Baby Be Mine
to our already quite impressive collection.
‘Right, I think we should quit while we’re ahead,’ I say.
‘Rooftop pool?’ she suggests.
‘Sounds like a plan.’
Everyone takes children out at all hours here, so I feel only slightly guilty about going for drinks again while Barney sleeps in his buggy beside us. We’ve found a gorgeous bar not far from the hotel and are sitting right at the back in black velvet seats. The lighting is warm and inviting. Bess fingers the sterling silver and crystal charm bracelet that I gave her this morning for her birthday.
‘Do you like it?’ I ask again.
‘I love it,’ she gushes as the waitress brings our drinks and some nibbles.
‘Happy birthday!’ I exclaim as we chink glasses for what feels like the hundredth time in twenty-four hours. ‘This has been the nicest weekend,’ I say, and I mean it. I’ve even managed to half convince myself that everything will be alright – that things will continue as they always have done, because there’s no way Johnny will interfere if it means him becoming a father.
‘I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it,’ she says, looking down, and for a split second I get an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I choose to ignore it.
I’m halfway through a story about the latest annoying thing my annoying older sister, Susan, has said, when I realise that Bess isn’t really listening.
‘Are you alright?’ I ask her.
‘Hey?’ She sits up straighter.
‘What did I just say?’
‘“As if a child should know how to say please and thank you when they’ve only just turned one.”’
‘Oh, okay, then, so you were listening.’
Apparently, Susan told my mum I should have taught Barney better manners by now, which is just ridiculous. She and her annoying husband, Tony, don’t have children, and they act like spoiled children themselves most of the time, even though they’re eight years older than me. I don’t get on very well with my sister, as you might’ve guessed. Luckily I don’t have to see her often.
‘Yes,’ Bess says, then: ‘No, I wasn’t really. I just heard that part.’
‘What’s on your mind?’ I pry, as the uncomfortable feeling returns.
She glances at Barney in the buggy. She looks shifty.
‘He’s asleep, don’t worry,’ I say, curious now.
‘No, it’s not that.’
‘What is it, then?’
She’s not meeting my eyes and suddenly the discomfort swells into nausea. I stare at her, the smile long gone from my face. I wait for her to speak.
‘I didn’t know if I should say anything,’ she says, edgily.
‘Then don’t,’ I reply quickly, willing her to shut up.
She turns to look again at my son, sleeping peacefully.
‘Don’t,’ I repeat, my voice firmer. I was wrong to lower my guard. I’m remembering Bess’s face when she first saw Barney on the rooftop deck yesterday. It’s the same look she’s giving him now.
‘He doesn’t look like Christian.’
‘I know. He takes after me.’ I force a tinkling laugh.
‘He doesn’t look like you, either,’ she says seriously. She reaches into her bag and carefully pulls out a celebrity magazine. I know before I even see the front cover that it’s the same magazine that I threw out, the one with a picture of Johnny as a child inside.
I bury my face in my hands, my stomach churning horrendously.
‘I saw this a few weeks ago,’ she says.
‘I’ve seen it,’ I mumble. ‘You don’t have to show me.’
‘I thought they looked similar,’ she continues. ‘But I didn’t realise how similar until I saw Barney yesterday. I didn’t know whether or not to talk to you about it, but you’re my best friend. How could I not?’
I don’t say anything.
‘Meg? Please look at me.’
I let my hands fall to my lap, my face expressionless. She stares at me for a long time, a mixture of sympathy and concern written all over her features. But none of it gets through to me. I feel dead inside.
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ she asks.
‘Right about what?’ I say slowly, wanting her to spell it out, not just to be sure about what she’s saying, but to make it harder for her. I’m certainly not going to help make it any easier for her. A feeling of dislike for my so-called best friend is starting to invade me. I know that’s unfair, but it’s how I feel. I hate her for discovering the truth.
‘Does Christian know?’ she continues.
‘Does Christian know what?’ I spit venomously.
‘Meg.’ She reaches out to
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