“So, Georgia, tell me about the story of you then, but just the bits you want to.” He lays down on his side and props himself up on his elbow, facing me. I look down at him and smile.
“My name is Georgia Rae Layton McCarthy and this is the story of me, the true version.” He gestures for me to wait a minute, then rolls over and pulls us a beer each out of the cool bag. He has a bottle opener attached to his keys and opens them both, puts them in a cooler each, or stubby holder as they call them here, and then passes me one. I take a long swig before starting my story. I tell him about my parents, my brothers and how I met Sean when I was just eleven. He asks questions every now and then, but mostly he’s quiet and just listens. I don’t go into great detail about me and Sean, and the subjects jump about. We talk about the countries we’ve been to and the bands we’ve seen. It’s almost like I’m just a normal woman, meeting a bloke and we’re just getting to know each other, without this whole other life that I’ve led ever happening. Like Jackson, Roman’s a good listener, but unlike Jackson, I don’t feel analysed when I talk to him.
After a while, he sits up and pulls a tin from a drawstring sports bag he’s brought with him. He opens it and then looks up at me.
“D’ya mind?” The tin contains rolling papers and weed and a few cigarettes. I shake my head.
“Go for it.”
The one thing I’ve learnt in the short time that I’ve been in Byron is that a lot of people smoke weed. I don’t know if it’s because of the markets and music festivals that go on locally that attracts people into the area who just happen to be into it, or if it’s just something that’s acceptable here. I’m not being judgmental about it; how could I be? I’d grown up around it, and where I came from, from the age of about fourteen or fifteen, everyone smoked the stuff. I just had never seen it done so openly anywhere else, other than Amsterdam, of course. And that thought leads me into another conversation with Roman. While he rolls a joint, we sit side by side on the beach, smoke it and talk about Amsterdam, the coffee houses, the red light area. The conversation is easy and I feel totally relaxed and at ease with him. When we’ve had enough sun, we pack up our things and wander back to the bar.
* * *
Brooke’s back and already working; she comes around the bar and gives me a big cuddle as I pull up a stool.
“George, you missed a grouse weekend, darl. Seriously, next time I go down, you’ve got to come. So many men, George, so many.” Roman sits down on the stool next to me and Brooke gives a little squeal.
“Fuck me! Roaming Roman the Rooter, when d’ya get back in town?” She throws her arms around his neck and he wraps his around her waist; I watch with interest, especially after what she just called him. I know we all talk English, but the Australians have completely different slang to what I was used to, and I was learning it slowly. I know a ‘Rooter’ or a ‘Root Rat’ was someone who shagged about a lot.
Roman kisses Brooke’s cheek. “How ya goin’, Brookie? Ya lookin’ good, darl.” She stands back, puts her hand on her hip and looks him up and down; he’s put his vest back on, but his nicely tanned and toned arms are still on display.
“You too, Rome, lookin’ pretty damn hot yourself. Broken any hearts since you’ve been back yet?”
He shakes his head, turns and looks at me. “Would you like a drink, Georgia?”
Before I have a chance to say anything, Brooke shrieks, “Oh, my fuckin’ God, you have got to be kidding me!” She looks between Roman and me. “Three days, three fuckin’ days I’ve been away, how… when did this happen?” She gestures with her pointy finger between the two of us.
“Shut up, Brooke,” Roman says to her. She folds her arms across her chest and cocks her hip to the side, tapping her foot.
“Brooke, can I get some drinks please? Stop being a child, nothing’s going on. We only met last night,” I say to her. She frowns.
“So, why are you here together now, George? Seriously, you need to watch this one, darl; he has a rep. Where was Jax? Didn’t he steer ya right?”
“Hello.” Roman waves his hand in front of Brooke’s face. “I am here ya know; I can hear what you’re saying.” He looks across at me. “Don’t believe a word of it, Georgia; none of it’s true.”
“Haaa, bullshit Roman, bullshit,” Brooke shouts as she walks back around the bar. “What can I get yas? And no getting my cousin drunk and trying to get in her pants; she don’t need none of your kind of trouble in her life.” Roman and I look at each other, both smiling and shaking our heads.
“Thanks for your concern, Brooke, but maybe he’s exactly the kind of trouble I need right now.”
Her mouth drops open, and Roman leans into my ear and whispers, “I’m exactly the kind of trouble you need right now, exactly the kind.” Goose bumps travel up my spine, but I keep staring ahead as if he’s had no effect on me.
“Georgia, you are a bad, bad girl, but you’re in very good company. I’ve heard first-hand that Roman here is a very bad, bad boy. Now, take this bottle of wine and go be bad together, but be done with the badness by the time I finish up here tonight.” I can feel my face flush. What is it with my Australian family and their outspokenness?
Roman takes the bottle from Brooke.
“C’mon, Georgia, I can’t take much more of your cousin’s mouth.”
We stand as Brooke calls from where she’s serving another customer, “Yeah, go on; get out of here, ya pair of freaks!” I turn and glare at her; she shrugs, winks and turns back to her customer.
* * *
We spend the rest of the evening sitting on the balcony, drinking wine and talking about our lives. Despite the drink, I remain fairly guarded. I’ve never really had many friends outside of my family. My best friends growing up were my brothers and Jimmie, then later on, Ashley; my best friends had gone on to marry my brothers so they eventually became family, as well. Sean was my brother’s best friend and was already a part of my family before we were even in a relationship, which all meant I had never really trusted anyone outside my family, and I’m not about to start now. I like Roman; he’s a nice bloke, but I don’t know yet if I can trust him. What if he goes to the papers? What if I kiss him? What if I let slip some secret the press doesn’t already know about my life and he sells me out? I’m suddenly feeling extremely paranoid…
“What are you thinking, Georgia? What’s going on in that mind of yours?” His eyes sparkle in the dark. We’ve drunk wine and beer and smoked another joint between us.
I sigh deeply. “I was just thinking about how hard it is learning to trust people.”
“What people? Hope ya don’t mean me?”
“No offence, but yeah, you included, Rome. Sorry, but when you’ve had as many lies told about you in the newspapers as I have, it makes it really hard to trust anyone.”
He nods. “Yeah, I s’pose it would, but what makes you think I’m gonna go to the papers with anything? I’ve got nothing to go to them with.”
I feel really bad, but I need to put it out there. “I know you haven’t, and I need to keep it that way.”
“That’s horrible, Georgia. That’s a horrible way to think of me and that’s a horrible way to go through the rest of your life. To be honest with ya, darl, I’m offended.” I knew it would piss him off, but I’m a little stoned, a little drunk and feeling brave. I just needed to get it out there, so there it is.