Baby Be Mine

offered us a reduced rental price on his holiday home in the south of France and we jumped at the chance to take a break from grey old London. My parents actually live in the south of France themselves, in Grasse, about four and a half hours’ drive away. I’m not working at the moment, and as for Christian, he’s a full-time writer, so he can work anywhere – and he does.
    ‘How was your trip?’ I ask. ‘Did you get much done?’
    ‘A fair bit.’
    ‘Anything interesting happen?’
    ‘The gig was good. Scott whisked a couple of groupies away to his hotel room afterwards.’
    ‘Threesome.’ I roll my eyes.
    ‘Yeah, been there, done that.’ He glances at me and gives me a wry little smile. ‘I’m going to hang out with Barney. See you in a min.’
    He leaves the bedroom and I turn to look at myself in the mirror on the dressing table.
    Johnny . . .
    I grab my hairdryer and start to blast my shoulder-length, straight blonde hair.
    Christian used to be a music journalist, but now he’s an author. He made his name writing his best friend’s – rock star Johnny Jefferson’s – biography and his ‘been there, done that’ comment is a reference to the wild boy’s own sexual encounters. Now Christian is working on another biography, this time about American rock group Contour Lines. But there are three guys in the band, which means three times as much work for my writer boyfriend. Plus, as Scott, Niall and Ricky are all based in Los Angeles, Christian has to travel there a lot. I’m dreading this summer when the band goes on tour. I’ll never see him.
    A memory comes back to me of being on tour with Johnny. The screaming fans, the obsessive groupies, the drink, the drugs . . . Thankfully Christian isn’t into any of that stuff. I trust him completely. He can’t say the same for me. In fact, he can and does say the same thing about me. The sad thing is, he’s severely misguided.
    I slam my hairdryer down on the dressing table. I’ve had enough of facing my own reflection for now.
    The sound of laughter brings a smile to my face as I walk down the corridor towards the living room. Christian is tickling a near-hysterical Barney on the sofa.
    I lean against the doorframe and watch my boys, Christian with his dark, messy hair and Barney with his blond locks. My smile falters as Barney looks up and spies me, his green eyes piercing in the early evening sunlight. He looks just like his dad. His real dad. How can Christian not see it?
    ‘How about a drink, Mummy?’ Christian interrupts my thoughts.
    ‘What do you fancy?’
    ‘Got any of that cheapo cider?’
    All the cider is cheap here. Doesn’t mean it’s not yummy.
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘Right, we’re off!’ Dad declares, coming into the living room with his car keys dangling from his fingers. Mum follows him in.
    ‘Aah, thanks for coming.’ I go to give them both a hug. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay another night? Set off first thing?’
    ‘No, we’d better get going, honey,’ Dad replies. ‘Your mother’s got her ladies coming over for morning tea tomorrow.’
    ‘See you soon, Barney!’ Mum calls, but my little boy stays entangled with Christian on the sofa.
    ‘Come and say bye to Nanny and Grandad,’ I urge, and Christian heaves himself up, carrying my son’s weight with him. The three of us see my parents outside to their car and wave them off, and I experience the usual pang at watching them go. My head starts singing that song, ‘Alone Again’. I wish they lived closer. At least they’re in the same country. I wonder if I could get them to come and stay next time Christian goes away.
    The following day, Christian and I sit by the pool drinking iced lemonade and making our way through a fresh baguette. We took Barney for a walk in his buggy earlier to get him to sleep. He usually naps for about two hours, so Christian and I are taking this opportunity to chill out together.
    ‘This is bliss,’ he says, slicing a piece of Camembert for his bread.
    ‘Mmm,’ I agree, tilting my head back and gazing up at the blue sky. It’s been tipping it down in England for the last four days. It is lovely here. I just wish I had some friends around to enjoy it with.
    ‘When are you going away again?’ I pop my sunglasses on top of my head and turn to face him.
    ‘I don’t know,’ he replies, not looking at me. ‘Might be soon.’
    ‘How soon?’ I ask with trepidation.
    ‘The band’s starting tour rehearsals next week. I