Baby Be Mine

then something catches his eye. ‘Fuck me, your parents like potpourri.’
    ‘Language,’ I reply automatically before following his gaze. There are several bowls of dried flowers within eyesight – I hadn’t really taken them in before. ‘Hmm, yes,’ I agree. I never really thought of my parents as potpourri types. ‘Must be to do with living here. Did you know Grasse is the perfume capital of the world?’ I ask.
    ‘Yes, Nutmeg, I read up about it on the plane.’ He grins, humouring me.
    ‘I’m surprised you managed to do anything between whiskies,’ I say caustically. ‘What was with all the security and that fuss at the airport? I thought we were supposed to be keeping this low-key?’
    He shrugs. ‘You know how these things go.’
    ‘I bloody well do, and they always go haywire when you’ve been at the booze.’
    ‘Language,’ he chides, a twinkle in his eye.
    ‘God, you are so annoying.’
    ‘And you are so cute when you’re angry.’
    ‘Don’t start with that,’ I warn.
    ‘Why not? Anyway, I’ve got a girlfriend,’ he says nonchalantly. ‘I’m not starting anything.’
    ‘Is anyone planning on joining me?’ my dad calls from the terrace.
    ‘We’re on our way.’ I give Johnny a look and lead the way outside through the French doors.
    ‘Can I get you a top-up?’ my dad asks Johnny, brandishing a bottle of red wine. ‘Oh,’ he says, spying Johnny’s water glass.
    ‘No, thanks, Geoffrey, I’ve been put in my place.’
    ‘That’s no good,’ my dad replies, disappointed at losing his drinking partner.
    I scratch my head with frustration and sit down. I envisaged this to be difficult in an entirely different way.
    ‘Here we go,’ my mum says cheerfully, putting a tray full of nuts, olives and savoury biscuit-type things on the table. Barney is instantly wide awake. ‘Here you go, little one.’ She passes me a packet of rice cakes. ‘You forgot them,’ she says to me.
    I take them from her and open the packet, but Barney is only interested in the snacks on the table.
    ‘Can’t he have a biscuit?’ my mum implores, pulling a face.
    ‘They’re full of salt,’ I point out.
    ‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’ She frowns. ‘One won’t hurt him.’
    I take a deep breath and stare straight ahead before nodding tautly. I’ve lost the will to argue.
    Johnny offers to drive himself back to his hotel – it turns out Lena insured him on the Golf when she bought it – but, as he’s been drinking, I feel I have no choice but to take him myself. When I return to my parents’ house, there’s another car on the driveway. I’m irked, seeing as I had asked them, very nicely, if they could please not invite their friends around for the duration of Johnny’s stay. Maybe someone dropped in unannounced.
    I turn my key in the lock and push the door open. My mouth almost hits the floor when I hear my annoying sister Susan’s annoying husband Tony’s guffawing laugh.
    Excuse my French, but WTF?
    Aghast, I walk down the corridor to the living room and there, through the double doors to the garden, I see Susan and Tony sitting at the terrace table. I stand and stare. Almost as though sensing my presence, my mum spins around and spots me, simultaneously leaping to her feet.
    ‘ Meg! ’ she exclaims, putting her glass of wine on the table and opening her arms wide. She was halfway on the tipsy train to drunk when I left, but now she has clearly reached the station.
    ‘There’s my little sister!’ Susan booms, going to the effort of standing up. She wouldn’t usually bother; Tony doesn’t.
    ‘What’s going on?’ I manage to splutter. ‘What are you doing here?’
    Susan looks disgruntled. ‘That’s a nice welcome, isn’t it?’
    ‘How? How? Why?’ I stutter in my parents’ direction.
    ‘What?’ Susan demands to know, snappy now. ‘I’m allowed a break from London life to come and see my parents, aren’t I? What’s your problem?’
    I ignore her and stare straight at the guilty party. ‘Did you tell them he was going to be here?’
    My dad looks into his glass. My mum shifts from foot to foot.
    ‘Who?’ Tony tries to fake surprise, but he’s a terrible liar, amongst other things.
    ‘It sort of slipped out,’ my mum admits worriedly.
    ‘How?’ I exclaim. ‘How did it “sort of slip out”?’
    ‘Excuse me!’ Susan interrupts angrily, putting her hands on her hefty hips and shaking her short-ish, curly brown hair. ‘I’m your sister. I have a