Baby Be Mine (21 page)

‘Wayhey!’ Johnny exclaims, lifting him to his feet again. ‘Clever boy.’ Barney babbles up at him and toddles towards his guitar, propped up against a wall.

‘Thought I might be able to get some writing done,’ Johnny explains, still grinning at Barney’s achievement.

‘That’d be good.’ I give him an encouraging nod.

‘You’re so funny, Nutmeg.’ He reaches over and ruffles my hair.

‘Get off!’ I wave him away. ‘Jesus, what am I, your sister?’

He looks sad. ‘I never had a sister. Always wanted one.’

‘You can have mine, if you like.’ I’ll get to that news in a minute . . .

He smiles again. ‘You sounded chirpy on the phone.’

‘Yep. Receptionist downstairs was being a cow.’

His face falls. ‘Really?’

‘Mmm. Thought I was a stalker, I think.’

‘That’s crap. Want me to get her fired for you?’

I laugh. ‘No, you’re alright, thanks.’

‘I will,’ he says casually.

‘Yep, I’m aware of how
powerful
you are,’ I say this in a comedy fashion. ‘But no need to put people out of work just yet.’

He shrugs. ‘Whatever you want.’

‘Barney, don’t touch that, baby,’ I call. He’s reached Johnny’s guitar.

‘It’s okay,’ Johnny says, going over to him. ‘You like this?’

I slump down on one of the ridiculously comfy sofas. Johnny crouches next to Barney and lets him pluck the strings.

‘Why don’t you play him something?’ I suggest.

Most people would modestly decline, but Johnny doesn’t. It’s refreshing.

He spins his guitar around and sits cross-legged on the floor. His chest is still bare and there’s not an ounce of fat on his stomach. Barney watches, fixated as he starts to strum.

‘Sing, too,’ I urge from my comfy sofa position, smirking now because I’m probably pushing my luck.

Johnny glances up at me and raises one eyebrow before looking back at Barney. He plays a different, jaunty tune.

‘Old McDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O . . .’

I laugh as Barney starts to clap.

‘And on that farm he had a pig. E-I-E-I-O . . .’

Johnny stops playing and chuckles, shaking his head. ‘Nah, you can do the nursery rhymes, but I want my son to be raised on real music.’

I watch him, amused, as he starts to play something else. I recognise it, but don’t know what it is until he gets to the chorus:

‘Hey, Mister Tambourine Man, play a song for me . . .’

‘Isn’t that about drugs?’ I tease over the music. Johnny rolls his eyes and carries on playing. I smile to myself and listen to his deep, beautiful voice. Barney, next to him, is absolutely enthralled. For the first time in way too long, I feel content.

It’s at times like this that I remember why I loved Johnny.

A feeling of déjà vu strikes me, and I recall thinking the same thing about Christian only a few weeks ago. I interrupt him before the song comes to an end.

‘So,’ I say, all business-like. ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem.’

Johnny stops playing and puts his guitar down. ‘What?’

‘My sister and her husband have besieged us.’

‘Hey?’

‘My sister, Susan, and her husband, Tony, have landed on my parents’ doorstep in search of fame and fortune.
Your
fame and fortune, to be more precise.’

‘Ah.’

Barney starts to pluck the guitar strings, distracting Johnny. He strokes his hair affectionately.

‘Johnny.’ I try to regain his attention.

‘What? Oh, yeah. What’s the big deal?’

‘Have I never told you about my sister before? Scrap that, I know I haven’t. She’s a pain in the arse. We won’t be able to go to the house now. We’ll have to hang out here.’

‘Why?’ He pulls a face. ‘Is she going to knife me through the heart?’

‘Unlikely,’ I say wryly. ‘She and Tony will just spend the whole time pretending that they’re not interested in you in any way whatsoever and that they don’t care that you’re some big celebrity – even though they clearly do.’

‘So? It’s not like I haven’t dealt with that sort of thing before.’

‘It’s embarrassing,’ I point out.

‘Fuck it. Whoops,’ he apologises. ‘Don’t worry about it, Nutmeg. Let’s go and meet them.’

I hesitate. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yep.’

‘Don’t say you haven’t been warned.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Okay, then. But play another song first.’

He grins and starts to strum.

‘Hey, hey, we’re the Monkees . . .’

Barney giggles, and pretty soon I do, too.

‘What’s his name again?’ Johnny asks as he pulls up outside my parents’ place. He insisted on driving – way too fast, I might add –
and
I had to give him directions the whole way.

‘Tony,’ I reply. ‘And she’s Susan.’

‘Got that.’ He unclicks his seat belt.

‘Oh!’ I cry, suddenly remembering a very important piece of information. ‘They don’t know about Barney.’

‘What do you mean?’ He turns to look at me with confusion.

‘They don’t know that Barney is yours.’

‘What the hell do they think I’m doing here, then?’ he exclaims.

‘I guess they think we’ve stayed friends,’ I reply uneasily. ‘They never knew about you and me, either,’ I add quickly, feeling my face heat up at the thought that he might assume that I bragged about it to anyone.

‘This is going to be awkward, then.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I did warn you.’

No reply.

‘Shall we go back to your hotel?’ I ask tetchily. Like I wanted to come here, anyway.

‘No, f-f-fudge it,’ he corrects himself and instantly smirks at his own ingenuity. ‘Let’s have some fun.’ He climbs out of the car. ‘Susan! Tony!’ he calls as he opens the front door – my parents rarely lock it.

‘Is that him?’ I hear my sister squeak in entirely unconcealed surprise.

‘Yes,’ my dad replies unflappably.

I groan.

‘Who? Johnny Jefferson?’ Tony asks in disbelief.

Dur . . . Who else, you idiot?

‘Yes, it’s the one and only!’ Johnny cries gleefully down the corridor.

I hurry around the corner just in time to see Johnny engulf Susan in a massive bear hug.

‘Tony,’ he says affectionately, breaking away from my flabbergasted sister. ‘Come here, you.’ Over Johnny’s shoulder, Tony gives Susan a look of unparalleled incredulity. Susan looks like she’s going to burst. Even more than she usually does.

Oh, dear, I’ve obviously got the bitch in me today. I blame Jeannette the receptionist.

‘We were about to have lunch,’ my mum says, beaming at this turn of events.

‘Great, Cynthia! I’m starving,’ Johnny says, clapping his hands together. I give him a wry look and he winks at me as we head outside to the terrace table.

‘That was totally over the top,’ I say later, much to Johnny’s amusement. He’s about to drive himself back to the hotel in the GTI. By some miracle, he didn’t drink anything alcoholic today. I’m standing on the driveway, talking to him through the window.

‘What that was, Nutmeg, was fun.’

‘Will you stop calling me Nutmeg?’ I ask.

‘Nope.’

‘No, I didn’t think you would.’ I roll my eyes at him. ‘God only knows what Susan and Tony would be like if they found out Barney was yours.’

‘If?’ Johnny queries. ‘Don’t you mean,
when
?’

My lips turn down and I shrug.

‘We are going to tell them, aren’t we?’ he says, in a tone that implies we’d bloody well better.

‘Fine, if you want it plastered all over the tabloids.’

‘They wouldn’t do that,’ he scoffs.

‘You don’t know my sister.’

‘I know that she’s your
sister
,’ he replies. ‘I don’t believe she’d sell a story about you.’

‘Hmm, maybe not. But I still don’t want to tell her yet.’ I regard him curiously. ‘Have you told Dana?’

‘Nope.’

‘When are you planning on doing that?’

‘When the time’s right. She’s already peeved at me for dis appearing out of LA for days on end.’

‘What have you told her you’re doing?’

He shrugs. ‘Writing.’

He always did use to disappear on impromptu writing trips. I remember feeling horribly insecure about it. I shudder at the memory of that girl; that girl I used to be. I’ll never let myself get in a position like that, ever again.

‘Right, you’d better be off,’ I say.

‘Yep.’ He turns the key in the ignition. ‘See you in the morning?’

‘We’ll be waiting.’ I cast a look over my shoulder at the house, then turn back to him and say with widened, crazy eyes, ‘We will
all
be waiting . . .’

He shakes his head with amusement before driving away.

  Chapter 22  

Johnny doesn’t turn up until after one o’clock the following day and it nearly drives Susan and Tony around the bend. I can see them continually checking their watches. Even my parents are distracted.

‘Why don’t you go out for the day?’ I suggest at about eleven o’clock to annoy them.

‘No, we’re happy here, thank you,’ Susan replies tersely, but forty-five minutes later, she erupts. ‘Where the hell is he?’

I shrug. ‘This is what he’s like.’ Although, inside, I’m getting a little bit irate myself. What the hell has he been doing all morning? I tried calling him earlier, to no avail. I hope he’s not nursing a hangover. I’ll be really pissed off.

Sure enough, when he does finally turn up, it’s in dark sunglasses and looking the worse for wear. I answer the door to him.

‘You’ve been drinking.’ It’s not a question.

‘And?’

‘This isn’t a bloody holiday, Johnny. You’re here to get to know Barney.’

‘I am getting to know him,’ he replies unapologetically.

‘I don’t want you drinking around my son!’ I’m starting to get worked up.

‘I’m not drinking around
my
son,’ he replies.

‘What are you doing, boozing on your own, anyway? That should be the clearest sign to you that you’ve got a problem.’

‘Who said I was drinking on my own?’ he asks.

My mouth shuts abruptly.

‘Where’s Barney?’ He eases me to one side and steps over the threshold.

‘Outside.’

He starts to saunter in that direction and I find I’m lost for words.

As soon as they heard the knock at the door, Susan and Tony leaped into their ‘casual’ positions. Susan is now lying on a sunlounger, with one leg propped up to try to make her frame look smaller. It’s not really working.

‘Good morning!’ Tony says with forced cheerfulness. ‘Or should I say, good afternoon?’ He strokes his weak chin in an attempt to be comical and then flicks his limp brown hair back before giggling hysterically.

‘Did you have a nice lie-in?’ Susan asks huskily.

Johnny gives them a slight nod of acknowledgement, but doesn’t pay them any additional attention as he walks past. He joins Barney on the grass under the shade of an umbrella and silently proceeds to push one of his plastic toy cars around. Barney makes a grab for it and Johnny smiles a small smile. It’s blatantly obvious to me that he’s nursing quite a hangover. I go indoors to the medicine cabinet and return to the shade of the umbrella, this time accompanied by a glass of water and painkillers. I hand them to Johnny without comment. He takes them without looking at me.

‘Have you been to a perfume factory yet?’ Susan asks Johnny brightly.

‘Nope.’ He shakes his head.

‘Oh, you must go,’ she says. ‘Maybe we could all go today?’

‘Perfume’s not really my thing,’ Johnny drawls, clearly not keen to engage in conversation. Susan is having none of it.

‘Not your thing? It’s not about that; it’s just really interesting to see how they make it. Isn’t it, Tony?’ She nudges him hard.

‘Oh, yes,’ he complies. ‘Very interesting. We should go. Shouldn’t we?’ He looks at Susan.

‘Yes. We should all go.’ Susan gazes meaningfully at Johnny, but he ignores her. ‘Or we could all just stay here and enjoy the sunshine,’ she adds, false breezily.

Johnny murmurs under his breath, ‘Get me away from here.’

‘You want to go out?’ I ask him quietly.

‘Need.’

Twenty-five minutes later we’re in the car. I’m driving. Johnny is silent in the seat next to me.

‘Where do you want to go?’

‘I don’t care.’

It was a nightmare getting away. When I announced that we were going for a drive, Susan decided it was an excellent idea and that she and Tony should join us, even though she’d already promised to go with Mum and Dad to a perfume factory. She then suggested driving behind us in their car, and when I knocked that idea on the head, she accused me of being selfish. I walked out at that point. Ooh, it’s going to be fun around the dinner table this evening.