I trot downstairs and into the kitchen, noticing on my way that the living room door is closed.
‘He still asleep?’ I ask Christian.
‘Yep.’ He’s making a coffee. ‘Want one?’
‘Sure,’ I reply. I look around the kitchen. Joel did a good job of finishing up. We hear someone coming down the stairs and both turn to see Eugen enter the room. He looks weary.
‘Alright, Dad?’ Christian says.
‘Alright, son.’
‘How did you sleep?’ I ask.
‘Not too bad. Took a pill,’ he admits.
‘Want a coffee?’ Christian asks him.
‘That’d be good.’ Eugen heads towards the living room.
‘Johnny’s asleep in there.’
Eugen turns around with a start.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘Johnny’s asleep on the sofa,’ Christian explains.
‘Can’t he afford a bleedin’ hotel with all his money?’ he barks. It’s the perkiest I’ve seen him in days.
‘I’m awake!’ Johnny shouts groggily from behind closed doors.
‘Aah, he’s awake,’ Eugen says with satisfaction and goes through to the living room.
‘Couldn’t sleep with all that racket,’ we hear Johnny mutter for Eugen’s benefit and Christian and I glance at each other and smile.
‘I’d better make him one, too,’ Christian says as an aside to me. ‘Didn’t see him drink anything last night, did you?’
‘No.’
‘Unless he raided the booze cabinet after we went to bed.’
‘I don’t think so.’ I try to keep my voice steady as I continue. ‘I came downstairs last night to get a glass of water and he was outside having a ciggie. We chatted for a while.’ I’ve got nothing to hide, I tell myself.
‘Did you?’ Christian looks interested. ‘What did you talk about?’
‘Not much. He told me Rosa had quit.’
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘That’s a shame.’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘No. Must’ve just happened.’
‘Morning.’ An exhausted-looking Johnny emerges at the doorway.
‘Hey,’ Christian says. ‘Heard you didn’t sleep too well?’
Johnny glances at me in surprise, but quickly recovers. I don’t suppose he thought I’d tell Christian about our night-time chat. ‘No. How are you? Alright?’ He comes over to Christian and puts his hand on his shoulder. I worry the sympathy could have adverse effects, but Christian shrugs.
‘Pretty shit, but I’ll be alright.’ He laughs half-heartedly.
Johnny gives him a sympathetic nod and pulls out a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. He shakes out a fag and puts it between his lips.
‘I might just . . .’ He indicates the door with his thumb.
‘. . . pop outside for a cancer stick?’ Christian finishes his sentence.
‘You got that right,’ I snort.
‘Yeah, alright, Meg.’ Johnny pats my arm good-naturedly as he walks past. Christian smiles at me.
‘What?’ I say, when Johnny has gone.
‘See?’ he says. ‘I told you we could all be friends again.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ I mutter. But hope stirs inside me. I rarely admit it to myself, but I miss Johnny. I miss being a part of his life: his crazy, nutty, fast-paced life. I miss him.
Er, Barney?
Reality hits and a feeling of fear – a feeling I know so well – grips my throat and stomach. I can never be a part of his life. I can never let him meet Barney. For a moment there, I forgot that I’d slept with him, that I’d fallen pregnant with his child. For a moment, I forgot that everything was so complicated.
I turn away from Christian so he can’t see my face as all my positive feelings are crushed to death.
I tell Christian I don’t want breakfast and go upstairs to pack my bags. I take my time. I have a shower and put on some make-up in the attempt to make myself feel half-decent again. I carefully pack my things and then tidy the room for Christian. I feel so sad for him. I wish I didn’t have to leave him alone.
Everyone is in the living room when I return downstairs and I feel self-conscious and on edge.
‘Ready?’ Christian asks.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
‘Are your bags upstairs?’
I nod.
‘I’ll go and get them.’ He leaves the room and I try to find somewhere to turn my attention. I look at Eugen and give him a small smile.
‘Have you got any pics of your boy?’ Johnny asks and my whole head starts to itch as though imaginary ants are crawling around under a thin layer of skin.
‘Er, no,’ I manage to respond.
‘Christian doesn’t either,’ he says, rolling his eyes.
My relief is temporary.
‘I do!’ Eugen interrupts. I stare at him in horror as he reaches behind for one of the photo albums he’s been trawling through since we got here. Johnny takes the album and starts to flick through it.
In what feels like the distant background I can hear Christian lugging my suitcase and carry-on bag down the stairs, but I’m frozen.
‘What’ve you got there?’ Christian asks perkily, going to join Johnny. ‘Aah, baby pics,’ he says, glancing over Johnny’s shoulder.
‘He’s a looker,’ Johnny says, grinning at his friend. ‘Got your hair, mate.’
Oh, thank God. Barney is just a baby in the photos.
Christian laughs. ‘He’s got Meg’s now.’
I find my voice. ‘Come on, Christian, we should go.’
‘Right you are,’ he says.
‘Haven’t you got any recent ones?’ Johnny asks Eugen.
I tense up again, but he shakes his head. ‘No. Mandy—’ He clears his throat. ‘There are some on her computer.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Johnny says quickly, not wanting to set him off again.
I say my goodbyes to Eugen and Joel.
‘Thanks for all your help, sis,’ Joel jokes as I turn away from him to hug Eugen.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Eugen says, with tears in his eyes.
‘It was the least I could do,’ I reply as tears start to fill mine.
‘I’ll see you out,’ Johnny says and I don’t argue. I feel awkward enough looking at him, let alone hugging or kissing or doing neither of those things in front of Christian’s family.
Christian leads the way to the front door and opens it. ‘I’ll put these in the boot,’ he says tactfully, hauling the bags over the threshold and down the front steps.
I look up at Johnny. ‘See ya.’
He gives me a sad smile. ‘Bye, Meg.’
At least he didn’t call me Nutmeg again. I tell myself it’s for the best. I turn away.
‘Hey,’ he says with surprise. ‘Is this Mandy and Barney?’
I whip around and there, on the hallstand, is a close-up photo of Mandy and Barney. A recent photo. Johnny picks it up. I want to scream, ‘NO!’ but it’s too late.
I hear the car boot slam. ‘All set,’ Christian calls. I stare at Johnny in shock as he studies the picture and then everything turns to slow motion as his eyes meet mine. He looks stunned, like I’ve just punched him in the face. And if the similarity between him and Barney isn’t already clear enough, the look on my face will have instantly confirmed his suspicion.
I flee down the steps and climb into the car. Christian, oblivious, starts the ignition. I look out of the window at Johnny, who’s still staring after me, and silently beg him to keep quiet, to not say anything to Christian when he gets back from the airport, and then I face ahead and try to still my beating heart.
Chapter 9
Text me when you land
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 gi
ve 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.