Baby Be Mine

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.
    ‘Better 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