Baby Be Mine

from the airport with Christian.
    ‘Hi!’ Christian replies. ‘Hey . . .’ There’s silence as I picture him scooping up Barney into his arms for a warm, cuddly hug. I quickly towel myself dry – I didn’t think they’d be back so soon.
    ‘Where’s Meg?’ Christian asks.
    ‘In the shower,’ my mum replies.
    ‘Have a nice lie-in, did she?’ Christian says and I frown as they all chuckle at my expense. It’s six thirty in the evening and I’ve been on my feet all day. A moment later there’s a knock at the door.
    ‘Meg?’
    ‘I’m coming,’ I reply tetchily.
    ‘Unlock the door.’
    Still frowning, I do as he says.
    ‘Hey!’ He beams as he enters the steam-filled bathroom, but his face falls when he sees my expression. ‘What’s up?’
    ‘Nothing.’ I wrap the towel around my still-damp body.
    ‘Can I have a hug?’ he asks warily as he opens his arms and cocks his head to one side.
    ‘Sure.’ I grudgingly step forward and his arms embrace me.
    ‘Mmm,’ he murmurs into my wet hair. ‘I missed you.’
    ‘Did you?’
    He pulls away and gives me a look. ‘Of course I did. I hoped you’d change your mind about coming to get me.’
    ‘Sorry,’ I say and genuinely mean it. I’ve been having second thoughts all day about whether or not I should go to the airport myself. ‘I thought I’d better do Barney’s dinner and get things back to normal after yesterday’s mayhem. Dad offered; I didn’t think you’d mind.’
    ‘You’re still pissed off at me for not getting home in time.’ It’s not a question. I shrug. ‘I did try. I couldn’t help it,’ he says. ‘Anyway, it’s not like Barney would have missed me; he’s only one.’
    I’ll have to remember you said that if you discover the truth about him anytime soon . . .
    I nod towards the door. ‘Better go and get dressed.’
    He turns away and I follow him into the bedroom. ‘How was yesterday?’ he asks, sitting down on the bed and watching me as I open the wardrobe.
    ‘It was good,’ I reply, taking a navy-blue and white polka-dot maxidress out of the wardrobe and slipping it over my head. ‘I don’t think he knew what hit him with all the toys your parents sent. And he loved the balloons and candles. Did you bring him anything back?’
    He grins. ‘Yep.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘A dumper truck.’ He’s still grinning cheekily.
    ‘What’s so funny?’ I smile. ‘Did you bring me something back?’
    ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
    ‘It’s Pebbles, isn’t it?’ He laughs as I clamber onto his knees and throw my arms around him. He collapses back on the bed.
    Pebbles is a type of American cereal. It’s supposed to be for kids, but Christian and I both have a sweet tooth and we became addicted to the multicoloured rice crispy things when we spent time in the States a few years ago.
    Christian rolls me off his body onto the bed next to him and stares into my eyes. I stare back into his: a darker shade of brown than mine. His black hair falls across his eye-line and I reach over and push it away. He needs a haircut.
    He leans forward and kisses me on the lips. I sit back up again.
    ‘I’m going to get the bed wet.’ I indicate my damp hair.
    ‘Fuck the bed,’ he says, a tad exasperated.
    ‘Oi, don’t swear!’ I chastise.
    ‘He’s not in earshot, is he?’ He’s talking about Barney.
    ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I reply firmly. ‘You’ve got to get out of the habit.’
    Christian swears more than anyone else I know. I’ve been trying to get him to clean up his act ever since our baby was born.
    ‘He can’t even talk yet,’ he mutters, getting up from the bed with a sigh.
    I move on. ‘How was your flight? Flights, I mean.’
    We live in a little village called Cucugnan in the French Pyrenees, so Christian had to fly via the UK from Los Angeles and then onto our nearest airport, Perpignan, which is twenty-five kilometres away. With the winding mountain roads it takes a good forty-five minutes to travel to Cucugnan.
    ‘Both fine. The LA one was an hour delayed, but I still managed to find time at Heathrow to buy some Krispy Kremes.’
    ‘I hope you didn’t eat them all . . .’ I say of the doughnuts.
    ‘Only six.’
    ‘Six out of twelve?’
    ‘I’m joking. I managed to stop at three, so there are nine left for you lot.’
    ‘Bugger the others,’ I joke.
    We used to live in Belsize Park in north London – in fact, Christian still owns his house there – but a few months ago, his friend