Baby Be Mine

thirst before starting on something more serious.
    ‘It is such a beautiful city,’ Bess comments. ‘This is the second time you’ve been here, right? The first time was when you went on tour with Johnny?’
    ‘Mmm.’
    This is the city where I saw him take drugs for the first time. My mum had just told me my grandmother had died. Upset, I went to confide in Johnny and walked into his room to see him snorting a line of coke. I was stunned. How naive I was back then.
    Suddenly I don’t feel quite so happy to be back in Barcelona.
    ‘So, he walked out of rehab,’ she says drily.
    ‘To come to Christian’s mum’s funeral,’ I reveal.
    ‘No shit?’
    I nod.
    ‘How did you feel, seeing him again?’
    ‘It was strange,’ I admit. A waiter comes over, interrupting us. We apologise for not consulting our menus yet and get down to the business of food.
    ‘I’ll tell you later,’ I say.
    Bess nods back, understanding that for now, at least, this conversation is over.
    Later, much later, after we’ve wandered the streets of the Gothic Quarter near our hotel and Barney has fallen asleep in his buggy, we find a couple of outdoor seats at a bar and order two glasses of Prosecco.
    ‘I’ve been very patient,’ Bess says mock seriously, her face lit by the tea lights on the table. ‘But now it’s time to talk about Johnny.’
    I sigh. ‘Do we have to?’
    ‘Meg, don’t clam up,’ she says firmly. ‘I know you. And you know you can talk to me about anything.’
    ‘True,’ I say quietly.
    ‘So what was it like, seeing him again?’
    I concentrate on the earlier part of seeing Johnny, and simultaneously try to forget about the look on his face when he saw the photo of Barney with Mandy.
    ‘I told you, it was strange.’
    ‘Go on.’
    I fill her in on the initial shock at opening the door to him and how he acted like he barely knew me. I tell her about how supportive Christian was and how Johnny put on an act in front of him. Eventually I get to the part about me coming downstairs in the middle of the night.
    ‘He was . . . different,’ I reveal. ‘More like the Johnny I used to know.’
    ‘Oh no,’ she says, shaking her head.
    ‘Bess, cut it out. I don’t mean I felt the same way about him as I did back then.’
    ‘Are you sure about that?’
    ‘Definitely!’ I exclaim, trying to convince her. ‘I mean, look at him; he’s a mess. Has he even gone back into rehab?’
    ‘Not that I know of,’ she says. ‘But he always was a mess, Meg. That didn’t stop you back then.’
    ‘I’m not the same person I used to be.’
    She examines me across the table. ‘I believe you.’
    ‘What about you?’ I change the subject. ‘Anyone on the scene?’
    ‘I had a drunken snog with some bloke in a bar last weekend, but that’s about it.’
    Envy racks me for a moment. The idea of being able to go out on the pull again, snog guys I fancy . . . I’ve hardly ever done that. I’ve gone from boyfriend to boyfriend, with not enough space in between. Now I’m tied in for good. Not that we’re married. Christian doesn’t believe in marriage. I’m not sure if I do or not. I always thought I did, but I can kind of see his point. Why do we need a piece of paper to validate our relationship?
    Barney stirs in his buggy and lets out a small squeak.
    Bess giggles. ‘He sounded like a hamster then.’
    I smirk. ‘We should get back. He’s going to wake me up at the crack of dawn.’
    ‘Sure thing.’ She flags down a waiter and asks for the bill.
    The next day, we go to see Gaudi’s Sagrada Família, and it still takes my breath away, even though it’s half covered with scaffolding. Bess holds Barney’s hand as he toddles along the top of walls and it makes me smile to watch them. After lunch we wander aimlessly around the city, down by the harbour, through the shops. Bess points wildly at a shop with a familiar red H&M logo gracing the front.
    ‘Ooh, ooh, ooh, Hennes!’ she squeals, pulling me in that direction.
    ‘Hennes?’ I ask in disbelief, pulling her back. ‘You’ve got Hennes in England!’
    ‘Yeah, but it’s different abroad.’
    ‘Bess, no, don’t be silly.’
    ‘Don’t tell me you don’t want to go into Hennes.’
    ‘Of course I don’t.’ I giggle. ‘I had a Hennes fix a few weeks ago in Perpignan.’
    She laughs. ‘I knew I recognised your bikini! Come on, it’s my birthday, I can do what I want to . . .’
    Forty minutes later, we emerge with more shopping bags to add