Baby Be Mine

He vigorously wipes away his tears. He takes a deep breath and tries to compose himself before speaking. ‘I don’t want to lose him.’ His voice is wavering. ‘But I need some time. I don’t know how long—’ And then his speech cuts off so I hand him another tissue, my heart full of hope that maybe all is not lost as he dissolves into silent sobs. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he says, and then he walks through the door and closes it behind him, without looking back.
    I collapse onto the floor beneath me and cry so hard I fear my chest will burst. I can’t be a mother today. How can I be a mother today?
    Barney will wake within the hour. I have no longer than that to wallow in my misery. It’s not enough. I need help. Johnny . . .
    In a daze I crawl across the floor to my handbag and pull out my phone.
    C has left me. Come as soon as you can
    I send the text to Johnny’s phone and then slump back against the wall as more tears trail aimlessly down my cheeks.
    He’s gone. Our life together is over.
    Images begin to strike me, one after the other. Christian dive-bombing into a crystal-clear lake; Christian laughing so hard that one of the buttons on his slightly-too-tight shirt pops off; Christian staring across the bed at me after we’ve made love; Christian tickling my son to near hysteria; Christian holding Barney for the first time . . .
    I clutch my chest and sob. It hurts so much.
    Christian spooning multicoloured kiddie cereal into his mouth; Christian sitting at his desk with his back to me, typing away at his keyboard; Christian shouting in frustration when my baby talk distracts him from his work . . .
    My sobs stop abruptly.
    Christian storming out in a fury late at night, leaving me holding a screaming three-month-old; Christian staring ahead in a daze in the darkness of our Belsize Park living room after his book sales plummet; Christian missing Barney’s first birthday . . .
    I wasn’t expecting to be bombarded with those memories. It hasn’t all been rosy. It’s been far from it at times.
    I wipe away my tears and blow my nose before taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.
    What did Christian mean, he doesn’t want to lose him? He still wants to be in Barney’s life? It’s this hope that allows me to get up and pull myself together, and by the time Barney awakes at five minutes to seven, I’m able to function as his mother.
    Johnny calls me at eight o’clock. He arrives within fifty minutes. I hear his bike, but wait for him to knock at the door instead of going out to meet him. I barely have the energy to stand up.
    ‘You shouldn’t drive so fast,’ I say flatly, looking at his chin. He hasn’t shaved this morning.
    ‘You alright?’ Johnny’s voice is sympathetic, worried.
    I step away from the door to allow him to enter, but I can’t meet his eyes.
    Barney babbles away in the living room and crawls through to see us. Johnny throws his biker jacket on a chair in the hall and I manage a small smile at my son as Johnny lifts him up into his arms.
    ‘What have you been doing, hey?’ He glances through to the living room. ‘Building blocks? Come on, let’s go.’
    I close the front door behind him.
    ‘Do you want a coffee?’ I call after him robotically.
    ‘No, I’m fine,’ he says over his shoulder.
    I go through to the living room and perch on the armrest of the sofa. Johnny sits on the floor with Barney.
    He looks up at me. ‘Want to talk about it?’ he asks quietly.
    I shake my head and watch Barney as he tries to put one block on top of the other. Johnny quickly builds a tower and then lets my giggling son topple it.
    I feel dead inside.
    ‘Where is he?’ Johnny asks.
    ‘He went to join the band on tour.’
    ‘When’s he coming back?’
    ‘In a week. I’ve got a week to pack up, decide where to go.’
    ‘You’re moving out?’ He sounds surprised. ‘Where are you going?’
    I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to my parents yet.’
    ‘When will you do that?’
    ‘Probably tonight, when Barney is in bed.’
    ‘I can take him out if you want to call them now?’
    I look at him again. ‘Where would you go?’
    ‘I don’t know. Walk up the road, whatever you want. He might like to look at my bike or something.’
    ‘You’re not taking him on it,’ I say strongly, feeling like a mother again.
    ‘Yeah, right,’ he scoffs. ‘I may be a moron, but I’m not that much of a moron.’
    I smile at him wryly, but at least it’s a smile.