“You all right there, George? Not drunk already, are ya? The night’s just started.” I roll my eyes at him.
“Fuck off. I’m not drunk; I’m fucking shitting myself. You’re taking me to a party on a beach, full of people who like nothing better than to take hallucinogenic drugs and have orgies. I wish I was fucking drunk.” He stops in his tracks, turns and looks me square in the eye.
“I haven’t brought you here to do anything you don’t want to do; I told you this at dinner.” I’d drunk wine with my dinner and was feeling brave, but now the wine’s worn off and my bravery seems to have deserted me. I chew on the inside of my lip as I stare into his ice-blue eyes. From somewhere, I find her: G, George, the fifteen-year-old version who wasn’t scared of anyone. The bright, brand new, untainted version of me. I needed to be her tonight, not the thirty-two-year-old version who had been shit on from a great height by life. I understood Roman’s thinking behind bringing me here. He knew it would make me uncomfortable, but he wanted me to face it; he wants to make me brave and fearless again. I don’t know that I ever can be, but I can put on a fucking good front. The only problem with digging deep and finding fifteen-year-old George is that I’ve also found her jealousies and temper.
“Don’t worry, babe; you couldn’t get me to do something I didn’t want to, no matter how many drugs you feed me. And just to be clear, you’re here with me; if you touch another bird, I will knock you the fuck out.” He laughs quietly as he wraps his arms around me.
“Ahh, Georgia, you’ve just made my balls go tight, talking like that.” He bends his knees so we’re at eye level. “I’m here with you and for you, and I won’t leave your side. I will have a few beers and that’s it, but I don’t want you to hold back. If you wanna give something a go, then try it. I’ll make sure you’re safe, not that there’s anything or anyone here to be afraid of.” He kisses my forehead and lets out a long sigh. “Just let go tonight, Georgia; just let go of everything. You carry too much on those beautiful young shoulders. Just for one night, let go and forget the fucked-up hand you were dealt by life.”
I nod at him, shrug and say, “Move then; what are we waiting for? But I warn you now, keep your hands on me or to yourself, else there will be consequences.”
Chapter Nine
After two glasses of wine from a plastic cup and being introduced to about fifteen people, I relax a little. A couple of the women I meet, Erica and Lexi, I think two of them are called, are a little full-on and keep touching me and telling me I’m beautiful. I think my ever-tightening grip on Roman’s hand makes him realise I’m uncomfortable, so we move away and find a spot in the sand by ourselves next to the fire. Roman pulls out a joint, already rolled from his cigarette box, so we sit and smoke it and I feel instantly calmer. The weed in Australia is much stronger than anything I’ve ever tried before, and I can only manage two or three puffs before my limbs and my thoughts relax.
Rightly or wrongly, this is exactly what I need right now. I am relaxed enough that I am actually enjoying myself; people are dancing and talking, no one knows who I am. Roman is by my side and I feel safe.
We sit and just people watch for a while, while Roman points out different people, telling me their names and professions; dancers, painters, poets. After about half an hour, a girl comes and sits down with us.
“Hey, Rome, good to see ya.” She looks him over like she wants to eat him. I turn my head to see if I can gauge his reaction to her, but he is looking at me with a smirk on his face. I raise my eyebrows, daring him to say something.
“Skye, how ya goin’? Georgia, meet Skye, an old mate of mine.” Skye puts her hand out and I take it. She’s about my age and very pretty in a pixyish sort of way. She looks me over in the exact same way as she looked at Roman, and I just know he’s still staring at me, waiting on my reaction… Bastard!
“Nice to meet you, Skye,” I say in my best British accent.
“Oh, wow, you’re English! Love the accent. Did you meet Roman while he was over there?” Roman puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in to his side.
“No, we met here. Georgia’s here visiting family in Byron, and we met in a bar a few weeks back.”
She gives, what looks like a genuine smile. “Cool.”
She makes herself comfortable, sitting facing Roman and me, and they talk about people they both know as I just sit and watch what’s going on around me. Someone is playing guitar and singing what sounds like a Bob Dylan song, and there are people paddling in the ocean, as well as some lying, sitting or standing on the beach. There are couples kissing and some are full-on dry-humping each other. I catch the smell of cannabis in the air every time the wind blows gently over my skin. Roman nudges my arm and passes me a joint.
“You okay?” he asks as I take a draw. It hits me instantly and my head spins.
“Shit, what’s in that?” I ask, my limbs instantly feeling like jelly. I pass it back to Roman but he shakes his head.
“No, I want to be able to look after you; have another puff. This stuffs a bit trippy; it’ll help you let go. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.” I look from him to Skye.
“It’s good stuff, Georgia; take another couple of hits,” she says. I look back at Roman, still not convinced. I’m on a beach in the middle of Australia with a man I’ve only known a few weeks, surrounded by a load of weirdo hippies, stoned and tripping off their nuts.
“You need to learn to trust people again, Georgia. I’ll look after you. I promise; please, trust me.” I nod slowly, thinking to myself that if it turns out they’re a bunch of Charles Manson types and this ends badly, at least I’ll get to see Sean again.
Skye and I share the rest of the joint. After the initial dizziness, I feel fine, the effects creeping up on me slowly. Skye moves closer and starts to chat to me about London while Roman goes off to have a wee in the bushes. Despite my drug-induced state, I’m still guarded about what I tell her about myself. She has no idea who I am, and I want it to stay that way. I tell her I work in the fashion industry, and she seems happy enough with that. Everyone around me seems to have a silvery glow coming from their skin, and it looks beautiful. Roman comes back and sits next to me; I’m hyper-aware of how he smells, and I suddenly feel extremely horny.
“Do you model, Georgia? Is that what you do?” Skye asks. She’s already told me she’s a dancer, but I’d sort of guessed that by her posture; shoulders back, neck straight, head held high. It’d been years since I’d gone to dance classes, but I would never forget Madam Yvette screeching at the top of her lungs if one of us wasn’t standing right. She shouted at me once too often when I was about eight; I took off one of my points and threw it right at her head. I was banned from the entire dance school, and my mum was called to come and collect me. I hated ballet, didn’t mind tap, but was pissed off as I loved disco and modern but they barred me from the whole school, so I never got to go back. Madame Yvette and her silly accent, what a bitch. She wasn’t even French; she came from Bethnal Green, the lying cow. Thinking of the look on her face as the block from my point shoe hit her on the head suddenly gives me the giggles.
“Georgia works more in the retail side,” Roman says from beside me, pulling me back to the beach and the conversation. I look up into his face; his eyes are bluer than I’ve ever seen them before, and he smiles down at me. “Feel good, baby?” I smile back and nod.
“I feel fuckin’ great!” I hear Skye laugh, and it’s like a bell. A little bell tinkling, I think to myself.