Baby Be Mine

complications.’
    ‘Go on,’ he urges.
    ‘Anyway, Christian’s house was always Christian’s house—’
    He interrupts again. ‘Even though you lived there for two years?’
    ‘Even then.’
    ‘France – lovely, but, again, somebody else’s house. Mum and Dad’s place, and then back at yours.’
    ‘My place could have felt like home.’
    ‘No. Your place could never feel like home.’
    It’s true, I never did feel like anything more than a house guest. We were always visitors – never permanent residents.
    He frowns. ‘Why not?’
    ‘Don’t be annoyed with me.’ I try to explain: ‘It’s incredible – you know I love it – but it has too many bad memories. It would never feel like my home. It would always feel tainted.’
    ‘I’m sorry to hear you say that,’ he says quietly. ‘But now this place feels like home?’
    ‘Yes. Even though it’s not. Henley does, too. I’ve made some friends here. I never had that in France. I’ve met a couple of other mums down at the playground. We’ve been to toddler groups together.’ He nods, watching me. I shrug. ‘It might sound trivial . . .’ I pause. ‘I do feel bad about not working, though.’
    ‘You can’t put Barney in a nursery because it wouldn’t be secure enough if anyone found out who he was.’
    I nod. ‘I know.’
    ‘Still against the idea of a nanny?’
    I nod again. ‘I couldn’t cope with someone else being as important a part in his life as I am.’
    ‘No one will ever be that,’ he says, the unusual voice of reason.
    ‘Maybe not, but I thought . . .’
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘I thought I might do some charity work.’
    He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. ‘That’s a good idea.’
    ‘I wouldn’t use your name.’
    ‘You can, if you want.’
    ‘No, I mean, amazingly, no one’s found out about us here, yet. I’m enjoying my return to anonymity.’
    He sighs. ‘You know that won’t last.’
    I look down at my hands. ‘I know.’
    ‘Have you told any of your friends who you are?’
    I laugh. ‘Who I am? You mean, who Barney is.’
    He shrugs.
    ‘No,’ I admit. ‘No one’s been back here, either. I don’t really want to explain how I came to live in a house like this.’
    ‘You could say you won the lottery,’ he suggests with a grin.
    ‘I don’t want to lie anymore.’
    He smiles sympathetically. ‘I was joking.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Well, I’m glad you’re happy.’ He starts to get up. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink. Want anything?’ He sighs at the look on my face. ‘Water, not whisky, Nutmeg.’
    ‘Oh, okay. Sorry.’ I smile shamefacedly after him as he leaves the room. I get up and clear the plates, taking them through to the kitchen. Johnny is looking in the fridge.
    ‘What are you after?’ I ask him.
    ‘Water,’ he replies.
    ‘The tap’s over there.’
    ‘Don’t you have any bottled water?’ he asks.
    ‘No!’ I grab him a glass and fill it from the tap. ‘Bloody celebrities,’ I mutter under my breath. He grins and takes the glass from me, leaning up against the countertop. God, he’s gorgeous.
    ‘What are you thinking?’ he asks with amusement.
    ‘Let’s go through to the living room,’ I reply, my face heating up.
    ‘That’s not what you were thinking,’ he says, raising his eyebrows.
    ‘How long are you planning on staying?’ I ask over my shoulder, ignoring his tone of voice.
    ‘Couple of days?’ he replies and I experience a surge of disappointment.
    ‘Just a couple of days?’
    ‘Don’t want to outstay my welcome.’
    ‘You’re not. You can stay longer, if you want.’
    ‘Maybe next time,’ he replies, and I wish I hadn’t said anything.
    I sit down on the sofa and Johnny takes an armchair. Barney cries out on the monitor and Johnny is out of his seat like a shot. ‘I’ll go,’ he says, before I even have a chance to move. I stare after him in surprise as he leaves the room. He’s never done that before. He returns a few minutes later.
    ‘Okay?’ I ask, still slightly in shock. I know I shouldn’t be – he is his father and everything.
    ‘Fine.’ He collapses in his chair and stares up at the ceiling.
    ‘You do seem different, you know,’ I find myself saying.
    ‘I’ve missed him,’ he admits. ‘I thought I could kill the pain with drugs, but I can’t. The ache is still there.’ I hold my breath. Johnny rarely opens up like this. ‘I don’t want to be a fuck-up forever, like my dad,’ he adds.
    Johnny’s mum