Baby Be Mine

effect.
    ‘Are you taking the piss?’ he asks and my smirk turns into a giggle.
    ‘Maybe a little bit.’
    ‘I think more than a little bit, babe.’ He reaches across to my side of the table and retrieves a corner.
    We work in amicable silence for a while until he says, ‘Chuck us that piece of ginger pussy,’ and I collapse into more giggles.
    ‘You have got such a dirty mind,’ he mutters. ‘What happened to my good girl?’ His green eyes confront me for a moment across the table and my stomach flips.
    ‘I think she’s long gone,’ I joke drily, looking down at the puzzle as my heart hammers away inside my chest. This is not right.
    ‘Don’t say that, Nutmeg.’
    ‘Don’t call me Nutmeg.’ It’s a knee-jerk response, but this time he leans back in his chair and folds his arms, eyeing me across the table.
    ‘Why don’t you like it?’
    I shrug awkwardly. ‘I don’t mind it, really. What do you call Lena?’
    ‘Lena,’ he replies.
    ‘Is that her real name?’
    ‘Isn’t it good enough for you?’
    ‘Yeah, it’s a nice name.’
    ‘I didn’t think her partner would appreciate it if I changed it to something else.’
    ‘No, probably not.’ I smile. ‘How long has she been working for you?’
    ‘Couple of years now.’
    ‘You like her, then?’
    ‘Not in that way.’ He raises one eyebrow at me and I’m horrified to find myself blushing. It doesn’t escape his notice. ‘Aah, my little Nutmeg,’ he says with amusement.
    Oh, God, what is happening to me? I feel like the tables of power are turning. I don’t want him to have this control over me again. I should go to bed. Right now.
    ‘Ciggie break.’ He stands up, stealing my opportunity to leave the table first.
    ‘I’m going to hit the sack,’ I tell him, a touch too quickly.
    ‘Right you are,’ he replies, opening the door. ‘Night.’ He shuts it behind him.
    Upstairs I sit in my darkened bedroom and stare out of the window. I forgot to pull the curtains earlier and now I can see that there’s a full moon tonight.
    Maybe it was a mistake coming back here. There are too many memories. Good memories – and bad. Is it affecting Johnny, too? He doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, but then Johnny hardly ever seems to be bothered by anything.
    I go to the window and see his cigarette outside in the night. He puts it to his lips and inhales, lighting his face with an orange glow. Then he looks up and I pause, my fingers clutching the curtain fabric, not sure if he can see me or not. I nod down to him, just in case, and pull the curtains closed.

 
  Chapter 25  
    ‘Good afternoon,’ I say to Johnny when he emerges the following morning.
    ‘What’s the time?’ he asks in confusion.
    ‘Almost ten o’clock.’
    ‘Christ, this is early for me. What time were you up?’
    ‘Six thirty,’ I reply chirpily. ‘I’m absolutely knackered!’
    He gives me a wry grin and rubs at the sleep in his eyes.
    ‘I could get up early tomorrow. Give you a lie-in.’
    I turn to him in surprise. ‘Really?’
    ‘Sure.’
    Then I think of all the practicalities of breakfast and nappy changes and getting Barney dressed, and actually it feels like harder work trying to explain it all than just getting out of bed and doing it myself.
    ‘We’ll see,’ I say, making him a coffee and handing it over.
    ‘Don’t you think I can cope?’ He blows steam off the top.
    ‘It’s not that,’ I reply.
    ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’
    ‘No, you’re right, I shouldn’t.’ I glance down at the countertop.
    ‘Did Christian help much with Barney?’ he asks casually.
    ‘I don’t want to talk about him,’ I reply, then feel mean.
    Johnny shrugs and wanders to the door, reaching into his jeans pocket for his fags. He shuts the door behind him. After a minute, I go to the window and open it, leaning out.
    ‘Have you ever thought about giving up?’
    ‘Nope.’ He inhales deeply.
    ‘You haven’t had a drink since you’ve been here.’
    ‘Drink isn’t my problem,’ he says.
    ‘How did you come to that conclusion?’ I ask, unimpressed. ‘It always used to be.’
    ‘It’s the drugs that keep ending me back in rehab.’
    ‘And the drink,’ I add. ‘What do your counsellors say?’
    ‘They’re full of shit.’ He shudders. ‘God, I hate that place.’
    ‘Not enough to stop you from going back there.’
    ‘I’m not going back again,’ he replies resolutely.
    ‘Why don’t you give up the booze, then? I