“I’m here. I’m here, George.”
“Say something, Jim. Tell me I’m a bad person. Tell me it’s too soon. It’s wrong; just tell me something, Jim.”
“I’m not telling you any of those things, George, coz none of them are true.” She lets out a loud huff. “What’s his name? Is he fit? Is he an Aussie? Oh, my God, does he look like Jackson? Jax is well fucking horny from what I can remember. Does he call ya Sheila? Have you shagged? Oh, my God, George, have you?” This is the sort of conversation I would expect to have with Ashley, not with Jimmie, my sensible sister-in-law and best friend. Before I can answer any of her questions, she shrieks again, “Oh, my fucking God, George, is he gonna be your baby daddy? Am I gonna be carrying his baby in my belly?”
“What? No! For fuck’s sake, Jim, what’s gotten into you? I called for advice from Jamie Lou’s sensible advice surgery, and instead, I’ve gotten Agony Aunt Ashley’s looney line instead.” My headache has returned, and I wish I hadn’t bothered calling her now.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, George. Harley’s got a bug. I had no sleep last night, and I’ve done nothing but cuddle her today because she’s so clingy. She’s finally just gone off to sleep and I think I might be a bit delirious. Ziggy had it at the beginning of the week, and I lost two nights sleep with him throwing up everywhere.” She pauses and the silence seems to stretch on, and I’m so worried about what she must think of me. “What’s his name, George?”
“Roman,” I reply quietly.
“That’s different. I like it. What’s he look like?”
“He’s tall and blond, with the most amazing ice-blue eyes, and he’s just nice, Jim.”
“So, what’s the problem, George? Have ya shagged him?”
“No, no, nothing like that. We’ve just… I don’t know if I’m ready, Jim.”
“George, we spoke about this last week. Please stop feeling guilty; you’re young and beautiful, and you’ve still got needs. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing, George, nothing at all.”
“I’m not doing anything, Jim. We’ve kissed… a lot, but that’s it. I’ve told him I’m not ready for more and he’s said he’ll wait, but it just feels wrong.”
“No, it doesn’t, George. After all this time, it probably feels fucking great. It only feels wrong in your head when you let it, when you start over-thinking.”
I have tears running from my eyes now; they’re running into my ears and around the back of my neck. “But it’s not even been a year. It’s too soon.”
“And what, after next Saturday, it’ll be all right? You’re talking bollocks, George, and you know it.” My heart leaps at the mention of next Saturday; all my thoughts, all my memories have started with ‘This time last year…’ but after Saturday that would be gone. All the time it was ‘just’ a year ago, I could justify that moving on was wrong, too soon, but when my thoughts start with ‘This time the year before last’, it sounds like it’s a long time ago. It sounds long enough ago for me to be moving on, to be letting go. A sob comes from within me that I have no control over, then another.
“I want them back, Jim. I just want them back.” My chest and my throat burn. I roll onto my side and curl up into the foetal position, still holding the phone to my ear.
“Don’t do this, George. Please don’t do this. Fuck, I wish I was there.”
I choke on my words as I almost tell her I wish she was here, too, but I disguise it as another sob. If I ask her, I know she’ll come, and as much as I would like that, I need to get through this on my own. I need to prove to everyone, especially myself, that I can get through these next few weeks. Sometime in the very near future, I want to become a mother, and if I can’t get through this, then how am I ever going to raise a child on my own? That thought is all I’m living for right now; it’s all that’s keeping me going. My family and the hope I have for one day having a baby are what make me get out of bed each day, if I’m totally honest with myself.
“I’m sorry, Jim. I’m just having a moment.” I cover my mouth with my free hand so she can’t hear my sobs or my gasps for air.
“I know, babe, and you’re quite entitled to; it’s just hard hearing you so upset when you’re so far away.” She’s quiet for a few moments, and I hear her sniff. “Look, George, Len’s saying that the music channels are going to be playing wall-to-wall Carnage music, interviews and documentaries all weekend. I don’t know if they have Sky over there, but I just wanted you to know that the coverage is going to be intense, and there’s been a lot of requests at the label for info as to when the memorial service will be.”
I let out a long sigh; I don’t want to talk about this anymore. “I don’t know, Jim. Next year sometime, June maybe, on Sean’s birthday.”
Sean and Beau’s funeral had been private. The streets had been absolutely rammed with his fans and just general members of the public showing their respect, but the church service and burial had been family and very close friends. I had agreed to a more-public memorial service at a later date, and I probably would’ve let it be arranged for the first anniversary if I had still been in England. Since that wasn’t the case, it would have to be next year now.
“There’s no pressure, George; whenever you’re ready. There’s just a lot of people who want to show their respects.”
My head’s pounding and my throat aches from the sobs I’m suppressing. Some days, only a good cry will do. I just want to end this conversation and have that good cry right now.
“I know they do, Jim, and it will happen; I just need to get through this next week, and then perhaps I can think about it. I love you, Jim; kiss them babies and my car-wanker brother for me. I need to go.” I don’t wait for her goodbye; I end the call before she can hear me cry. I just can’t hold it in any longer. I grab the pillow and hold on to it, squeeze it to me, wishing everything about my life was different.
I think I’m imagining things a little while later when I feel the bed dip beside me and someone strokes their hand over my hair. I open my eyes to see Roman standing up from the bed; he pulls off his jeans and T-shirt and lies back down next to me. He rolls me on my side and spoons into my back, pulling me into him tightly; he kisses the top of my head continuously while I cry.
“Let it out, George; let it all out, baby.” I have this sudden urge to talk, to tell him everything.
“I want it to stop, Rome. I’m so sick of the pain, all day, every day; it hurts so fucking much.” I turn around and face him. “Help me, Rome. Help me make it go away; help me to forget, just for a little while.” He kisses away the tears on my cheeks; my mouth finds his and I kiss him, hungrily; my tongue invades his mouth.
He pulls away. “Georgia, baby, please; I want you, but not like this. I feel like a complete bastard; I feel like I’m taking advantage of ya.”
I shake my head and hold his face between my hands. “No, no, Rome, you’re giving me what I need; you said you would help me.” My eyes widen as they plead with his. “You said you would help me. Well, I need your help, right here, right now; I want and I need your help.” He runs his fingertips over my cheek, towards my lips; I open my mouth slightly and flick my tongue between and over his fingers. They taste salty where he has touched my tears. His body is tense against mine as I slowly see the resolve in his eyes fade. Then his lips are on mine, gently at first, and then he rolls over and positions himself between my legs without breaking our kiss. He grinds his hips into mine; while one hand is under my arse cheek, tilting my hips up to meet his, the other hand is holding both of mine by my wrists above my head. I grind my hips back against his, and I can feel the tip of his cock pushing against my clit. I move so it slides lower, where I’m so hot and wet that surely he has to be able to feel me through my shorts. The spark of... something in his eyes and the way his mouth drops open slightly lets me know he can.
“Fuck, Georgia. That feels good. You feel good and I don’t want this to be quick. I want to worship you. I want to take you to another world and help you forget, but I need to fuck you so bad right now, baby.” He slides down my body and pulls my shorts off as he goes. Then he stands at the side of the bed and takes off his boxers; he pulls me up by my hand so I’m sitting and strips my vest off. He pushes my legs apart and kneels in front of me, between them. His hand moves behind my head, his fingers lacing into my hair to make small circular movements against my scalp. It instantly relaxes me; my jaw feels slack and I hear the bones crunch as I tilt my head back.