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

by Lesley Jones

  I head out to the kitchen to ring my brother-in-law. “Marley, you heard from the girls? I was just about to call you. Georgia’s not answering her phone.”

  “She’s here, mate,” I reassure him. “The three of them are here, a little worse for wear, and very emotional.”

  “What, pissed you mean?”

  “Yep, and as much as I’ve tried to stop them, they’ve just opened a bottle of Moёt and seem determined to carry on the party.”

  “For fuck’s sake.”

  “Funny, Len said those exact same words.”

  “Right. Let me get the kids sorted and I’ll be over.”

  “Bring them with you if you want. Len’s on his way, and I was gonna ring him back with a food order if you fancy staying and eating.”

  “Yeah, sounds good. Marian’s here, actually. I’ll get her to stay with the kids. What were you thinking of eating?”

  “Whatever you fancy, mate … Chinese?”

  “Yeah, sounds good. Tell Len to get plenty and I’ll sort him out the money when I get there.”

  “Will do.”

  “Does Georgia need anything?”

  “Just you, mate.”

  “What’s that mean? How drunk is she?”

  “Yeah, they’re all pretty gone and about to get worse.”

  “She cried?”

  “She has.”

  “Right. You got any decent bourbon or single malt?”

  “I’ve got Jack, Jim, or Laphroaig. Take your pick.”

  “Good, I think we’re gonna need it.”

  “I think you’re probably very right.”

  “I usually am, ask my wife.”

  “Yeah, don’t know if I’ll get much sense from her right now.”

  “Great,” he replies sarcastically. “I’ll see you in a bit. Try and get them to slow down.” He hangs up before I can reply. Well, good luck to me then.

  I call Len back and ask him to order everything off the menu from our favourite Chinese takeout and to pick up some mixers for the bourbon as Ash doesn’t allow fizzy drink in the house as a rule.

  The girls have taken the party out to the deck by the time I get back to them. For some reason, best known to themselves, they have Right Said Fred’s, ‘I’m Too Sexy’ playing from one of their phones and are doing their best ‘model on the runway’ walk.

  It’s bad.

  I watch as my sister struts the length of our deck; hand on hip she turns, looks over her shoulder, total duck face going on, and then starts walking/swaying back to where the other two pair of idiots are still laughing.

  Georgia actually walks the walk pretty well. She’s modelled a few times at various charity events over the years, so she has had some practice.

  I stand and shake my head before giving in and asking what the fuck they’re doing?

  “Paige.” They all say together.

  I raise my eyebrows in expectation and hold my hands up, gesturing for them to elaborate.

  “In the bar … the man …” Ash laughs as she attempts to explain.

  Jimmie is now up and attempting ‘the walk,’ but she’s wearing the shoes that George has just taken off and they’re obviously too big. She only makes four strides before going down like a sack of shit and landing in a heap on my Tasmanian Oak decking.

  I actually join in the laughter this time, regretting only that I’m not filming this so I can show Len and Cam when they arrive and play it back to the girls tomorrow.

  I help Jim to her feet and sit her on a chair. “Why are you taking the piss out of Paige? I don’t understand?” I question, although really not expecting a coherent answer.

  “Oh my God, Marls, we told you,” Ashley whines.

  “Actually, babe, you didn’t.”

  Jimmie knocks back the last of the champagne from her glass and tries to top it up from the bottle, but it’s empty. They’ve drunk the lot.

  “S’gone. Gononother, Marls?” Georgia asks.

  “Not till you tell me why you’re taking the piss outta Paige.” They said ‘man’ and ‘bar.’ Not that I’m green-eyed or anything, but I want to know what that’s all about.

  “The man in bar … bar, the bar,” Ashley starts. This could take a while.

  She tilts her head and looks up at the sky before looking back at me and my stomach goes over. What the fuck happened today? I grow concerned for my wife because she’s suddenly looking like she’s about to cry.

  I watch her throat move as she swallows before continuing with a shaky voice. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or emotions that are causing this. She looks at George, Jim,, and then me. Taking a deep breath, she starts talking.

  “A bloke in the bar … started chat-chatting with Paige. We thought he recognised her, but it was … it was George, and then me.” She’s slurring but making sense, sorta. She blinks and looks down into her lap, and when she looks up, I watch as she brushes a tear from her cheek.

  “Ash, baby?” I start to feel panicky, but she shakes her head, hopefully to let me know that she’s okay. Taking a deep breath and speaking slowly, she continues.

  “He spoke to Paige so that she—he, I mean. So that he could ask her if G was Georgia McCarthy. He was a massive Carnage fan, Marls.” Her voice rises and she sobs and then nods her head, silently composing herself before continuing. “He had all your albums on his playlist and told us all about the times he’d seen you live. He asked for mine and G’s autographs and we posed for pictures with him.” The tears run freely down her face as she speaks and cries now. “He bought us all a drink and then he just got a bit emotional and overwhelmed. He cried, Marls.” She sobs again while still trying to speak. I look across to Jim and George who are both just staring out at nothing as they listen to her.

  “He cried so hard. This man, he knew exactly where he was when he got the news about Sean and he started to tell us, but he just broke down.” She wipes her nose on the back of her arm, coz my baby’s classy like that, and I wouldn’t change her for the world.

  “It was hard. It was hard to watch a complete stranger cry like that and it just brought it all back.” Her voice breaks into another sob before she takes a few deep breaths. “So yeah, anyway. Paige’s face was a picture when she realised he had no clue who she was and he was only interested in her old aunties. It was funny. So, so funny.”

  She forces a smile on her beautiful tear-stained face as she ends her story. I stand and nod my head for a few seconds, not wanting to make eye contact with my sister right now, but not sure what to say either.

  “So you all decided to get drunk to celebrate?” I go for the ‘trying to be funny’ angle.

  “Ferzactly,” says Jim, “but the shervice here is sit—too slow, so now we’re nearly sober again.”

  “Oi. You can soon fuck off, back to your gaff if you don’t like the service at mine.” I tell her over my shoulder as I walk back to the kitchen to find them more champagne.

  “Love you, Rock Star,” I hear Ash call out.

  “Love you, Baby.”

  “We love you, Butt,” Jimmie and George shout out, and then proceed to cackle again.

  Yeah, I’ll explain that inside joke later.

  The girls become a little more subdued for all of ten minutes after that, but once the champagne starts flowing again, the noise level rises, all except for George, that is. She remains quiet, staring out over the pool and the tennis courts.

  My alarm system bleeps, letting me know that someone has punched in the gate code and is approaching the house. I check on the monitor and see Cam’s Range Rover heading up the drive.

  The front door is unlocked and I know that he’ll just let himself in. Georgia doesn’t notice as he stands, leaning against the doors that lead from the house to the deck. He gestures with his finger to his lips for me not to announce his arrival, and I get the pleasure of watching him look at George with complete and utter devotion written in his eyes as he raises his sunglasses to his head. G must sense she’s being watched as she tu
rns and looks right at him, her face lighting up.

  I’m turning into such a sad ol’ fucker. I can’t help but grin as I watch the silent exchange between my sister and her husband.

  He walks towards her, lifts her from her chair and sits in it himself, placing G on his lap.

  “Kitten,” is all that he whispers into her hair, kissing her head as he does.

  “T,” she greets him.

  “Love the fuck outta you.”

  “You better.”

  “Heard we’ve had some tears. Tough day?”

  “S’all better now you’re here.”

  “I’m always here, Mrs. King, always.”

  “T.D.H! How’s it hanging, dude?” My wife greets Cam, ending their moment as she leans in for a kiss to his cheek as she does.

  They share a special bond, those three—well, the four of us, I suppose. We were all there to witness Cam and Georgia’s twin girls that Ashley had carried for them, being delivered by caesarean section over eleven years ago.

  I can honestly say that it was like watching my own children being born, and equally as stressful. But just like with your own kids, when the drama of the birth was all over and the calm set in, I had the pleasure of witnessing this giant of a man fall apart when first one, then his second daughter, was placed in his arms.

  My alarm bleeps again, letting me know that Lennon is approaching with food.

  The rest of the evening is spent with the girls being noisy and us blokes just sitting back and enjoying the show.

  Nobody made it to bed before three in the morning and the last to leave were Len and Jimmie at around noon on Sunday. Georgia and Cam left a little earlier to get back to the kids.

  All of this means that I don’t get a chance to read again until Ash has gone to bed on Sunday night.

  Chapter Eleven

  1986

  The rest of that American tour proceeded a lot quieter. Len made sure that alcohol on the bus was limited and any hotels that we stayed in were made aware that Maca and I were still under twenty-one.

  When we arrived back in England in the very early autumn of 1986, we were called into Len’s office for a diary meeting to go over what we had booked for the next six months. Len, being a control freak and megalomaniac that he was, liked to have everything planned well in advance.

  When we got there, he was on the phone.

  “Why, what does she want? … A what? … Why the fuck does she want one of them? … Well, if you don’t know, I certainly don’t … When did they stop making them? … Yeah, well, good luck with that.”

  I continued to listen, wondering what the fuck was going on.

  “Dad, what makes you think that she’d listen to me? … Fine, I’ll try, but Jimmie’s got a better chance.”

  Len looked up at me.

  “Shame things weren’t better between her and Marley. It’s him you need on board for this one.”

  I sensed Maca shift slightly in his chair next to me.

  “Yeah, I know, Dad, I know. Listen, I’ve got a meeting about to start, so I’ll call her or pop into the shop to see her when I get a chance. And I’ll get Jim to ring her … Yep. See ya later, Dad.”

  “What was that all about?” I asked straight away.

  “Hello, Len. How are you today, Len? Yeah, I’m great, Marls, how are you doing, mate?” My brother’s tone dripped with sarcasm.

  “Fuck off, Len. I only saw you last night. What’s the ol’ man want?”

  He let out a long breath and threw the pen he was fiddling with on his desk. His eyes move from mine to Maca’s.

  “Georgia's a princess about what car she wants.”

  “I thought Jim said he’d bought her a beamer?” I questioned. If my dad wouldn’t buy her the car she wanted, then I would. It was the very least I could do.

  “She doesn’t want a beamer, she wants a Triumph Herald,” Maca said from beside me, “with a sunroof.”

  Len’s eyebrows shot up. “How the fuck d’ya know that?” He asked. Yeah, how did he know that?

  “It’s what she’s always wanted. I always planned on buying it for her.” He looked between the two of us as he talked.

  “Burnt orange and black, Triumph Herald with a sunroof and one of those fake walnut interiors,” he informed us.

  “Well, where the fuck is the ol’ man gonna pluck one of them from?” I asked.

  “He can’t, that’s the problem,” Len stated.

  “I’ll find one,” Maca interrupted. “Call your dad and tell him I’ll find one, even if I have to get it shipped from another country. I’ll find one in the best nick I can, but check that his boys will be okay spraying it if I can’t get the colour she wants.”

  Len and I looked at each other in silence for a few seconds. I was hoping he was thinking the same thing as me. I shrugged my shoulders to let Len know that I wasn’t gonna be the one to tell him.

  “Mac, look mate…” Len started and then looked to me for help.

  “Don’t tell her. I know she won’t accept it if she knows it’s from me, so just don’t tell her.”

  Len and I mirrored each other’s movements as we both sat back in our chairs.

  “You sure, mate?” Len asked. “The ol’ man’s had his feelers out for the last month or so, and he’s come up with nothing. You gonna have time to do the same? Sounds like a bit of a mission to me?”

  “I’ll find time,” Maca said quietly. “I’d really like to do this for her.”

  I spent the next few weeks travelling the country, trying to find that poxy car for my sister. Maca was obsessed with getting one in time for my dad to present to her on her eighteenth birthday.

  With four days to spare, we found the perfect car. The colours weren’t right, but the interior was spot on. Maca paid for someone to drive it down from Northampton to one of my dad’s blokes in Bethnal Green the same day. The boys worked on it ‘round the clock and on the 24th of September, my sister got the car of her dreams.

  Not invited to the birthday celebrations, Maca and I went to our local pub, got completely smashed and staggered home with just each other, two chicken tikka masala’s, two keema naans, and a large rice for company.

  It was after that night that I noticed a bit of a change in Maca. I wouldn’t call it an improvement, really, just a change. Instead of seeming as though he was permanently grieving what he’d lost with my sister, for a while he just became angry.

  We had some time off until the following spring, in which we took a holiday in Barbados over Christmas, rather than me going home, and Maca spent it alone like he had the previous year. We bought ourselves a building in the Docklands area of East London and contracted my dad’s building firm to renovate the old warehouse for us and turn it into nine apartments. The entire top floor was being turned into the penthouse that Maca and I would share. We also started work on songs for our next album.

  We were booked in for studio time in early March, but Maca had been writing as far back as the end of the US tour, so we rented a hall not far from the studios where we could leave our gear set up and create the music to go with the songs Maca had come up with.

  Outside of the band, we rarely saw Billy and Tom. They were both married with babies on the way in the summer. We were all amicable with each other, but apart from the music, we just didn’t have anything in common. Maca and I were both single and out and about at least four nights a week, attending events, parties, the opening of an envelope even. We were there, usually with a few pretty girls on our arms.

  There was a never-ending supply of women, all nameless and faceless; one blurring much into the other. We still had the occasional threesome and the odd all-out orgy, but not at any stage did either of us meet anyone that made us want to go back for seconds. We were kings of the double F… Fuck and Forget ‘em. It should’ve been tattooed on our foreheads, or maybe our foreskins because no matter how many times we told the girls, how clearly we spelt it out, they just wouldn’t listen.

  I arrived at rehe
arsals late one morning and when I walked into the hall, I could hear Tom and Billy in conversation.

  “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with the lyrics, although I fail to see how it will ever get airtime on mainstream radio. What I’m saying is that Marley ain’t gonna like it, neither will Len, for that matter,” Tom stated before taking a long draw on his cigarette.

  I breathed in deeply through my nose, enjoying the smell. Maca had been ordered to quit after having a chest infection after Christmas, so I’d done the same to try and support him, but it wasn’t easy. That ol’ nicotine shit was addictive. Kids, if you’re listening, take note of what your Uncle Marley is saying. That stuff is bad, bad I tell ya. Save your money and invest in property instead. That don’t stain your fingers or make your breath stink.

  “What’s Marley not gonna like?” I watched as they both jumped at the sound of my voice.

  Feedback screeched through one of the speakers and we all look up to see Maca standing at the mic, his Fender hanging over his back. He was wearing a white T-shirt, leather trousers, and the scowl that I’ve gotten used to these last few months.

  “Rock star much?”

  “Twenty-four/seven, baby. Twenty-four/seven,” he said without cracking a smile. He flipped his guitar over his shoulder and instantly started playing a tune I didn’t immediately recognise until he began to sing, that is.

  “The cleaning lady told him he reminded her of David Essex, but with brown eyes. It was this morning. I think it’s gone to his head,” Billy explained as he stood next to me, both of us watching our lead singer perform his own rendition of ‘Rock On,’ which I had to say, wasn’t fucking bad.

  “Well, at least he looks a bit chirpier today,” I said with a nod towards the stage where Maca’s husky voice was still belting out a mighty fine rendition of a song I hadn’t heard in years.