Baby Be Mine
Paige Toon
Praise for Paige Toon
‘I loved it – I couldn’t put it down’
Marian Keyes
‘Another perfect summer page-turner from Paige Toon’
Daily Mirror
‘Wonderful, addictive, sharp and sexy’
Cosmopolitan
‘Charming and romantic. Real old-school chick-lit, like they used to make in the old days’
Lisa Jewell
‘Brilliant . . . one of the rising stars of chick-lit’
Heat
‘Laugh-out-loud funny and touchingly honest. This is summer’s poolside reading sorted!’
Company
‘This witty and sexy debut novel is perfect holiday reading material’
Closer
‘A great achievement . . . I really enjoyed it and I love the way it starts. You’re in there from the word go’
Marian Keyes
‘A fab debut and great summer read’
Elle
‘Loved this book – all the warmth and fun I’ve grown to expect from the talented Ms Toon’
Freya North
‘A fun read – pack it with your bikini’
Adele Parks
Also by Paige Toon
Lucy in the Sky
Johnny Be Good
Chasing Daisy
Pictures of Lily
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2011
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © Paige Toon, 2011
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Paige Toon to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor
222 Gray’s Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB
Simon & Schuster Australia
Sydney
www.simonandschuster.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
B Format ISBN 978-1-84983-126-0
Trade Paperback ISBN 978-0-85720-649-7
eBook ISBN: 978-1-84983-127-7
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Typeset by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman, Reading, Berkshire, RG1 8EX
For Idha
MY baby
Love you, little one
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 19
Chapter 18
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Sneak Preview
Prologue
‘He’s not mine, is he?’
That’s the question I fear the most.
You see, I have a secret. My son is not fathered by my boyfriend, but by one of the most famous people alive. And he doesn’t even know it.
My boyfriend doesn’t know, either. No one does. That’s the only way it can be. It’s a crushing burden to carry, but it’s mine to carry and mine alone.
I’m terrified, so terrified that the truth will come out. Because my son doesn’t look like my boyfriend. He looks like his rockstar father. And sooner or later, the world is going to realise . . .
Chapter 1
‘Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday, dear Barney,
Happy birthday to you.’
I’m singing this very quietly so as not to wake him. He’s had a busy day with his nanny, grandad and me, and now he’s crashed out in his cot. He’s going to grow out of it soon. I can’t believe my baby has just turned one. It’s frightening how time flies.
Bit of a bummer that his daddy wasn’t here today. I say that flippantly, but inside I’m not happy. Not happy at all. Then, suddenly, I’m fine again. It’s the guilt. It balances out the anger. I can’t stay cross with Christian for long. That word: ‘Daddy’. It’s a lie. I’m a liar. And I hate myself for it.
I can hear my parents clattering away in the bathroom next door. They’ll be in bed soon, and then I’ll have the living room to myself. I’m getting the urge again. My head is prickling with the thought of it. It will be the first time I’ve done it in six months. The last time was when Christian and I had a big fight. That was before I knew. Before I knew for sure. But I’d suspected it for a long time.
Oh, Christian . . . What have I done?
One year and nine months ago, I had sex with my boyfriend’s best friend. It sounds horrendous when you say it like that. Don’t get me wrong, it is horrendous. But there was a history there. I was in love with Johnny. I was in love with him first.
I look back once more to my sleeping baby, who is no longer a baby. I lean over his cot and kiss him softly on his forehead as tears fill my eyes.
I’m so sorry, my darling. I don’t know what to do.
If I told Christian now and he threw us out, as of course he would, how would my son be affected? Would he remember the person who was his father for the first year of his life? Christian is away such a lot at the moment that we’re almost getting used to life without him. Maybe it wouldn’t be such an upheaval. Maybe it would be okay. Oh, who am I kidding?
I think my parents have finally retired to bed. I get up and quietly walk out of my bedroom into the living room. My laptop screen is dark, the screensaver having switched itself off hours ago. I take a seat on the sofa and pull the computer onto my lap. My head is prickling again. I shouldn’t be doing this.
‘I thought you were in bed?’
I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of my mum’s voice.
‘You frightened me!’
‘Sorry, I wanted a glass of water.’
I quickly push down the laptop lid and put the computer back on the side-table, the urge momentarily quashed. ‘I was just checking my emails,’ I lie as I get up and join my mum in the kitchen.
‘Can’t you do that in the morning?’ she asks, pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. ‘You’ve had a busy day,’ she adds.
‘I know, I know,’ I brush her off, not enjoying being told what to do, especially now that I’m a responsible parent myself. Allegedly.
‘Ha
ve you spoken to Christian?’ she asks as she decants water into a tumbler.
‘No, I haven’t called him back yet,’ I admit.
‘Don’t you think you should? I’m sure he’d like to know about Barney’s birthday.’
I bite my tongue and take the bottle from her, pouring a drink for myself. ‘I will,’ I reply shortly.
‘Good,’ she says annoyingly.
I follow her out of the kitchen and switch off all the lights, taking one last look at my laptop sitting silently on the side-table in the living room.
You’ll keep . . .
I follow my mum down the corridor to the bedrooms. She and Dad are sleeping in Barney’s room to the left of the bathroom, while he and his cot have been temporarily relocated into my bedroom on the right.
‘Night, night.’ Mum turns back to give me a peck on the cheek.
‘Night,’ I reply, and go into my bedroom.
I shut the door and take a deep breath before exhaling as quietly as I can. My iPhone is charging on my bedside table. I see that there’s another message from Christian:
Boarding now. Will ring when I land
I feel bad. I should have called him earlier. I’m surprised to discover I’m looking forward to seeing him.
Why am I surprised? He’s my boyfriend. I love him.
I know why: it’s the guilt. It’s poisonous. And deep down I know that it’s going to be the death of our little family.
Chapter 2
‘Hello, there!’
I hear Mum’s cheerful voice echoing through the walls. I’m in the bathroom and, from the sounds of it, my dad has just arrived home from the airport with Christian.
‘Hi!’ Christian replies. ‘Hey . . .’ There’s silence as I picture him scooping up Barney into his arms for a warm, cuddly hug. I quickly towel myself dry – I didn’t think they’d be back so soon.
‘Where’s Meg?’ Christian asks.
‘In the shower,’ my mum replies.
‘Have a nice lie-in, did she?’ Christian says and I frown as they all chuckle at my expense. It’s six thirty in the evening and I’ve been on my feet all day. A moment later there’s a knock at the door.
‘Meg?’
‘I’m coming,’ I reply tetchily.
‘Unlock the door.’
Still frowning, I do as he says.
‘Hey!’ He beams as he enters the steam-filled bathroom, but his face falls when he sees my expression. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’ I wrap the towel around my still-damp body.
‘Can I have a hug?’ he asks warily as he opens his arms and cocks his head to one side.
‘Sure.’ I grudgingly step forward and his arms embrace me.
‘Mmm,’ he murmurs into my wet hair. ‘I missed you.’
‘Did you?’
He pulls away and gives me a look. ‘Of course I did. I hoped you’d change your mind about coming to get me.’
‘Sorry,’ I say and genuinely mean it. I’ve been having second thoughts all day about whether or not I should go to the airport myself. ‘I thought I’d better do Barney’s dinner and get things back to normal after yesterday’s mayhem. Dad offered; I didn’t think you’d mind.’
‘You’re still pissed off at me for not getting home in time.’ It’s not a question. I shrug. ‘I did try. I couldn’t help it,’ he says. ‘Anyway, it’s not like Barney would have missed me; he’s only one.’
I’ll have to remember you said that if you discover the truth about him anytime soon . . .
I nod towards the door. ‘Better go and get dressed.’
He turns away and I follow him into the bedroom. ‘How was yesterday?’ he asks, sitting down on the bed and watching me as I open the wardrobe.
‘It was good,’ I reply, taking a navy-blue and white polka-dot maxidress out of the wardrobe and slipping it over my head. ‘I don’t think he knew what hit him with all the toys your parents sent. And he loved the balloons and candles. Did you bring him anything back?’
He grins. ‘Yep.’
‘What?’
‘A dumper truck.’ He’s still grinning cheekily.
‘What’s so funny?’ I smile. ‘Did you bring me something back?’
‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
‘It’s Pebbles, isn’t it?’ He laughs as I clamber onto his knees and throw my arms around him. He collapses back on the bed.
Pebbles is a type of American cereal. It’s supposed to be for kids, but Christian and I both have a sweet tooth and we became addicted to the multicoloured rice crispy things when we spent time in the States a few years ago.
Christian rolls me off his body onto the bed next to him and stares into my eyes. I stare back into his: a darker shade of brown than mine. His black hair falls across his eye-line and I reach over and push it away. He needs a haircut.
He leans forward and kisses me on the lips. I sit back up again.
‘I’m going to get the bed wet.’ I indicate my damp hair.
‘Fuck the bed,’ he says, a tad exasperated.
‘Oi, don’t swear!’ I chastise.
‘He’s not in earshot, is he?’ He’s talking about Barney.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I reply firmly. ‘You’ve got to get out of the habit.’
Christian swears more than anyone else I know. I’ve been trying to get him to clean up his act ever since our baby was born.
‘He can’t even talk yet,’ he mutters, getting up from the bed with a sigh.
I move on. ‘How was your flight? Flights, I mean.’
We live in a little village called Cucugnan in the French Pyrenees, so Christian had to fly via the UK from Los Angeles and then onto our nearest airport, Perpignan, which is twenty-five kilometres away. With the winding mountain roads it takes a good forty-five minutes to travel to Cucugnan.
‘Both fine. The LA one was an hour delayed, but I still managed to find time at Heathrow to buy some Krispy Kremes.’
‘I hope you didn’t eat them all . . .’ I say of the doughnuts.
‘Only six.’
‘Six out of twelve?’
‘I’m joking. I managed to stop at three, so there are nine left for you lot.’
‘Bugger the others,’ I joke.
We used to live in Belsize Park in north London – in fact, Christian still owns his house there – but a few months ago, his friend 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 o
n 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.
