Baby Be Mine

sunlight. He’s wearing a light-grey T-shirt and I notice that he has a new tattoo on the inside of his arm, just up from his wrist. He glances up at me and his green eyes meet mine. For a split second I feel like I’m falling and I must look shocked because his coffee cup freezes inches from his lips.
    ‘What?’ he asks.
    ‘Nothing.’ I avert my gaze and go to sit down. ‘What do you want to do today?’ Try to act normal, for God’s sake. I take a sip of my latte.
    ‘It’s up to you. I wasn’t expecting you to come this way. Did you take the mountain roads or the motorway?’
    ‘Mountain.’
    ‘Me too.’ He grins. ‘Awesome on the bike.’
    I smile back at him, feeling strangely relaxed considering recent – and past – events. ‘So, today . . .’
    ‘There’s a spa here. Does Barney like swimming?’
    ‘Mmm, he does, actually. Oh. I don’t have any swimming gear.’
    ‘We can sort that.’ He reaches for the phone again, dials a number and then speaks into the receiver. ‘My friend and her son want to use the pool. Can you have someone bring up some swimming costumes?’
    I know from experience that the manager here will be pulling out all the stops to impress a client of Johnny’s stature. It may seem quiet, but you’d better believe that there are two or three times as many staff as usual buzzing around behind the scenes to make sure everything runs as smoothly as possible for their super-prominent guest.
    ‘And swimming nappies . . .’ I suddenly remember.
    ‘And swimming nappies,’ he passes on. ‘For a one-year-old.’ Pause. ‘Size ten in the UK, six in the US. I don’t know how your sizing works over here.’ Pause. ‘Thanks.’ He hangs up.
    I try to mask my surprise that Johnny remembers what size I am.
    Within five minutes, there’s another knock at the door and we’re brought in a selection of designer swimming costumes for me, from bikinis to one-pieces, plus children’s swimming trunks and nappies for Barney. I take the collection and go through to the bathroom, reeling slightly.
    When I emerge, my chosen bikini on underneath my skirt and top, Johnny is not in the living room. I go through to the bedroom to see him perched on the end of the bed, gazing into the buggy.
    He glances up at me as I stand at the doorway. ‘Still asleep?’ I whisper.
    He looks down again. ‘I thought I heard a noise.’ He gets up and walks towards me. I turn and lead the way back to the sofas.
    ‘Find one you like?’ he asks.
    ‘Yep.’ I ping the strap poking out from underneath my T-shirt.
    ‘Black,’ he notes.
    ‘I know, I’m boring.’ I cast my eyes heavenwards and sit down.
    ‘Suits you.’ He collapses onto the sofa opposite and rests his arm against the back of it. ‘Always did.’
    Is he mocking me? Barney lets out a sharp cry and I leap to my feet as I always do, even though there’s no rush.
    ‘Hello,’ I say sweetly, peering into the buggy. He’s rubbing at his eyes and looks like he’s about to burst into tears. ‘Come on.’ I unclick his buckles and lift him out. He sleepily buries his head into my neck as I carry him back through to Johnny, then he lifts his head and looks around before cuddling back into me. ‘It usually takes him a little while to wake up,’ I explain.
    Johnny nods, lost for words. His face is that strange mix of emotions again and I notice that he’s sitting up a bit straighter.
    ‘We’ve come to see Johnny,’ I say in a high-pitched tone into my son’s ear. He doesn’t move from his snug position. ‘Do you want a biscuit?’
    His head shoots up. He might not be able to say the word, but he certainly knows what it means. I smile at Johnny as he passes over the plate that came up with our coffees. Barney takes a biscuit with his chubby fingers and has a small bite, before glancing across the coffee table with mild interest at Johnny.
    ‘Your mum thought you might like to go for a swim,’ Johnny suggests hopefully, mimicking my high-pitched tone. I try not to smile.
    Barney continues to eat his biscuit without making any indication of having heard him.
    ‘Would you like that?’ I ask. He continues to munch. I glance at my watch. It’s after twelve. ‘Maybe we’ll have some lunch first. Shall we go downstairs for a change of scenery?’ I ask Johnny before he can pick up the phone again.
    ‘Sure.’
    Twenty minutes later, we’re downstairs in the sitting room. There’s a fireplace to my left already laid out with logs