Baby Be Mine

should probably be there for that.’
    ‘Next week?’ I exclaim. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’
    ‘I’m not. Sorry, Meg.’ He glances at me sideways, furrowing his brow.
    ‘For pity’s sake!’ I explode. ‘You’ve only just got back!’
    ‘I know. But I have to do this. I have to make this book work, otherwise I’m fucked.’
    I don’t bother to tell him off for his language. I put my sunglasses back on and stare moodily at the pool.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he says again.
    ‘Whatever,’ I reply.
    ‘You do like it here, don’t you?’
    ‘Of course I like it,’ I retort. ‘I’m just really bored being all by myself.’
    ‘You’re not by yourself,’ he corrects me, irritatingly. ‘You’ve got Barney.’
    ‘You know what I mean,’ I reply crossly. ‘I have no social life. I have nothing to do, no friends to see.’
    ‘How can you say you have nothing to do? Look around you! Don’t you know how lucky you are?’
    ‘Yes, of course. But I’m lonely!’
    ‘Why don’t you get a job?’
    ‘What would I do?’
    ‘I don’t know – work in a bakery or something.’
    ‘Oh, yeah, and where am I supposed to put Barney? Out at the back with the ovens?’
    ‘He could go to a nursery.’
    I shake my head. ‘That’s hardly likely to be financially viable, is it?’
    ‘I don’t know, Meg, but you said you were bored. I thought maybe you could do with a change of lifestyle.’
    ‘By sticking our son into day care?’ I snap.
    He sighs. ‘Why don’t you try taking him to a playgroup or something, then?’
    ‘I don’t know of any.’
    ‘There must be a way to find out about them.’
    ‘I don’t know anyone at them, though,’ I say.
    ‘Isn’t that the point? You’d go to meet people.’
    ‘What if no one speaks English?’
    ‘You speak French!’
    ‘An A level doesn’t constitute speaking French! Especially when I’ve barely used the language in the last decade, apart from asking for croissants and baguettes.’
    ‘Well, wouldn’t this be a good time to use it? I thought you wanted to brush up.’
    ‘Now you are really annoying me,’ I warn.
    ‘Only because you know I’m right,’ he replies. ‘Stop making excuses for yourself.’
    I’m about to storm inside when he puts his hand out to stop me.
    ‘I don’t mean to wind you up. I’m trying to help.’ He gets to his feet and goes out through the pool gate. I sit there stewing for a minute, but I’m over it by the time he returns with some magazines.
    I nod at them. ‘Research?’
    ‘Yep. Band interviews.’ He dumps them on a table. ‘I sat in on a couple of them. It’s interesting to see how they’ve been edited.’
    I lean forward and riffle through the stack. Most are serious music journals, but finally I come to an addictively trashy celebrity magazine. My heart jumps, as it always does when I read these sorts of things. I try not to do it very often.
    ‘Mind if I borrow this one?’
    ‘Of course not,’ Christian replies.
    I lean back in my seat. I have to get through the news and gossip before I can relax. I’m nervous as I turn the pages, barely reading the content. I don’t even pause to admire the beach snaps of sexy Scott from Contour Lines. It’s only when I finally reach the fashion pages that I can breathe a sigh of relief. No news or gossip about Johnny in this one. I settle myself and begin to browse at a more leisurely pace.
    I come to a double-page feature:
    WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG . . .
Match the celeb to their childhood pic!
    Ooh, I love these quizzes!
    And then my heart stops.
    Barney. There’s a picture of Barney.
    No. That’s not Barney. I quickly scan the tiny headshots of celebrities running along the bottom of the page and immediately spy what I’m looking for. Johnny Jefferson. Johnny Jefferson as a child looks identical to my son.
    I feel the blood draining from my face as my eyes dart towards Christian, reading in amicable silence beside me. Act normal. Try to act normal, Meg.
    My heart is pounding so hard inside my chest, I’m surprised it’s not cracking my ribs. I slowly close the magazine and get to my feet.
    ‘Do you want anything?’ I ask breezily, holding the offending article behind my back. I can’t let him see this. I can’t.
    ‘No, thanks,’ Christian replies, distracted.
    ‘Back in a tic’ I quickly make my way through the pool gate and down the stone path to the front door.
    Holy SHIT!
    I hurry into the house and shut the door behind me, leaning up against