Baby Be Mine

lucky to have him.’
    I nod quickly, but can’t stop the tears from filling my eyes.
    ‘Bye,’ I say quietly, meeting her gaze for a millisecond.
    ‘Keep in touch,’ she urges, and closes the door behind her. I drive away before she reaches the sliding doors.

 
  Chapter 11  
    ‘Go to sleep, Barney,’ I say to him when he starts to grizzle. I don’t have the energy or the patience to deal with him on the car journey home. I hope he naps soon. I need to think.
    Christian is away for approximately another week and a half. It’s probably a good thing. I’ll need that time to prepare. He won’t want us to hang around once he finds out the truth. I’ll need to pack up our things and decide where to go. We could stay with Mum and Dad for a while. I’ll have to tell them what I’ve done. At least Mandy isn’t around to discover Barney isn’t her grandson.
    I instantly feel dirty and disgusted with myself. How could I ever regard her death as a positive?
    Barney drops off after a while, giving me the peace I need. The more I think about it, the more I know that Bess is right. I have to sort this out before my baby gets any older. If Bess worked it out, any of our other friends could do exactly the same. In fact, blind though Christian has been so far, if Barney and Johnny ever do meet, surely even Christian will find it impossible to ignore their similarities. It’s better for Barney that his life is disrupted now, before he’s old enough to fully understand or remember.
    But, God . . . My poor, poor Christian. He’s already dealing with the death of his mother – how much can one person cope with before they break?
    I feel like I’m close to breaking point myself, but this is nothing compared to what he’s going through with his family’s bereavement.
    Do I really have to do this?
    Yes. Yes, I do.
    Bess calls me that night, after I’ve put Barney to bed. I’ve been walking around in a daze all day, unable to perk myself up, even though I know my mood has been affecting my son. I take the phone to the sofa and lie down in the darkness. I’m glad to have someone to talk to.
    ‘I wanted to check you’re alright,’ she says.
    ‘No. I’m anything but,’ I tell her, my eyes welling up. ‘I can’t bear the thought of hurting him like this.’
    ‘You haven’t spoken to him yet?’
    ‘No. I don’t know how I’ll keep up the act, but I don’t want to drag him home early.’
    ‘He’s going to know something’s wrong,’ she says gently. ‘It’s better that you tell him sooner rather than later, even if that does mean him ducking out of work early, so to speak.’
    ‘Oh, God . . .’ I start to cry.
    ‘I don’t know how you’ve lived with this secret all this time,’ she says in a kind voice. ‘It must have been awful.’
    ‘Don’t feel sorry for me. I deserve everything I get.’
    ‘Hey . . .’ she says soothingly. ‘I know you probably can’t see any light at the end of the tunnel, but you couldn’t have gone on carrying this burden around. It would have worn you down in the end, even if the truth hadn’t come out.’
    I take a deep breath and try to stop crying. What she’s saying makes sense.
    ‘Bess, I think I’m going to go.’
    ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘You take care. Call me if you want to talk. I’ll ring again tomorrow.’
    ‘Okay.’ I hang up and take another deep breath. I reach for a tissue to dab at my eyes and then I blow my nose. I feel utterly wretched. I go to the French windows and open them up to let in the warm night air. If the mosquitoes choose to attack me, so be it. I want to see the mountains and I don’t want to see them behind glass. The sun has set behind me so the peaks ahead are dark. In the far-off distance I can hear a motorcycle screaming around the bends.
    I wonder what Christian is doing. I look at my watch: it’s nine thirty. He’s probably backstage at a Contour Lines concert, pen and paper at the ready. The sound of the motorcycle is getting closer. Moments later, the machine roars into view at the bottom of our hill. Then it stops. The rider is staring in my direction, the low murmur of the ticking-over engine audible from here. How strange. Suddenly the person revs up the engine and starts to storm up our hill. And then stops again. Right outside our house. The terrace lights are on, but I’m standing here in the darkness, so I don’t think anyone can see me. My heart starts to beat faster. I don’t have a good feeling