with excitement before I’ve even unbuckled my seat belt. The badness fades away and is replaced with an overwhelming sense of love and happiness. I run up the steps, not caring that my bare legs are brushing against the lavender with all its bees buzzing around. If I get stung, so what? I want to hold my son. My mum passes him over, laughing at our obvious delight to be with each other. I hug him tightly and then kiss his plump lips over and over again until he’s in hysterics. My face aches from smiling so much.
Whatever happens, happens, I tell myself. But Barney is mine and always will be.
Chapter 10
My parents leave the following day and Christian convinces me not to cancel the trip to Barcelona. I don’t tell Bess that I considered not going, because when I speak to her on Thursday night, she’s so excited about donning her brand-new swimming costume and leaping in the rooftop pool that I don’t want to dampen her enthusiasm.
‘What time does your flight come in?’ I ask her.
‘About midday, so I’ll see you at the hotel.’
‘I was wondering if I should swing by the airport to pick you up.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ she says. ‘I’ll jump in a cab. You check in and get the champers on ice for me. I can’t bloody wait!’
Traumatic though the last week has been, it’s impossible for her enthusiasm not to rub off on me. Which is just as well, because I don’t want to ruin her birthday by being miserable.
Barney and I set off the following morning in time for his nap. He falls asleep before we’ve even hit the next town. I plug my iPod into the stereo and try to relax as I navigate Christian’s black Alfa Romeo through the Pyrenees. Scraggly trees cling onto the rocky cliff faces and wildflowers pepper the sides of roads as crazy cyclists huff past us up the steep hills. We pass over glittering green rivers and through villages with old stone bell towers and the ever-present boulangeries, charcuteries and pharmacies. Wooden shutters on creamy houses are painted cornflower blue, and all the time the sun beats down from the cloudless sky. Just like Bess, I start to daydream about that rooftop pool.
The journey takes only two hours so we arrive around noon. I park the car in the underground car park across from the hotel and lug our bags towards the lift while single-handedly pushing the buggy. I’m glad I packed light. It’s a skill I had to learn when I became a mother and realised I wasn’t built like an octopus. We emerge into daylight and find ourselves in a square. Directly opposite us is a beautiful cathedral. I stand under the shade of a tree and try to accustom myself to the stifling heat as I point out the ‘big church’ to Barney, but he’s more interested in the yellow flowers that have fallen like confetti onto the ground from the tree over our heads.
The Grand Hotel Central lobby is dark, sensuous and blissfully cool. We check in and take the lift to the seventh floor. There are stairs directly from here to the rooftop bar. Our suite is huge. The sofa bed has already been made up in one room, and next door is a giant super-king-sized bed with a large bathroom equipped with shower and bathtub. Excitement swells through me and I remember with a small smile that this is remarkably similar to how I felt when I first saw my bedroom in Johnny’s house. How young I seemed back then. How old and jaded I feel now. But not right now. Right now, I feel young and free and I can’t wait to see my best friend and have a proper girls’ weekend, even if we do have a male toddler in tow . . .
I get us changed and lather us both with suncream and then we walk out of the room and push open the door to the outside stairs. The heat hits us again as we climb the wooden steps to the pool and Skybar. The first thing I see is the infinity pool, clear and blue and so inviting I feel like plonking Barney on a sunlounger and diving right in. We have a bird’s-eye view over Barcelona’s
Whatever happens, happens, I tell myself. But Barney is mine and always will be.
Chapter 10
My parents leave the following day and Christian convinces me not to cancel the trip to Barcelona. I don’t tell Bess that I considered not going, because when I speak to her on Thursday night, she’s so excited about donning her brand-new swimming costume and leaping in the rooftop pool that I don’t want to dampen her enthusiasm.
‘What time does your flight come in?’ I ask her.
‘About midday, so I’ll see you at the hotel.’
‘I was wondering if I should swing by the airport to pick you up.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ she says. ‘I’ll jump in a cab. You check in and get the champers on ice for me. I can’t bloody wait!’
Traumatic though the last week has been, it’s impossible for her enthusiasm not to rub off on me. Which is just as well, because I don’t want to ruin her birthday by being miserable.
Barney and I set off the following morning in time for his nap. He falls asleep before we’ve even hit the next town. I plug my iPod into the stereo and try to relax as I navigate Christian’s black Alfa Romeo through the Pyrenees. Scraggly trees cling onto the rocky cliff faces and wildflowers pepper the sides of roads as crazy cyclists huff past us up the steep hills. We pass over glittering green rivers and through villages with old stone bell towers and the ever-present boulangeries, charcuteries and pharmacies. Wooden shutters on creamy houses are painted cornflower blue, and all the time the sun beats down from the cloudless sky. Just like Bess, I start to daydream about that rooftop pool.
The journey takes only two hours so we arrive around noon. I park the car in the underground car park across from the hotel and lug our bags towards the lift while single-handedly pushing the buggy. I’m glad I packed light. It’s a skill I had to learn when I became a mother and realised I wasn’t built like an octopus. We emerge into daylight and find ourselves in a square. Directly opposite us is a beautiful cathedral. I stand under the shade of a tree and try to accustom myself to the stifling heat as I point out the ‘big church’ to Barney, but he’s more interested in the yellow flowers that have fallen like confetti onto the ground from the tree over our heads.
The Grand Hotel Central lobby is dark, sensuous and blissfully cool. We check in and take the lift to the seventh floor. There are stairs directly from here to the rooftop bar. Our suite is huge. The sofa bed has already been made up in one room, and next door is a giant super-king-sized bed with a large bathroom equipped with shower and bathtub. Excitement swells through me and I remember with a small smile that this is remarkably similar to how I felt when I first saw my bedroom in Johnny’s house. How young I seemed back then. How old and jaded I feel now. But not right now. Right now, I feel young and free and I can’t wait to see my best friend and have a proper girls’ weekend, even if we do have a male toddler in tow . . .
I get us changed and lather us both with suncream and then we walk out of the room and push open the door to the outside stairs. The heat hits us again as we climb the wooden steps to the pool and Skybar. The first thing I see is the infinity pool, clear and blue and so inviting I feel like plonking Barney on a sunlounger and diving right in. We have a bird’s-eye view over Barcelona’s
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