by Lesley Jones
“It’s just sex,” I told him. “It’s just sex. Fucking. It means nothing, it changes nothing.” I was trying to convince him as much as I was trying to convince myself.
He twisted his head, forcing my fingers to give up their grip on his hair. Grabbing Siobhan by the back of hers, he pulled her up to face us. She had spit or jizz, or a combination of both, all over her chin and around her plump lips. We both dove in at the same time to kiss, lick, and suck it off.
“Jesus, you two are good.” The girl was amazing for our egos. She had no idea that we’d never done this together before.
“You got condoms?” Maca asked.
“Yeah, in the drawer.” I gestured with my chin. Maca reached over, refilled, and passed us our drinks over before pulling a box of condoms from the drawer.
“Do you have any KY?” Siobhan asked.
“You want anal?” The surprise was obvious in my voice. Girls had been a bit reluctant to give that up the last few years, since AIDS had reared its ugly head.
“Don’t you?”
“As long as I’m giving, baby. Don’t do the taking.”
“What about you, pretty boy?” She looked over to Maca.
“I’m a giver, not a taker, sweetheart. Nothing gets past my chocolate starfish unless it’s exciting.”
I spit my drink.
“Dude, you seriously just called your arsehole a chocolate starfish? Have you inspected it that closely to know that’s what it looks like?”
“Well, I was gonna call it Marley, but I thought that might cause confusion.”
“Ha, you’re funny.” I couldn’t think of anything to come back with before Siobhan interrupted.
“So, you two … you’ve never … with each other, I mean?”
“Fucked?” I sounded all high-pitched and indignant.
“No, love, never,” Maca answered. “Although he is known as cuntface to many, so I suppose it would be understandable if I was to stick my dick in his mouth one of these days.”
Ha, so my best mate’s suddenly got his balls back and became a comedian.
Fucker.
“You’re spoiling your image as the dark and brooding member of the band, Maca. Fuck off, and stop trying to be funny,” I told him. He flipped me his middle finger and blew me a kiss.
I turn to Siobhan. “No, darling. In answer to your question, we don’t fuck each other. What you saw just then was us putting on a show. The girls love it. You loved it, right?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Well, let’s move things along then. “You up for DP?”
“I just asked for the KY, didn’t I?” I liked this girl … woman, actually. I kept forgetting that she was eight, nine years older than us. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask. Why couldn’t all women be like that? It’d leave them satisfied more often and make blokes lives so much easier.
“You fuck her, Marls, I’m happy with a blow job,” Maca said.
“You’ve not got a dose of anything, have you? I just had your dicks in my mouth. If there’s any chance you have, I need to know.”
“Sweetheart, despite what you might read about me, I’ve had just one girlfriend in the past few years,” Maca admits with a pissed off edge to his tone.
“Don’t mean you weren’t fucking other people.”
“I was only fucking her, and she’s never fucked anyone but me.”
Okay, la, la, la. I didn’t need to be hearing that.
“So what? Me and what happened at the hotel in Paris, they’re just one-offs, are they?”
Maca reached out and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her face towards his. “I never fucked anyone in Paris, but because of the bullshit you and your mates printed about me and what supposedly happened, we’re no longer together. I’m now single, so whatever goes on here now, between us, it’s of no consequence to anyone.” He threw me a condom. “Now, you gonna suck my dick or what, Siobhan with a B?” he laid down on the bed as he asked.
We were all silent, just the sound of Annie Lennox, singing about angels in the background.
I fought with Ash over giving our daughter that name because I didn’t want it tainted with the memory of that night, but if you’d ever tried to argue with Ashley about anything, then you’d understand why I always lose.
I watched as Maca started to stroke himself and I did the same before sliding the condom over my dick.
Siobhan leaned forward and wrapped her hand around his dick while I reached around her body and with my middle finger, started rubbing circles over her clit.
“Move closer to him,” I said into her ear. I was kissing, licking, and dragging my teeth over the curve of her neck and across her shoulder. “Open your legs wider and lean forward.” She turned her head towards me. Her porcelain skin was flushed and her blue eyes were shining.
“I want you in my cunt.”
For a boy who was only nineteen, hearing those words caused me to nearly come all over her back, but instead, I pushed her face first onto Maca’s dick and rammed inside her from behind.
We saw Siobhan on a regular basis after that. Sometimes it’d just be me and her, sometimes just her and Maca. She brought her friend Julia along occasionally and all four of us would end up in bed together. Jules was a budding photographer, so as a thank you to them both for the no strings sex, we did an exclusive interview and photo shoot on our last day of recording at the studios. Jules went on to become one of the world’s biggest rock photographers, and Siobhan an editor of a celebrity magazine. Our paths crossed many times over the years, but our arrangement never lasted beyond that year and our meetings after that were always friendly and professional. Siobhan sadly died of ovarian cancer in 2010, and it was the reason the UK’s biggest ovarian cancer charity received a large donation from the Triple M event every year. Maca liked Siobhan, and I know he would’ve wanted money raised in his name to be sent in that direction.
Despite the album and a single from it being the UK’s Christmas number one, the actual day that year was horrible. I asked my parents if Maca could still come for dinner, same as he’d been doing since he was about fourteen, but they’d said no. My mum actually seemed surprised that he even wanted to because by that time, unknown to all of us, Haley the whore had already started to weave her web of deception and my mum truly believed he had moved on.
Maca refused to spend the day with his mum and her husband, so instead, he stayed alone at our flat, writing songs.
He gave me a gift for George before I left to go to my parents’. It was odd, not waking up at their house on Christmas morning, but I just couldn’t face the atmosphere. The less time I spent around my sister, the less guilt I felt. The last time I’d seen George, she was painfully thin and looked almost drained of life. She spoke when spoken to, but treated me like I was invisible.
I slipped the present under the tree when I got there, not wanting to make a big deal of it in front of my parents. Later, when Jimmie, Len, and Bailey arrived, the last of the presents were given out, but it wasn’t there. I found out years later that my mum had removed it and hidden it from George, thinking it would upset her. It was a silver bracelet with a ‘G’ hanging from it, matching the necklace he’d bought her a few years before. When it came out that my mum had played a hand in keeping them apart all those years, she admitted that like the letters and everything else Maca had sent, she’d returned it with a note, once again asking him not to send her gifts or attempt to make contact. He finally took notice after that. My mum returning his Christmas gift was what made him stop sending the letters and parcels, but it didn’t stop him from buying her things or writing her letters, he just never sent them.
Georgia has a huge crate somewhere, full of Maca’s letters to her that were either never sent, or returned. It also contains his diaries that he always kept, the notepads he always had with him, and old video cassette tapes of interviews and performances where he either directly or indirectly mentioned her. There were music tapes of songs that we’
d never heard, and songs that he wrote but never allowed anyone else to read or see.
Ash told me that after a few previous attempts, George has finally decided to start working through and cataloguing the contents of the old packing crate. I’m hoping that one day soon, she’ll want to share anything that’s relevant, but at the same time, I’ll totally respect her decision if she wants to keep it all private.
I sometimes wonder how Cam copes with it all. My sister is obviously head over heels in love with the bloke, but at the same time, we all know that nothing or no one would ever be able to replace Maca and what they had together. I think her and Cam work because he’s never tried to do that. Where George and Maca’s love was intense, bordering on obsessive, their love is different, much easier to be around. It was like her and Maca needed each other more than air. I don’t know how to describe it, really, but that’s how it came across as an outsider looking in.
All of this is probably going to get deleted from the book. It’s just my thoughts and really fuck all to do with anyone else. I’m writing it because it helps me sort shit out in my head. It helps me make sense of thoughts and feelings I had about certain situations back then, all these years later.
Maca had the right idea, keeping a diary and always scribbling in those notebooks of his, but when we meet again, I’ll never admit that to him.
After sitting through a strained Christmas dinner, mostly spent watching my sister move food around her plate, rather than attempting to put any of it into her mouth, I made my excuses and left. As I was putting my coat on in the hallway, my mum came out and asked me what Maca had done that day.
“He’s at our place alone, mum. You said he couldn’t come here, remember?”
She nodded and sucked in her cheeks as she swallowed.
“Marley,” she said my name as if it were almost a plea. My sister’s obvious heartbreak was taking a toll on her, like Maca’s was on me, and I suddenly needed a cuddle from my mum.
My mum had always been tiny, but she felt frail when I wrapped my arms around her. I breathed in the Dior perfume that she’d always worn and held her close as she rested her head on my chest.
“I miss you, Marley. I hate what your sister’s breakup has done to our family.” She said quietly, her voice humming through me.
“I know, mum, I know, but Maca’s as much of a mess as G is. I just wish there was a way we could get them to talk to each other.”
She stepped back so that she could look up at me. For a few seconds she looked like she was going to say something, but she didn’t. If only she had let me know that Whorely had been to see her, the truth would’ve come out so much sooner. Maca and G would’ve sorted their shit out, got married, had babies, and gotten the happily ever after they both deserved.
“I don’t think your sister is ready to see him yet. She leaves the room if his name even gets mentioned on the telly. It breaks my heart to watch her, Marls. I’m her mum and I don’t know how to fix this, to fix her. I just want to wrap her in cotton and protect her from the world. I’m so bloody angry with that boy.” She was crying as she spoke, and I was struggling not to.
“Mum, please don’t be angry with Maca. It was my fault more than it was his,” I pleaded with her.
“Yeah, well, I’m angry with you as well. Drugs Marley? All those drugs, and what about that AIDS that they’re all dying of. Sex and drugs … I don’t like it, not one little bit. I know you’re a big rock star now, but you’re still my baby boy. I wish you were all little again, all here with me, tucked up in bed at night by seven so I knew exactly where you were and what you were up to.” She swayed from side to side as she spoke, reminding me of when she rocked me as a kid and I loved it.
“I’m sorry, mum. I’ve been good lately, I promise, and I’m always careful. No condom, no shag. The label has given us the talk about AIDS, unwanted pregnancies, girls trying to trap us, all that stuff, and we follow the rules.” My cheeks burned as I spoke that way to my mum. It was Christmas day, and that wasn’t really a conversation I wanted to be having with her … ever.
“Is Sean really at your place all on his own?” She was obviously happy to change the subject too.
“Yes, mum, he really is.”
“Well, just you wait a minute while I plate up a dinner for the boy. I hate to think of him not getting a proper Christmas lunch today.”
Less than an hour later, I pulled onto the drive of the place I currently called home. It wasn’t not home, but now, neither was my parents’ place. As long as there was animosity between me and my sister, I wouldn’t feel comfortable there. I felt a pang of loneliness uncurl from my belly and snake its way into my chest. I didn’t belong anywhere then.
I turned off the engine of my new car and looked across at Maca’s black version of my red Escort XR3i. We had the colours custom made to match the band's logo. His was black with a red trim and interior. Mine was red with a black trim and interior. Maca had an older version, one that my dad had recently sold for him, but our babies were brand spanking new.
I banged my head on the steering wheel of my brand new car and decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. I was better off than a lot of people, and if I felt lonely then, how the fuck would Maca be feeling?
When I let myself in the front door of our place, it seemed to be in darkness, but I could hear the faint sound of a guitar strumming. I put Maca’s dinner and dessert in the kitchen and made my way up to our bedrooms. His door was open and he was sitting on the bed with his legs out in front of him, back pressed against the headboard, strumming on his acoustic.
There were papers spread all around him, lyrics and music sheets, and a pencil tucked behind his ear. He had shaved off the beard that he’d had most of the summer, but his hair was still long. My heart sort of hurt as I heard my sister’s voice in my head, always telling Maca how much she loved his hair longer.
He sensed me watching him and looked up at me.
“All right?” I asked him.
“I’m good.” He leaned across and reached for a bottle of Jack sitting on the chest of drawers next to his bed. He took a swig straight from the bottle then offered it to me. I stepped forward and took it from him and brought it to my lips.
I watched as he pulled the pencil from behind his ear and crossed something out on a piece of paper, then wrote something else. He then picked up a music sheet and made changes to that.
“There’s a dinner downstairs for you if you’re hungry. My mum sent it. I have a present for you too, probably the usual.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Shit, I didn’t think I was your parents’ favourite person. I wasn’t expecting a present … I didn’t get them anything.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “They think of you as family. Families fuck up, and they know that.”
He nodded his head. “Shame your sister didn’t see things that way.” I remained silent, not knowing how to reply.
“What’s that you’re working on?” I asked and gestured with my chin towards the papers spread all over the bed.
“Something new I’ve written, but I just can’t get the tune right. I need you for that.”
Maca was great with the lyrics, but I was just as good, if not better than he was with the music. It was why we worked well together over the years. Billy and Tom never wrote lyrics, but they were both amazingly talented musicians and could turn my humming of a tune into an intricate musical masterpiece within minutes. We’d grown and evolved over the years, and although we’d improved massively, we still had a lot to learn.
“You wanna work on it now, or d’ya wanna eat?” I asked.
“Go get your guitar. I’ll eat later.”
I carried the Santa Sack, (my mum still insisted on putting all our presents into it), to my room and emptied the contents onto the bed.
Despite the money I was earning, my parents still bought me the usual socks, underwear, and aftershave, as well as a checked Ben Sherman shirt. I had a vintage looking, Small Faces T-shirt from Ji
m and Len, along with a rare European import copy of ‘That’s Entertainment’ by The Jam. Bailey had given me a bottle of bourbon.
As I reached for Maca’s gifts from my mum and Dad, I noticed another gift, still wrapped. I recognised Georgia’s handwriting on the tag instantly and I was shocked to see that it was for me. I tore apart the wrapping and opened the cardboard pouch, tipping it upside down and shook it over my bed. A black leather guitar strap slid out. It had red stitching and the heart-shaped crying eye, which was the bands logo, stitched into the leather, along with the letters B B M.
I read the message on the tag properly.
To my Big Brother, Marley,
Merry Christmas!
Your Little Sister, Georgia
XXXXX
I ran my thumb and finger over the leather, my emotions at war inside my head and my heart. I wanted to be angry at my sister for shutting me out, for not being prepared to talk to me or hear Maca out, but at the same time, when I saw her, it was then that I understood how hurt she was and I knew that she just needed time to heal. The small gesture from G gave me hope that one day I’d have her back in my life.
I folded up the strap and placed it carefully in my drawer, grabbed Maca’s presents from the bed, and headed back to his room.
I sat on his bed and rolled a joint as he unwrapped the standard socks, boxers, and aftershave that my mum and Dad got him every year.
When I’d finished rolling and lit the spliff, Maca passed me a sheet of A4 paper with words written all over it. I moved up the bed and leaned back on the headboard next to him so that I could use the light from the lamp and start to read the words to the song that he’d written.
Seaside Heart
My heart, it’s like a seaside town, on a dark, winter’s day.