Baby Be Mine

into her kitchen – to make toast, tea or whatever. She always did everything. I don’t know how Eugen, Christian’s dad, will cope now she’s gone.
    The next morning, Joel returns from Australia, sans girlfriend. He’s always been a joker, but there’s no laughing today. The funeral is tomorrow. Guests are coming back to the house afterwards so I busy myself cleaning and taking care of the catering. In the afternoon, Christian joins me on a trip to the supermarket – he needs to escape the house. I try to stay upbeat for him, but it’s hard. That night he faces away from me in bed and I know he wants to be left alone, but the following morning he comes into the kitchen while I’m making sandwiches and wraps his arms around my waist from behind.
    ‘Thank you,’ he murmurs into my hair. I turn around and give him a hug, pressing my face into his chest. I hate seeing him so sad.
    It’s Tuesday, the day of the funeral. We travel to the cemetery in a procession of black cars and walk into the church behind the pallbearers: friends and colleagues of Christian and his brothers. Mandy’s coffin is shiny and black with a wreath of white flowers on the top. There’s a framed photo of her on the altar, a snapshot of her laughing, as she so often did. The casket is closed. Her injuries were too severe to permit an open one.
    Everyone is in tears during the service and I’m thankful that Barney isn’t here. He wouldn’t understand such sadness at his age, but as I sit next to Vanessa, her hands cradling her bump, I miss him intensely. It’s like there’s a hole in my heart, where he should be.
    I once used to say the same thing about Johnny.
    I reach across and squeeze Christian’s hand. He squeezes mine back, hard.
    After the service we return to Eugen’s house for the wake. I reprise my role of caterer and spend the next two hours with a tray superglued to my hand as I offer sandwiches and sausage rolls to friends and family. I’m glad to have something to do. Eventually people begin to leave. I refuse Vanessa’s offer of help and insist she goes home to put her feet up, and finally only Joel, Christian and Eugen remain. I make them tea to take into the living room and then go into the kitchen to clear up, promising Christian that I’m happy to do the task by myself. To be honest, I want be alone for a while. I don’t know Christian’s family well. Many of them came from Sweden and don’t speak much English. Christian is bilingual so he’s had no trouble conversing, but the small talk for me has been exhausting, however unkind it feels to admit that.
    I scrape the remnants of food off plates and stack the dishwasher. I set it going and then pause for a moment to lean against the sink and remember Mandy. I can almost hear her laughing.
    The doorbell rings, snapping me back to life.
    ‘I’ll get it,’ I call into the living room, the murmur of male voices halting briefly. I can see an outline of a person through the stained-glass door and wonder who would call at this hour after a funeral. It’s only eight o’clock, but everyone went home ages ago. I open the door and my heart almost beats out of my chest when I see Johnny standing there.
    I stare up at him in shock. He seems taller than I remember, even though I know he’s six foot two compared to my five-foot-seven-inch frame, and somehow he also appears broader. The fact that he’s wearing a chunky black coat in the middle of summer could have something to do with it. His face is tanned and his dark blond hair is as dishevelled as it ever was, falling to just below his chin. Even in the lacklustre light of the hallway, his eyes have an intense greenness to them.
    He mirrors my shocked expression, but quickly gets himself together. ‘Are you going to let me in, or what?’ He glances over his shoulder with an air of impatience.
    I find my voice. ‘Of course, yes.’ He’ll be worried that the press have tailed him. I step aside and look down at his beaten-up Chelsea boots as he walks over the threshold, the smell of fresh cigarette smoke wafting past me. What am I going to say to him?
    ‘Where’s Christian?’ he asks, not meeting my eyes. I’m caught off guard by the bluntness of his tone.
    ‘In the living room,’ I reply, shutting the door behind him. I begin to follow him, but something makes me stop. Heart still in my throat, I go instead to the kitchen, trying to block out the sound of Johnny’s now warm and sympathetic voice as