Baby Be Mine (18 page)

The car turns up at two o’clock, a dark grey Golf GTI with shiny alloys and leather interiors.

‘What did I tell you?’ I stare at Johnny, gobsmacked. ‘No! You’re not buying me a car!’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Meg, it’s like a drop in the fucking—’

‘Don’t swear.’

‘. . . ocean for me. Take the fu— Take the car.’

‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘I can’t accept it.’

‘Yes, you can,’ he says firmly, directing the truck driver to lower the car onto the road with a flick of his finger.

‘And you gave Barney the watch, too,’ I point out, remembering the platinum timepiece that’s still buried in my nappy bag.

‘Drop in the ocean, Nutmeg, drop in the ocean.’

‘Stop calling me Nutmeg.’

‘Why?’

‘Just stop.’

He chuckles, infuriatingly. The truck driver gets out of his cab and comes over to us with some paperwork.

‘You don’t want to make him take it away again,’ Johnny says in a soothing tone. ‘Think of poor Lena, all the effort she went to, to find it in time.’

I glare at him and take the pen from the driver. Again I wonder what Lena is like, what she must think of me. I turn back to Johnny and point the pen at him accusingly. ‘Okay, but I’m paying you back.’ I sign my name where the driver indicates.

Johnny grabs Barney and swings him up onto his shoulders. The truck driver holds the keys out to Johnny, but he nods his head in my direction. I take them with building excitement, even though I don’t feel like I have the right to be excited about anything right now.

‘Come on, let’s go and see your mum’s new car,’ he says over the roar of the truck engine. A sandy cloud of dust puffs in our direction as the truck makes off down the hill. We walk over to the car.

‘What’s Lena like?’ Curiosity has got the better of me.

‘She’s great,’ he enthuses, breaking off to go to the front passenger seat. ‘Married,’ he adds with a knowing look at me over the car roof.

Married? Relief surges through me, but I’m instantly annoyed with myself.

Johnny climbs in and I follow suit. This car is left-hand drive – Christian’s Alfa is right-hand drive because we brought it from the UK – but it shouldn’t be too hard to get used to the change.

Barney sits on Johnny’s knee and leans forward to press the dials and knobs on the dashboard. I glance at him, so comfortable on the knee of someone he hardly knows. A child’s innocence. I hope it’s true that young children adapt quickly to new situations. I hope so with all my heart.

I don’t want to stay another night in our house without Christian, so Johnny helps me switch the car seats from Christian’s Alfa and load up all our bags – most of which are the plastic shopping variety as only one of our suitcases is actually mine. I’ve told Barney we’re going to stay with Nanny and Grandad, and he’s too young to understand it’s anything out of the ordinary. Earlier I asked Johnny to take Barney out for a walk while I tidied the house for Christian; it’s going to be hard enough for him walking back into it empty. I write him a letter and leave it on the coffee table in the living room. There’s nothing in it that I haven’t already said, but I want him to have something solid that reminds him how much I love him and how sorry I am. I hope he reads it before tearing it up.

Johnny leaves before we do. He’s not the sort to stand and wave goodbye.

‘Thank you for all your help this last couple of days,’ I say as he sits astride his Ducatti with his helmet still on the handlebars. I feel awkward trying to convey my appreciation. ‘Have a good flight home. I hope Dana’s gig goes well.’ It’s hard to say the last part, but I feel it’s necessary.

Johnny nods towards Barney. ‘I want to come back and see him again soon.’

‘Sure.’

‘Your parents are in Grasse, is that what you said?’

‘Yes. The nearest airport is Nice.’

‘I’ll call you next week to sort something out.’

‘Okay.’ I feel pleased.

He pulls his helmet on, leaving the visor up. ‘See ya, buddy,’ he says to Barney, ruffling his hair. ‘See ya,’ he says to me and his green eyes look more intense because that’s all I can see of his face. Then he flips his visor down and starts up the ignition. He roars away, leaving me alone with my son.

We’re going to have to get used to this. But I appreciated the distraction while we had it.

Buckled into our respective car seats, I stare out of the window at our little house in Cucugnan. Lonely though it was at times, I did love it here. I don’t know if I’ll ever return.

I breathe in deeply and the smell of the new leather interiors fills my nostrils.

‘Okay, baby?’ I say to Barney in the rear-view mirror.

‘Da-da-da-da-da,’ he babbles.

My heart splinters into pieces and I drive away from the kerb.

  Chapter 19  

My parents live in a two-storey cream-coloured villa with dark-wood shutters and leafy green vines creeping up the walls. It’s situated in the hills south of the medieval town’s centre and the view across the valley is spectacular, especially at sunset, which is when Barney and I pull up. He’s already dozed off. I’m glad my parents have a travel cot because I should be able to put him straight into it and pray that he stays asleep until morning. Mum, Dad and I have a lot to talk about.

My Barney plan works – just. I take a few minutes to make sure he’s settled properly before going downstairs to the living room to discover that Dad has already unpacked most of our belongings from the car.

‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say quietly.

My mum comes in. ‘I didn’t know if you’d eat on the way, but I saved some dinner for you just in case.’

‘I’m not really hungry,’ I tell her.

‘Come out to the terrace,’ Dad urges. ‘You should eat something and I’ll get you a glass of wine as well. Red? White?’

‘I don’t know, whatever’s open. Thank you!’ I call after him.

‘So I’ll get you some dinner?’ Mum persists.

I nod. ‘I guess so. Thank you,’ I add, feeling compelled to be particularly polite to my parents.

We go outside and sit at the glass table on the stone-tiled terrace. There’s a decent-sized rectangular-shaped swimming pool in front of us and, beyond that, neatly mown grass. The property is bordered by trees – palms, pines, lilacs – which offer some privacy from the surrounding villas, but, as we’re on a slope, they don’t interfere with the view of the valley from the terrace.

‘How was the drive?’ Dad asks when we’re seated. My dad is of medium height and build, with greying brown hair. Just like Mum and me, he also has brown eyes. My mum is slightly taller than him when she wears heels, which isn’t very often. Her hair is a darker shade of blonde than mine. They’ve been married thirty-odd years after meeting in their early twenties. My mum used to work in a dry-cleaner’s in Guildford, where we’re from. Dad used to get his business suits done there. He worked in a bank – arranging mortgages was his speciality – until he retired a few years ago and they moved here.

‘Fine. Good,’ I tell him.

‘What’s with the car?’ he asks. ‘Bit too nice for a rental, isn’t it?’

I swallow my food, hard. ‘Johnny bought it for me.’

They both reel backwards and glance at each other with surprise.

‘It’s not a big deal,’ I tell them. ‘He insisted. He said it was like a – and I quote – “drop in the ocean”.’

‘Hmm,’ my mum says wryly.

‘Well, if he can afford it, why shouldn’t he buy my little girl a car? You are the mother of his child, after all.’ The cheeriness in my dad’s tone is forced. It’s clear he’s finding it hard to make light of the situation.

‘Oh, Meg . . .’ my mum says. Here we go.

‘I know, Mum,’ I respond. ‘I don’t blame you for being disappointed, but I’m trying to do the right thing, now.’

She nods, tears in her eyes. I look down at my food. I have absolutely zero appetite, but I don’t want to let Mum’s cooking go to waste.

She shakes her head disapprovingly. ‘I knew something was up that time we came to see you in Paris.’

‘Nothing had even happened between us then!’ I respond indignantly.

‘No, but I could see it, the way you were running around after him.’

It was when we were on tour. Johnny went haywire and I had to leave my parents having dinner at the Pompidou centre to go after him.

‘It was my job,’ I say wearily. ‘It had nothing to do with my feelings for him.’

‘But, still,’ Mum says.

I pick at my food.

‘How’s Christian?’ she asks.

‘Not good,’ I admit, looking down at the table because I can’t face her expression. ‘He’ll never forgive me.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Dad says kindly.

‘You’re wrong about that,’ I tell him. ‘But thanks, anyway.’

‘Goodness me.’ Mum sighs. ‘Goodness me.’

‘What?’ I ask, because this is a different tone from the ‘Oh, Meg’ I’ve been getting so used to.

‘Johnny Jefferson. What will Barbara say?’

Barbara is one of my mum’s ex-pat bridge buddies.

‘You can’t tell her,’ I say fervently. ‘You can’t tell anyone.’

‘Well, we’re going to have to tell people sometime,’ Mum says, slightly put out.

‘Not yet. Not until it’s right. That goes for Susan and Tony, too,’ I say of my older sister and her irritating husband. ‘I don’t want them blabbing about it to all and sundry.’

‘They wouldn’t do that,’ my mum snaps.

‘Yes, they would,’ I insist.

‘You’re going to have to tell them at some point. They’re family. They have a right to know.’

‘Yes, but we need time to get used to all this. It’s a very strange situation for Johnny, too. He wants to spend some time with Barney, get to know him without the press interfering.’

‘Has he got any other kids?’ Dad asks.

‘No!’ I exclaim.

He shrugs. ‘I just thought, well, these rock stars . . . They often have secret offspring hidden away. They do get around a bit.’

‘Dad!’ I cry.

‘Geoffrey!’ Mum cries simultaneously.

My dad looks defensive. ‘It wouldn’t be that surprising, I didn’t think.’

I feel sick again. Can you imagine? If Barney weren’t his only illegitimate child . . . If there were more mothers like me out there, that he’s been looking after, paying off . . . But, no. I would have known it. I was his PA – he couldn’t have kept that from me. Could he? And that look on his face . . . I’m sure Barney is his first. I hope for all our sakes he’ll be his last.

God, how horrid, though. As if this doesn’t feel tainted enough.

‘You alright, love?’ Dad asks.

‘Actually, I’m very tired. Would you mind if I turned in?’ I push my chair out from the table.

‘Of course not,’ Mum says, getting up and taking my plate.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

‘It’s okay,’ she responds brightly. ‘Next door’s dog can finish it off. He’s always hanging around out at the front.’

‘I didn’t mean my dinner,’ I say, ‘although I am sorry about that, too. I’m sorry for . . . all this.’

Mum nods. Dad gives me a sympathetic smile and rubs my shoulder.

‘These things are put here to challenge us,’ he says. ‘But you’ll make it through. Better the truth comes out now than in a few years.’

‘Yes,’ Mum agrees.

‘I just wish I hadn’t done it.’ I stare ahead in a daze.

‘No, you don’t,’ Mum says shrewdly.

I look at her with astonishment.

‘If you hadn’t done it, Barney wouldn’t be in our lives. None of us would change that for the world.’

  Chapter 18