The Story Of Carnage: The Complete Carnage Collection: Books 1-5

by Lesley Jones

  “That’s gross, Jim. Now I have to go and serve breakfast to hot surfers and builders with that thought in my head. Tell my brother, he’s a fiend, but I’m glad he’s a fiend and not an adulterer.”

  “Fuck. Me too, George.”

  “You do know he loves you and would never do that, right?”

  She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Yeah, he was really pissed off with me for even thinking he would be interested in anyone else… Did you just describe the builders and surfers as hot, George; did I hear that right?” What’s she getting at?

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You do realise that’s the first time I’ve heard you describe another bloke as hot since… Well, you know, in a while.” I think about what she’s said for a few seconds.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right; what d’ya think that means?”

  “I think it means that my beautiful best friend’s made a massive leap forward. How hot are they exactly, on a scale of one to Maca, I mean?”

  I laugh before I answer, “Some are one, some are eight and some are ‘oh, my fucking God, bend me over and fuck me right now’.”

  “Georgia!” she shrieks “Oh, my fucking God, babe, you’re back. Georgia’s back! Fuck you, you’ve made me cry.” I hear her sob into the phone and I hear Len say something in the background. “I love ya, George. I’m so proud of ya, so fucking proud, babe. I wish I was there to witness this, but I’m so glad you’ve got there.” I wish she was here, too, but I’m not going to tell her that; otherwise, she’ll be on the next flight down here.

  “Jim?”

  “What, babe?”

  “I don’t know if I want to be back. I don’t know how I feel about it. It’s not even been a year, I feel bad. It feels wrong.”

  “No, no, no, George; if you’re feeling it, then it’s right. Do not do this to yourself, George.”

  “Have you and Jackson been reading the same grief and bereavement manual? Coz I swear to God, you just quoted him word for word.”

  “Well, I read some leaflets when you were in the hospital, but I didn’t know there was a manual.”

  “I’m joking, Jim. I’m joking.”

  “I know you are, George. I know you are.” The line goes quiet for a while.

  “I love you, Georgia Rae.”

  “I love you too, Jamie Louise.”

  “I’ll call you in a coupla days.”

  “Kiss all of them babies for me, and tell my brother I love him, even though he is a pervi car wanker.” We both scream with laughter as we say our goodbyes.

  I shower and head down to the bar with the biggest smile on my face, a tingle in my belly and the sensation that my heart’s not being squeezed quite so tightly in my chest.

  The morning is bright, sunny but really windy; the surf is up and the bodies are out in force. I don’t perv over all of them, but some of them I do, just a few, and the morning flies by.

  I’ve noticed a change in myself today and I can’t put a finger on what it is exactly, but I just feel a little different, not so weighed down by life. Just as I say goodbye to John and the girls I’ve been working with, Jackson turns up.

  “Can we talk?” He gestures upstairs so I silently lead him up to the apartment. He follows me into the kitchen and sits himself down at a stool.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “What happened last night?” His eyes meet mine.

  “When last night?” I’m not sure at this moment how much I want to tell him.

  “When you left the bar and when Roman came up here?” I wasn’t going to tell him that Roman came up here, but if he knows, I might as well be honest. I get us both a beer from the fridge and pass one to Jax. I lean on the bench top opposite him and take a swig.

  “When I came up here, I lost it. I completely lost it, like, to the point where I wanted to break things. I just had this uncontrollable anger; the only time I’ve ever felt anything like that is when I bumped into Whorely that night.” I let out a deep breath, my heart rate accelerating just thinking about that conniving cow.

  “What were you angry about?”

  I walk around the bench and sit on a stool and turn to face him. “I was angry at Roman. I was…” I try to find a word that would fit the level of anger that I felt last night, but I can’t. “I think… I think I might actually have been capable of murder last night. I was angry with Roman for being alive. I was angry at Sean for being dead, and I was angry at myself for not being able to do a fucking thing to change it.” Despite the beer I’m drinking, my mouth is really dry. I take another swig, and I’m actually feeling amazed at myself for not crying.

  “Have you ever heard of the five stages of grief, George?” I look at him over my beer bottle and roll my eyes. Not that old chestnut.

  “Of course I’ve heard about the five stages of grief. I don’t have enough fingers and fucking toes to add up how many times they were quoted to me when I was nutted off.”

  He chuckles over his bottle. “You’ve got such a way with words, George.”

  I shrug. “Well, how’d ya want me to phrase it? My husband and I were mown down by an out of control car. I was almost nine months pregnant at the time. My husband sustained massive head injuries and nothing could be done to save him. My uterus ruptured. My unborn child either choked or suffocated to death. I don’t know; I’ve never asked, and I never want to know. My injuries were such that an emergency hysterectomy had to be performed, and now I can never carry a child. My husband died, my baby died and as a result of all of this, I suffered a small mental relapse… does that sound better?”

  He tilts his head to the side and says, very quietly, “You do realise you’ve just recounted the most horrific moment of your life and you’ve done it without crying?” I wasn’t crying because I was too pissed off.

  “I’m too angry to cry, and what has any of this got to do with the five stages of grief?” I ask.

  “I totally agree with the concept of there being five stages. However, having been through it personally, right alongside Travis, my mate who also survived the car accident, I’ve realised that every person does them in a different order or sometimes skips certain aspects all together.”

  I lean my back against the stool and think about what he’s saying.

  “The order should go: denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, then acceptance.” He pauses for a few seconds, as though he’s figuring out how to word whatever insightful advice he’s going to offer up next.

  “Were you ever in denial, George?” I start shaking my head before he even finishes asking. “No, never, how could I be? I was there. I witnessed it all. I was part of it; the accident and the decision to switch off his life support. He died holding onto me and our dead son, our baby boy.” I sob out the last three words as images of Beau flash through my mind. I wipe away my tears and take a deep breath. “I’ve never been in denial over it, but I felt isolated, and I s’pose if you consider wanting to kill yourself being depressed, then I was definitely that. Although, really, it wasn’t even that.”

  “What d’ya mean?” he asks.

  “Well, I had no great desire to kill myself or to be dead. I just didn’t want to live. I mean, if living meant a life with no Sean and no Beau, then I didn’t want it. I didn’t care how it was achieved; I didn’t care if I just died or if they just drugged me to the point where I didn’t exist, because that was fine, too. So, if you consider all those symptoms of depression, then yes, I was depressed.” I’m not sure where any of this is going, but I keep listening.

  “Did you bargain at any time? Did you—”

  I cut him off. “Constantly, all the time. I still do, and I probably always will: me for them or me and Sean for Beau. I know Sean would be pissed off with me for wanting to swap my life for his, but I know, without a shadow of a doubt, he would do anything to protect our son.”

  Jackson nods as he listens to me. “Well, all of that is to be expected, but I think what’s happened since you’ve been here is t
hat acceptance has crept up on you. Being here, away from anything Sean-related, has made you come to terms with the fact that he’s gone, and in turn, that realisation has made you angry.”

  I swig the last of my beer. “Why are you teaching tourists how to surf? Why don’t you get yourself set up as a proper shrink and open a practice as a head doctor?” My heart is pounding so hard in my chest that I can feel the blood whoosh up to my brain with every beat. It feels like it’s going to burst out of my ears on its way. I turn my head to look at him, and he gives me a gentle smile.

  “Sorry if this all sounds a bit harsh and direct. I just want you to understand what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours.”

  I smile back at him. “How’d you know my brain’s beautiful?”

  His grin widens. “Because you’re related to me and we only do beautiful in this family.” I throw my head back and laugh, but before I get a chance to say any more, there’s a knock on the front door. “Shit, that’s Roman, and I smell like a fry-up. Let him in and keep him company while I have a quick shower, would ya please?”

  “Why the fuck is Roman here?”

  “Jax, fuck off. Don’t go all Bailey, Lennon, Marley on me, just let him in.”

  I run to the bathroom and have possibly the quickest shower of my life, even managing to wash the smell of food out of my hair. I dry it off quickly and tie it up in a messy bun, then throw on some clothes. I’ve been less than twenty minutes, which for me, ain’t bad going.

  As I step out of the bedroom, I hear Jackson talking.

  “She’s done so well since she’s been here. I swear to fuckin’ God, if you set her back in any way, I will kill you, Rome.” I hover in the doorway of my bedroom, unsure of what I want to do. Okay, I’m lying. I’m a woman. I’m nosey. I know what I want to do, and that’s to stand here and listen to their conversation.

  “Calm the fuck down, will ya, man? I only met her last night. It’s… I… Fuck, Jax, I don’t know. I only met her last night, and I had no idea who she was other than your cousin, but it was just…” He pauses and I stand frozen, with my hand over mouth; he has such a sexy accent, much stronger than Jackson’s as Jax was born and lived in England till he was about twelve. “It was like, you ever had that thing happen where it feels like your heart is joined to your dick and balls?” I hear Jackson laugh and I almost do, too. “It’s like there’s a bit of string running through your body and every time your heart beats, it pulls and makes your dick twitch and your balls go tight.” Jackson is really laughing now, and I have to step back inside the bedroom and try to compose myself. “Don’t fuckin’ laugh at me, dude. I’m spilling my guts here,” Roman complains, but I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “I’m sorry, mate. I’m sorry. I do know what you mean; I’ve just never heard it described like that, but I know what you mean.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s what happened as soon as I laid eyes on her. It was fuckin’ weird, it, I... It’s only ever happened to me once before, that feeling. It was just weird, ya know. It threw me.” The boys are both quiet for a few seconds, so I take the opportunity to close my bedroom door and walk out to where they’re sitting. Roman’s ice-blue eyes meet mine instantly, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a slight smile. I smile back, feeling a little disappointed that the small something I felt inside me last night isn’t quite as strong today.

  “Hey,” he says with a slight nod.

  “All right,” I reply, both he and Jackson laugh and they both repeat, “all right,” in the worst English accents I’ve ever heard. “Fuck off, you two… and you, Jackson Bell, should be ashamed, taking the piss out of your own accent.”

  He stands from his stool and stretches. “I lost that accent on my second day at school here, straight after the third time I was beat up for having it.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’ve gotta go. What you two crazy kids got planned?” He looks between Roman and me; I blush slightly for some reason and shrug.

  “I was gonna take a drive along the coast road and maybe stop off at the lighthouse.”

  Jackson nods. “Well, drive carefully.” He swings his gaze to me and looks me up and down; I’m wearing shorts, a vest and I have a bikini on underneath. “You need more clothes on… and you,” he swings his gaze back to Roman, “just remember what I said.” Roman nods and they do one of those ‘brothers from the hood’ handshake things.

  I sit down on a stool. I feel awkward and I don’t know what to say. I don’t know this person, I don’t know what overcame me last night, and I don’t know why I agreed to see him today.

  “D’ya know what?” he asks

  I turn and look at him. “Cold potatoes ain’t hot?” I reply.

  “What?”

  I give a small laugh, “Nothing, it’s just something my dad always says.”

  “Right,” he says, sounding confused. “Anyway, yeah, nah, that’s not what I was gonna say.” He frowns at me for a few seconds. “Look, let’s just go have a walk along the beach so we can talk. Can we talk? Would you like to talk?” I nod. “Good, coz I’d like to talk, Georgia, and I’d like you to talk and tell me about yourself.” He looks at me intently.

  “I’m sure you know all there is about me. Most of my life has been splashed over the front of a newspaper or magazine since I was about sixteen.”

  He rakes his hand through his hair. “I don’t read newspapers often and when I do, I don’t really believe most of what’s written in them.” He winks at me and that little something re-ignites inside me. I can’t quite pinpoint where it’s centered; in my belly, my chest, my bones? I don’t really know.

  “Let’s go for a walk on the beach then, Roman Peterson, and I will tell you the story of me.”

  We grab some towels, put some beers in a cool bag and head down the street to the beach.

  We throw our stuff down on the sand and both walk down to paddle our feet. Roman’s wearing boardies and a vest, but like me, he keeps all his clothes on. We walk out a little way and just stand, staring out at the ocean for a while.

  “D’ya surf?” I ask without looking at him.

  “Yeah, since I was a kid. My dad’s a really good surfer and taught me as soon as I could stand up.”

  I nod my head. “Were you born here in Byron?”

  “Yep, born and raised, then travelled around Europe for a year after I left school. I went to Imperial College in London for four years, got a degree under my belt, and came back here when I was twenty-five. Messed around for a bit while I decided what to do with my degree and then got offered a job over in Western Australia with a mining company; been with them for nine years now.”

  I turn and look at him, as I know he’s looking at me. “Wow, so you’re like really brainy. Imperial College, don’t they have teams on University Challenge?”

  He laughs and nods. “Yeah, I think they do, but I wasn’t on it. I did enough to get by. The rest of the time, I was in the pub, either drinking or playing my guitar.” I can’t believe that the first person I feel any kind of attraction to since Sean is a musician. My belly rolls over at that thought and I have an instant headache. Is that what this is all about? Am I just looking for another Sean?

  The sun’s strong today, and I splash some water over each of my arms just for something to do while I churn that thought over and over in my mind.

  “Let’s walk back so you can put some sunscreen on. The sun’s hot today.” I turn and start walking back, and Roman walks quietly beside me. I pull the suncream out of my beach bag and rub some on my arms and legs. I sit down on my towel as Roman stands in front of me, pulling off his vest and rubbing the suncream over his shoulders. I try not to look at his body, but it’s so fucking perfect I can’t help it. He doesn’t have the spray-on-looking abs that Cam has, but there’s definitely a six-pack going on. He has toned arms and legs, and a broad chest. A fine smattering of chest hair runs all the way down and disappears into his shorts, right through the middle of that V-thing blokes have going on. His skin is a
beautiful golden brown and is shining in the sun now that it’s covered in suntan lotion. He sits on the towel next to me and sighs deeply.

  “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.