Baby Be Mine (9 page)

Oh my God, what does that mean? I’ve wanted to call Christian during every minute of the two-and-a-half-hour flight to Barcelona, but when I’m finally allowed to switch my phone back on, this is the message from him that greets me.

I grip my phone with white knuckles and call him. It rings and rings before reverting to voicemail.

Text me when you land . . .

Why? Has Johnny told him that he thinks Barney is his? I try him again as I’m waiting for my suitcase and again when I reach our car in the parking lot. I can’t think straight, and I need to concentrate on driving this journey that I’m supposed to be doing again in just two days’ time for Bess’s birthday. That trip no longer feels appropriate. I must speak to her.

Christian rings me himself when I’ve exited the motorway and have started winding my way through the mountains towards Cucugnan. I pull over and take the call, my voice shaking as I answer.

‘Hello?’

‘Five missed calls!’ he practically shouts. I couldn’t resist pressing redial another two times on the motorway. ‘Are you alright?’ he adds, and, thank God, he sounds normal.

‘I’m fine,’ I reply as some of the tension evaporates. ‘But you wanted me to call you when I landed and I wasn’t sure why.’

‘I said “text”, you divvy. I just wanted to check you got there safely.’

‘Oh!’

Dur . . . He wouldn’t ask me to merely text if it were something serious. I did say I couldn’t think straight.

‘Are you home yet?’ he asks.

‘No, not yet. How are you?’ I ask. ‘Why didn’t you answer your phone?’

‘I forgot to take it with me. Dad wanted me to go with him to see his solicitor. I’ve only just seen your missed calls.’

‘Aah.’ I so want to ask about Johnny, but I keep my focus on Christian. ‘How did the meeting go?’

‘Oh . . .’ He sounds sad. ‘It was just a formality, but it’s still not easy.’

‘Of course not,’ I say sympathetically. ‘I wish I could have gone with you.’

‘I miss you,’ he replies and I wish I could hug him down the phone.

‘I miss you, too,’ I say softly. I try to hang onto this warm, compassionate feeling, but my dark side drags my thoughts, kicking and screaming, towards Johnny. Finally I give in. ‘Is Johnny still with you?’

‘No,’ Christian replies. ‘That was a bit weird. He left when I took you to the airport.’

I swallow. ‘Did he?’

‘Yeah.’ He humphs. ‘I was only gone half an hour, I thought he’d at least hang around to say goodbye.’

Oh, God. He knows. He knows.

‘How odd,’ I manage to say.

‘You know what he’s like.’

‘Mmm. Well, give your dad and Joel my love.’

‘I will do. You should get back on the road,’ he adds. ‘Call me tonight?’

‘Yes, will do.’

‘Love you.’

‘I love you, too.’

‘Bye.’

I stare out through the front window.

Johnny left suddenly because he knows Barney is his. I wonder if I can convince him he’s wrong.

It occurs to me that Johnny might convince himself of that. He doesn’t want a child, for goodness’ sake. Why would he want to get involved when he’s so clearly not cut out for fatherhood? Surely he wouldn’t do that to Christian, either.

I have a sudden compulsive urge to hurt myself, to punish myself for what I’ve done. I take a few deep breaths and try to think about my son laughing, and even though that image is – and probably always will be – tainted by the knowledge of this overbearing secret that is no longer a secret, it does calm me slightly. I put the car into drive, indicate and pull away from the kerb.

Barney is with my parents on the terrace when I turn into the driveway. It looks like they’ve been outside under the shade of the umbrella waiting for me. Barney starts to squeak with excitement before I’ve even unbuckled my seat belt. The badness fades away and is replaced with an overwhelming sense of love and happiness. I run up the steps, not caring that my bare legs are brushing against the lavender with all its bees buzzing around. If I get stung, so what? I want to hold my son. My mum passes him over, laughing at our obvious delight to be with each other. I hug him tightly and then kiss his plump lips over and over again until he’s in hysterics. My face aches from smiling so much.

Whatever happens, happens, I tell myself. But Barney is mine and always will be.

  Chapter 10  

My parents leave the following day and Christian convinces me not to cancel the trip to Barcelona. I don’t tell Bess that I considered not going, because when I speak to her on Thursday night, she’s so excited about donning her brand-new swimming costume and leaping in the rooftop pool that I don’t want to dampen her enthusiasm.

‘What time does your flight come in?’ I ask her.

‘About midday, so I’ll see you at the hotel.’

‘I was wondering if I should swing by the airport to pick you up.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ she says. ‘I’ll jump in a cab. You check in and get the champers on ice for me. I can’t bloody wait!’

Traumatic though the last week has been, it’s impossible for her enthusiasm not to rub off on me. Which is just as well, because I don’t want to ruin her birthday by being miserable.

Barney and I set off the following morning in time for his nap. He falls asleep before we’ve even hit the next town. I plug my iPod into the stereo and try to relax as I navigate Christian’s black Alfa Romeo through the Pyrenees. Scraggly trees cling onto the rocky cliff faces and wildflowers pepper the sides of roads as crazy cyclists huff past us up the steep hills. We pass over glittering green rivers and through villages with old stone bell towers and the ever-present boulangeries, charcuteries and pharmacies. Wooden shutters on creamy houses are painted cornflower blue, and all the time the sun beats down from the cloudless sky. Just like Bess, I start to daydream about that rooftop pool.

The journey takes only two hours so we arrive around noon. I park the car in the underground car park across from the hotel and lug our bags towards the lift while single-handedly pushing the buggy. I’m glad I packed light. It’s a skill I had to learn when I became a mother and realised I wasn’t built like an octopus. We emerge into daylight and find ourselves in a square. Directly opposite us is a beautiful cathedral. I stand under the shade of a tree and try to accustom myself to the stifling heat as I point out the ‘big church’ to Barney, but he’s more interested in the yellow flowers that have fallen like confetti onto the ground from the tree over our heads.

The Grand Hotel Central lobby is dark, sensuous and blissfully cool. We check in and take the lift to the seventh floor. There are stairs directly from here to the rooftop bar. Our suite is huge. The sofa bed has already been made up in one room, and next door is a giant super-king-sized bed with a large bathroom equipped with shower and bathtub. Excitement swells through me and I remember with a small smile that this is remarkably similar to how I felt when I first saw my bedroom in Johnny’s house. How young I seemed back then. How old and jaded I feel now. But not right now. Right now, I feel young and free and I can’t wait to see my best friend and have a proper girls’ weekend, even if we do have a male toddler in tow . . .

I get us changed and lather us both with suncream and then we walk out of the room and push open the door to the outside stairs. The heat hits us again as we climb the wooden steps to the pool and Skybar. The first thing I see is the infinity pool, clear and blue and so inviting I feel like plonking Barney on a sunlounger and diving right in. We have a bird’s-eye view over Barcelona’s rooftops, and it’s a mishmash of beautiful old churches and haphazard rooftop terraces with television aerials and satellite dishes. Cranes spike upwards and penetrate the city’s skyline and the low murmur of building works creates a background noise that isn’t unpleasant. A flock of birds swirl around the hazy blue sky and planes fly to and from Barcelona airport.

Hurry up, Bess!

I carry Barney across the wooden deck and up a few more stairs to a raised platform under a white awning. Small pines line one side of the top deck and the bar is at the other side. I sit Barney on the black sofa seat beside me and give him a packet of rice cakes to keep him entertained. I’ll take him swimming in a minute, but for now I just want to soak up the atmosphere.

Bikini-clad model types laze on sunloungers beside the pool. For a moment, I wonder if I’ll be able to pluck up the courage to go swimming in front of them, but one look at my gleeful son tells me that of course I will. I remember going to the Mondrian Hotel’s Skybar in LA – funny that the two bars have the same name. I never would have gone swimming there in front of all those beautiful people, but being a mother has made me feel strangely less self-conscious.

Across the other side of the bar the lift doors open and Bess steps out.

‘MEG!’ she squeals, and several people turn to look at my friend. Her sumptuous curves are encased in an army-green tankini and her dark hair swings around her shoulders as she waves enthusiastically. I wave back and moments later I’m in her arms and she’s squeezing me half to death, both of us giggling our heads off.

‘This is amazing!’ she yells, not caring in the least that we’re causing a bit of a disturbance.

‘Isn’t it?’ I reply, as she turns to hug my slightly overawed son.

‘I brought you a prezzie!’ She reaches into her beach bag and pulls out a sticker book. ‘Does he like stickers?’ she asks me.

‘We’ll soon find out,’ I reply, smiling. ‘I cannot believe you used the lift! The stairs are only there!’

‘I know.’ She winks. ‘I wanted to make a grand entrance.’

‘That you certainly did.’

‘Where’s your drink?’ she asks, looking around with alarm.

‘I haven’t been to the bar yet.’

She tuts.

‘We’ve only just arrived!’

‘Never mind,’ she brushes me off. ‘Bellinis?’

‘I’ll get them.’

‘No, I’ll get them,’ she insists. ‘Have you seen the barman?’

I laugh and, like a whirlwind, she’s off again. My thoughts flicker towards Mandy and Christian and I’m momentarily swamped by grief. I’m going to have to make a real effort to conceal my emotions from Bess. I look over at her flirting with the sexy Spanish bartender and can’t help but smile again. It’s so good to see her.

‘Get this down ya,’ Bess says a little while later, handing me a champagne glass full of Prosecco mixed with peach juice. ‘Cheers!’

‘Happy birthday!’ I exclaim.

‘It’s tomorrow.’

‘I know.’ I grin at her as she turns to Barney.

‘I can’t believe how much you’ve grown!’ He looks distracted as he tears a yellow digger sticker in half. ‘Not quite getting the hang of those yet, then,’ she jokes. ‘His hair has gone blonder,’ she comments. ‘You look just like Mummy!’ she says to Barney. She studies my son’s face before glancing swiftly at me. My heart is in my throat for a moment, but Bess pinches Barney’s chubby cheek and takes a sip of her drink.

‘We’ll go for a swim in a little while.’ I pat my son’s arm and try to sound breezy, but inside I’m shaken.

By the time we return to our suite, I’m feeling chilled out again.

‘I can’t believe Christian booked this place for us,’ Bess says enthusiastically. ‘That was so, so nice of him.’

‘I know.’ I beam. ‘He’s a sweetie.’

‘How is he? I’m so sorry about his mum, that’s terrible news.’

‘Shocking. I think he might still be in shock. I don’t know if it’s properly sunk in.’

‘How awful.’ She shakes her head sadly.

‘I must call him later,’ I add.

‘I’ll look after Barney if you want to call him now?’

‘Actually, I might do that quickly. Do you mind?’

‘Of course not!’

I go into the adjoining room and find my phone before sliding the doors shut.

‘Hey, you,’ I say warmly when he answers. ‘How’s it all going?’

‘Not too bad,’ he replies with a small sigh. ‘Dad hasn’t looked at any photos today, so that’s a step in the right direction.’

I murmur with sympathy.

‘How are you?’ he asks. ‘Cheer me up. How’s your room?’

‘It’s amazing,’ I say earnestly. ‘Thank you so much.’