Baby Be Mine

takes longer than you’d expect to pack them up. It’s the sorting through what is mine and what is Christian’s. I leave Christian with everything that we bought together – everything except for Barney’s things. I’m appalled to think of the money Christian has spent on a son he thought was his. I promise myself that one day I’ll pay him back. Not that he’d ever want to take money from me.
    Johnny sticks around until dinnertime. I can just about manage defrosting some food for Barney, but I can’t do adult cooking tonight.
    ‘Takeaway?’ he suggests.
    ‘No. Thank you, but I’m not hungry.’
    ‘You should eat something.’
    ‘You should stop being so nice to me because it’s freaking me out.’
    He chuckles. ‘I’m a nice guy.’
    ‘No, you’re not.’ I give him a look and he raises one eyebrow at me.
    ‘I’ll be off, then.’
    ‘You’d better go before it gets dark, anyway,’ I say.
    ‘Okay, Mum.’
    ‘I think you’ll find my name is Mummy. Now, bugger off,’ I joke.
    He grins and touches my arm. I step away and pick up his bike gear, then lead the way out to the terrace. I hand him his jacket to put on and place his helmet on the table. He turns to face me.
    ‘You’ll be alright, Nutmeg.’
    ‘Let’s hope so, JJ.’
    ‘I cannot believe you just called me that.’ He takes a cigarette out of the packet in his pocket and lights up.
    When I first met Johnny, his actress girlfriend at the time once called him JJ in my presence. He didn’t like it.
    ‘How is Serengeti these days?’ I ask of his former belle.
    ‘She’s married to some old codger. Film producer,’ he adds, inhaling deeply and indicating his fag. ‘Gagging for this.’
    I ignore him. Considering he’s a chain-smoker, he hasn’t done badly today. I don’t want him smoking around Barney. ‘This isn’t the guy who gave her Footsie, is it?’ I ask. Footsie was Serengeti’s dog. It used to drive me nuts with its yapping and crapping all over the place. She chose its name because the man who gave it to her had a foot fetish.
    ‘That’s the one.’ He cocks his head to one side. ‘How did you know about him?’
    I pretend to zip up my lips. ‘Never reveal my sources.’
    ‘Bloody Santiago,’ he mutters, taking another drag.
    I smirk. Yep, his gardener/pool boy was the one who gave away that information. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.
    ‘Anyway,’ I say. ‘I’d better feed Barney before he bites my arm off. We’ll see you tomorrow?’
    ‘Sure. I don’t fly out until the afternoon.’ He picks up his helmet and puts it under his arm.
    My heart dips. ‘I didn’t realise it was so soon.’
    ‘I have to get home for a gig Dana’s doing,’ he explains.
    Now my heart plummets. Why? I’m not interested in him. I’d never go there again. Not now, not after everything we’ve all been through. I guess I’d almost forgotten about his girlfriend. Of course, she’s going to complicate things.
    ‘Ah, I see.’ I try to keep my voice steady. ‘I’d better carry on packing.’
    ‘How’s it going?’
    ‘I’ll finish by tomorrow. We may set off when you go. Shit.’
    Something occurs to me and I don’t even chastise myself for swearing.
    ‘What?’
    ‘I don’t know how we’re going to get there.’ How could I be so stupid?
    ‘Isn’t that your Alfa out in the driveway?’ he asks, confused.
    ‘No, it’s Christian’s. I can’t take that.’ I shake my head, adamant. ‘I won’t take that.’
    ‘Oh. Well, look, I’ll sort it.’
    ‘What do you mean, you’ll sort it?’
    ‘I’ll buy you a car.’ He stubs his fag out on the wall.
    ‘Johnny, you’re not going to just buy me a car,’ I say, frowning. ‘Actually, we can catch the train. Taxi to train station, yes.’ I’m thinking out loud.
    ‘Not with the cot and all your luggage,’ he chips in.
    Oh.
    ‘We’ll be fine,’ I say firmly. ‘Now, see you tomorrow.’
    He winks and pulls on his helmet.

 
  Chapter 17  
    The car turns up at two o’clock, a dark grey Golf GTI with shiny alloys and leather interiors.
    ‘What did I tell you?’ I stare at Johnny, gobsmacked. ‘No! You’re not buying me a car!’
    He rolls his eyes. ‘Meg, it’s like a drop in the fucking—’
    ‘Don’t swear.’
    ‘. . . ocean for me. Take the fu— Take the car.’
    ‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘I can’t accept it.’
    ‘Yes, you can,’ he says firmly, directing the truck driver to lower the car onto the road with a flick of