyes and then I crumble. A lump comes out of nowhere to lodge itself in my throat and the tears come. Bess touches my arm again, but I pull it away, not so violently this time.

‘You know you can trust me,’ she says.

I didn’t think I could trust anyone with this, but it’s all going wrong. It’s going the way I thought it would, but still I hoped that I could get away with it.

Bess regards me with sadness. ‘Have you always known?’

I shake my head and whisper, ‘No.’

‘What happened?’

I take a deep breath. Then I take another one. Soon I’m able to speak, but it’s not without difficulty. ‘It was when Johnny came back to try to convince me to go to LA with him. He wanted me to leave Christian. I refused.’ I look at her and she nods, urging me to go on. ‘I didn’t have the will to stop when he started to kiss me. He has . . . a hold over me. I feel drugged when I’m around him. At least, I used to.’

‘I know.’ She takes my hand and squeezes it.

‘I used to torment myself,’ I say, now a little manically. ‘My pregnancy . . . I used to torment myself with ludicrous scenarios, like what if Christian and I had more children and one of them needed a bone-marrow transplant in the future. Siblings are the most likely candidates for a good match, but what if the doctors discovered that they were only half-siblings? And what if my son or daughter died as a result of my mistake?’

There’s pity in Bess’s eyes as I continue to ramble.

‘Or what if we couldn’t have any more children and Christian found out he was infertile and always had been? I literally drove myself nuts contemplating it all. But I thought Barney could have been Christian’s. I tried to convince myself. Christian is a good dad.’

The lump gets bigger.

‘Does he know?’ Bess asks the question for the second time.

‘No. And you can’t tell him,’ I say fervently. ‘You can’t ever, ever tell him.’

‘Meg . . .’

‘No, Bess, no.’

‘He’ll find out. How can he not?’

I start to feel slightly hysterical. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know why he hasn’t realised already. I don’t know what to do.’

‘You have to tell him.’

‘How can I do that? It would destroy him!’

‘He needs to know the truth.’

‘Why? What good will the truth do any of us? Barney is used to having Christian as his daddy; he’s used to him! Christian loves Barney. And you know what Johnny’s like – what sort of a father would he make?’

Bess shakes her head, sadly. ‘It’s not about Johnny and Christian. I mean, of course it is, but you have to think of Barney.’

‘I do think of Barney!’ I cry, as sobs well up inside me. ‘I think of him every minute of every day!’

‘I know you do. You’re a great mum. But this is not about him
now;
it’s about him in the future. He won’t remember this time when he’s older. Sad as it is, he won’t remember that Christian was his dad.’

I brush away at my tears, but they keep falling.

Bess continues, ‘You have to sort this out before he’s old enough to remember. It’s the kindest thing to do. I’m sorry.’

I nod, through blurry eyes. ‘I know. I know you’re right,’ I choke out.

‘You have to tell him soon. You have to promise me you’ll tell him soon.’

Abruptly, my tears stop. I stare ahead in subdued silence.

The next day, I can’t look at Bess. She takes Barney down to breakfast while I lie on the bed and stare into space. Eventually I get up and pack our things. I try to put on a brave face when they return, but it’s hard.

I drive Bess to the airport. We don’t speak in the car, apart from Bess pointing out things to Barney. I pull up in front of Departures and turn to her. I still can’t look her in the eyes. She leans across and hugs me tightly, but I barely have the strength to return it.

‘You’ll be okay,’ she whispers into my hair. ‘It will all be okay. These things happen for a reason.’

I pull away, trying to stay strong.

‘Bye, Barney,’ she says to my little boy, strapped into his car seat in the back. ‘He’s beautiful, Meg,’ she says to me sincerely. ‘You’re lucky to have him.’

I nod quickly, but can’t stop the tears from filling my eyes.

‘Bye,’ I say quietly, meeting her gaze for a millisecond.

‘Keep in touch,’ she urges, and closes the door behind her. I drive away before she reaches the sliding doors.

  Chapter 11  

‘Go to sleep, Barney,’ I say to him when he starts to grizzle. I don’t have the energy or the patience to deal with him on the car journey home. I hope he naps soon. I need to think.

Christian is away for approximately another week and a half. It’s probably a good thing. I’ll need that time to prepare. He won’t want us to hang around once he finds out the truth. I’ll need to pack up our things and decide where to go. We could stay with Mum and Dad for a while. I’ll have to tell them what I’ve done. At least Mandy isn’t around to discover Barney isn’t her grandson.

I instantly feel dirty and disgusted with myself. How could I ever regard her death as a positive?

Barney drops off after a while, giving me the peace I need. The more I think about it, the more I know that Bess is right. I have to sort this out before my baby gets any older. If Bess worked it out, any of our other friends could do exactly the same. In fact, blind though Christian has been so far, if Barney and Johnny ever do meet, surely even Christian will find it impossible to ignore their similarities. It’s better for Barney that his life is disrupted now, before he’s old enough to fully understand or remember.

But, God . . . My poor, poor Christian. He’s already dealing with the death of his mother – how much can one person cope with before they break?

I feel like I’m close to breaking point myself, but this is nothing compared to what he’s going through with his family’s bereavement.

Do I really have to do this?

Yes. Yes, I do.

Bess calls me that night, after I’ve put Barney to bed. I’ve been walking around in a daze all day, unable to perk myself up, even though I know my mood has been affecting my son. I take the phone to the sofa and lie down in the darkness. I’m glad to have someone to talk to.

‘I wanted to check you’re alright,’ she says.

‘No. I’m anything but,’ I tell her, my eyes welling up. ‘I can’t bear the thought of hurting him like this.’

‘You haven’t spoken to him yet?’

‘No. I don’t know how I’ll keep up the act, but I don’t want to drag him home early.’

‘He’s going to know something’s wrong,’ she says gently. ‘It’s better that you tell him sooner rather than later, even if that does mean him ducking out of work early, so to speak.’

‘Oh, God . . .’ I start to cry.

‘I don’t know how you’ve lived with this secret all this time,’ she says in a kind voice. ‘It must have been awful.’

‘Don’t feel sorry for me. I deserve everything I get.’

‘Hey . . .’ she says soothingly. ‘I know you probably can’t see any light at the end of the tunnel, but you couldn’t have gone on carrying this burden around. It would have worn you down in the end, even if the truth hadn’t come out.’

I take a deep breath and try to stop crying. What she’s saying makes sense.

‘Bess, I think I’m going to go.’

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘You take care. Call me if you want to talk. I’ll ring again tomorrow.’

‘Okay.’ I hang up and take another deep breath. I reach for a tissue to dab at my eyes and then I blow my nose. I feel utterly wretched. I go to the French windows and open them up to let in the warm night air. If the mosquitoes choose to attack me, so be it. I want to see the mountains and I don’t want to see them behind glass. The sun has set behind me so the peaks ahead are dark. In the far-off distance I can hear a motorcycle screaming around the bends.

I wonder what Christian is doing. I look at my watch: it’s nine thirty. He’s probably backstage at a Contour Lines concert, pen and paper at the ready. The sound of the motorcycle is getting closer. Moments later, the machine roars into view at the bottom of our hill. Then it stops. The rider is staring in my direction, the low murmur of the ticking-over engine audible from here. How strange. Suddenly the person revs up the engine and starts to storm up our hill. And then stops again. Right outside our house. The terrace lights are on, but I’m standing here in the darkness, so I don’t think anyone can see me. My heart starts to beat faster. I don’t have a good feeling about this. The rider climbs off the bike and pushes it into our driveway, and then goes out of sight. Barney is asleep and I’m here alone. Did I lock the front door? I don’t know. I quickly run across the living room and check that the door is bolted. It is. Are all the windows closed? Yes.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

The person’s at the door!

‘MEG!’

Johnny?

‘Johnny?’ I ask through the wood.

‘Open up!’ he shouts, pounding at the door once again.

Stunned, I unlock the door and pull it towards me. Johnny is standing there, his helmet under his arm.

‘He’s mine, isn’t he?’ he demands to know.

I stare at him. His face is anguished.

He pushes past me into the house. ‘I want to see him.’

I come to life. ‘No. NO.’ I close the door behind him. ‘What the hell were you thinking, turning up out of the blue like this? Christian could have been here!’

‘What the hell was I thinking?’ He looks at me, incredulous. ‘Sorry, did you just ask me what the hell was
I
thinking?’

I ignore him. ‘Please keep your voice down. Come through to the living room.’

‘I want to see my son,’ he says slowly, adamantly.

I turn to look at him, a deadly calm settling over me. ‘You can’t. He’s asleep.’