Baby Be Mine

room.
    I pause at the door and listen for a moment.
    ‘I wish I could have made the funeral. Didn’t think your family would thank me if I brought the press circus with me by accident.’
    ‘I know. Dad really appreciates you coming, too.’
    ‘It’s good to see him again.’
    ‘You took his mind off things for a bit.’
    ‘I hope so.’ Pause. ‘How are you holding up?’
    Another pause. ‘I’m . . . okay. I miss her, though, you know?’
    ‘I know.’
    There’s weight to that sentence. Because Johnny does know, of course. He lost his mother when he was barely a teenager.
    Christian sniffs. ‘Oh, fuck,’ he mutters. ‘I thought I was all cried-out.’
    My heart goes out to him, but my feet are rooted to the spot.
    ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ Johnny says softly. ‘I’m going to miss her, too.’
    They both fall silent.
    ‘Where’s Meg with my fucking sheets?’ Johnny jokes, trying to clear the air.
    Christian laughs. ‘She’s been a gem these last few days. I don’t know what I would have done without her.’
    I wait to hear how Johnny will respond to that, but he says nothing. I step quietly back into the kitchen and then bustle through to the living room.
    ‘Here you go,’ I say. Johnny comes to take the sheets from me.
    ‘I’ll do it,’ he says, not meeting my eyes.
    ‘Alright, Johnny boy,’ Christian says, gently guiding me to the door. ‘See you in the morning.’
    ‘Goodnight,’ I say.
    ‘See you in the morning.’ I notice Johnny replies to Christian, but not to me.

 
  Chapter 7  
    I wake up in the middle of the night. I feel groggy and my mind is a jumble of thoughts. I’d been having a dream about being absolutely parched and asking Johnny to pass me a bottle of water from the fridge. He did and then laughed when I couldn’t open it. I tried desperately to twist off the top, and then his laughter died and he stared at me furiously and watched as I failed.
    I realise now that I’m thirsty for real. I climb out of bed and put on my dressing gown, then carefully navigate the stairs and head into the kitchen. The house is dark. The time on the oven says it’s two thirty-three a.m. I go to the fridge and open it. Light spills out as I reach in for a jug of filtered water. I pour some into a glass and gulp down a few mouthfuls, before refilling my glass and returning the jug to the fridge. I freeze as I get a whiff of cigarette smoke.
    ‘Johnny?’ I whisper. ‘Is that you?’ I close the fridge door and poke my head into the living room. I can see by the light on the TV’s LCD display that the sofa is empty. I hear the front door close gently and suddenly I’m face to face with Johnny.
    ‘What the fuck?’ he curses in a loud whisper. ‘You scared the living daylights out of me!’
    ‘Shh!’ I berate him. ‘I was getting a glass of water. I smelled the smoke,’ I explain.
    ‘Jesus!’ He’s still freaked out.
    ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘What are you doing up at this time?’
    ‘Body clock’s buggered up,’ he says.
    ‘Do you want anything? Glass of water?’
    ‘No, I’m alright.’
    ‘Okay. Goodnight, then.’ I turn to go.
    ‘Meg!’ He calls me back.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Stay and talk to me for a while.’
    I pause. My head tells me that I should go back upstairs, back to my Christian, but I find myself being pulled in the opposite direction and hate myself for it. I sit in Eugen’s armchair while Johnny returns to his makeshift bed on the sofa. He’s wearing his jeans and T-shirt from earlier.
    ‘What do you want to talk about?’ I ask uneasily.
    He sighs. ‘I was just . . . thinking about you,’ he says carefully. ‘It’s been a long time.’
    I nod.
    ‘Too long,’ he adds.
    ‘It’s been a while,’ I agree.
    ‘You seem happy.’ He sounds sincere.
    ‘I am,’ I tell him. Most of the time.
    He smiles at me sadly. ‘It’s weird being back in this house. Staying here without Mrs Pettersson around.’
    ‘Did you know her well?’
    ‘I haven’t seen her much in recent years, but she looked after me, you know, when my mum got sick.’ His mum died of cancer. ‘I used to come and stay over when mum was in hospital. I’ll never forget that.’
    My heart goes out to him. Johnny rarely talks about his mother’s death to anyone. It feels strangely natural to have him talk about her again to me. It must be to do with the darkness, the night – it’s catapulted us back to the way we once were.
    ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’
    ‘It’s