by Lesley Jones
I fail to blink back tears and swipe at them discreetly from under my eyes.
“Do you miss him?” Harry asks from beside me.
I take a deep breath while I think about how to word my answer.
Our kids are aware of the basics when it comes to the story of Sean and me.
There’s lots of information, some true, some complete bullshit, out there on the internet to be found, so we’ve raised them with a policy of, if they ask, we won’t lie, we’ll give them an answer that’s as age appropriate and as near to the truth as we can.
“Yeah, I miss him. He was my best friend as well as my husband. We grew up together. I’d known him since I was eleven years old.”
“How did you meet, at school?” Harry asks, still looking at the photo.
“No, Marley brought him to our house. He’d just moved to our area and been recruited by the band. It was the summer holidays. Jimmie and I were hanging upside down on the monkey bars when they walked up the garden at Nan and Pops old house.”
He turns his attention from the photo to my face as I talk. I wonder how much I should tell him. I wonder what’s appropriate for a fifteen-year-old having a conversation like this with his mum. Are there even guidelines for a conversation like this?
“Then what?”
“Marley told me to stop flashing my knickers.”
Harry laughs. “Sounds like Marls.”
I won’t mention that Sean asked me to show him my tits.
“And then what?”
I let out a long breath and decide to be totally honest with my son.
“I fell in love. I was eleven years old, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I loved him.”
His brown eyes, Cam’s eyes, look over my face.
“So how old was you when you met Dad?”
“Nineteen, almost twenty I think.”
“But he was still alive then, Maca?”
“Yeah, we split up when I was sixteen, got back together again when I was twenty …” I trail off. Would he ask?
“But you were with Dad then?”
Of course he asks, he is Cam’s son.
“We split up. Sean and I got back together, eventually got married, and were together for fifteen years before he was killed.”
“And then what? You got back with Dad? I never knew that. I thought you met Dad at his club in Sydney.”
I nod my head. “We met back up in Sydney. I was there to escape the press and the public on the first anniversary of Sean’s death. I had no clue your dad owned the club. We bumped into each other and started seeing each other when we got back to England. We’ve been together ever since.”
He picks the photo up and looks at it again.
“So, if he hadn’t died, you and Dad wouldn’t be together and my brother and sisters wouldn’t have been born.” It’s a statement, not a question. I don’t even attempt an answer.
“I don’t wanna be glad he died, Mum, because I’ve seen how upset you still get about things, but I’m glad you and Dad met and got back together.”
I have to wait a few seconds before I can speak, and even then, my voice wobbles.
“You don’t wish things had worked out differently with your …” I can’t call her his mum, she’s not his mum. I am.
“Tamara?” he offers up. I love this kid so bloody much.
He tilts his head to the side and smiles at me, knowing full well I’m struggling. “With Tamara?” I continue.
He shakes his head no. “If they’d have sorted their shi— Themselves out, then where would that leave you? What about the twins and George? Without Dad, they wouldn’t be who they are. They might not even exist.”
He’s expressing all of my own inner turmoils, and I’m kinda glad. It makes me feel like my thoughts are normal. It also makes me wonder about Cam and Chantelle. Before me, and even before Tamara, there was Chantelle, Cam’s first wife.
My stomach lurches. It’s as if H is reading my thoughts.
“Strange really, that Dad’s first wife died, then your husband, then Tamara killed herself, and you two end up together after both going through all of that.”
I nod my head, agreeing with him.
“Life’s strange sometimes, mate, that’s just the way it is. Sometimes it can be very wicked, too.”
“And lucky. You both had bad luck, but then you had good luck when you bumped into each other in Australia. You had good luck again when Jimmie and Ash had the twins and George for you. We were all lucky Dad didn’t die when Tamara shot him. That is all good luck and none of that is wicked.”
This kid is so bloody perceptive. I reach out to ruffle his hair, but he ducks out of the way.
“What ya doing? Don’t touch the hair, I’m going out in a minute.”
“Where you going?”
“Westfield’s with George and Ollie.”
As if on cue, George comes through the door.
“Here you are. Don’t you answer your messages?”
H sends me a sideways look. George’s voice has broken over the past few months and is deeper than both his and Cam’s right now.
I nudge Harry, silently telling him not to make fun of his brother, but George catches it.
“What?” He looks between the both of us, wiping his hand over his face, paranoid that he has something on his chin.
“Nothing,” we both laugh and say at the same time.
“Does this look all right?” George asks us.
He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt, which is buttoned up to the neck, and a pair of skinny jeans that have an extra low crotch so they don’t split when he tries to walk in them. Cam hates the things and is constantly telling the boys to pull their trousers up when they slide down and expose their boxers underneath.
“Yeah, you look nice. You both do.”
Harry is wearing a similar outfit, except with shorts in the same style as George’s jeans.
They are handsome boys, and I am noticing more and more that girl’s heads turn when we are all out together.
I sort of got used to it with Sean. He was public property and it went with the job. I didn’t like it, but I got used to it, to a degree. I don’t like it when it happens with Cam, and it does, often. When it does, I politely explain to women in bars and restaurants that it’s highly disrespectful to look at my husband like they want to ride home, on his face. But when it happens with my boys, whoa. I will glare back at the little slutetts that stare like they want to eat them with a look that says, “You’re fourteen, sweetheart. Fuck off home and do some colouring, play with Barbie, put on your My Little Pony jarmies, wipe those big black scary eyebrows off your face, and go to bed.”
Then Cam reminds me what I was doing at fourteen.
I tell him to shut up and mind his own business.
He laughs.
I don’t.
“You got money?” I ask them.
“Yeah, Dad transferred my allowance a week early. I saw a pair of football boots I wanna get, and he said he’d go half with me,” George replies.
“Dad transferred you money? How?”
“Online,” they reply in unison.
“How? Dad don’t know how to do online banking.”
“Yeah he does. H put the app on his phone, and we showed him how to use it yesterday. His practice go was sending me my allowance.”
Well, wonders would never cease. My husband is finally getting with it.
“I showed him how to send photos in a text as well. I told him he should get Facey coz it’s cheaper, but he just said fu— No. He said no, he didn’t need it.”
Yeah, I could well imagine what Cam would have to say about getting a Facebook account. It would’ve been far more than no.
George looks at his phone. “Ollie’s outside,” he announces.
“You gonna be all right here on your own tonight?” Harry asks.
“I won’t be on my own. I can call the dogs inside and Jimmie and Ash are coming over to stay. Paige might come over
too if she’s not too jet-lagged.”
“Paige?” they both enquire at once.
“Is she bringing any of her mates?”
Like father like sons. Paige had come over for a family BBQ when she was home one time last year and she’d brought a friend. A very pretty friend. As young as my boys were, they knew what they liked, and that day, it was Kitty Calder, the young Australian model that Paige had with her. Unfortunately for them, Kitty was twenty-three and didn’t even know they existed.
“Unlucky boys, she’s on her own.”
They shake their heads and slouch their shoulders in mock disappointment before kissing me goodbye and heading out the door.
Harry was right, I was lucky, in so many ways.
A few minutes later, I receive a text from Cam.
TIGER: Wanna see a dick pic?
ME: Depends whose dick the pic’s of?
TIGER: My fuckin dick. Why, who the fuck else sends you dick pics?
I don’t reply, and my phone rings thirty seconds later, and just for fun, I silence it, sending the call to my message bank.
I laugh as I think about how much trouble I’m gonna be in later.
Last night was the scariest of my life. Even now, knowing that you’re safe, my hands still shake and my throat and chest still ache.
Our baby’s gone, G. I only knew about him for a few short hours and then he was gone.
I'll never forgive myself for staying down at the bar, G. I should've gone up to bed with you. You're my wife, you were carrying our child, and I stayed at the bar drinking and celebrating while you was alone and in pain in our room.
I was so hungover yesterday morning, I didn't even realise how quiet and pale you were.
As soon as Jimmie mentioned it, as soon as finally paid you some attention, I knew in an instant something was wrong.
And then everything happened so fast. You were sick, and then when I held you in my arms you so cold and clammy. You just laid there, limp like a rag doll. I can’t begin to put into words the level of fear I felt during the few minutes it took us to get to the hospital.
I knew it was bad when they gave you a bed straight away. I held you, Georgia. I held you so tight in my arms, but I couldn’t stop you from shaking. I didn’t wanna let you go, G. I was so fucking terrified that I would never get another chance, that it would be the last time I ever got to hold your soft warm body against mine, that I didn’t wanna let you go.
But then the convulsions started. George, I lost it. I fucking lost it. Marley was holding me back when they wheeled you away. Fuck George, I knew the baby was gone. There was blood all over your jeans, and I knew what that meant, and my brain was sorta accepting that. But you, George? No, I couldn’t lose you. I wouldn’t survive, George. I wouldn’t fuckin’ want to.
And then it was quite. After all the noise and chaos, they showed us to a waiting room and it was just nothing, silence.
Two hours I spent, contemplating how I was going to end my life if they didn’t come back soon and tell me you were ok.
You know I’m not religious, but I begged and I prayed to anyone that was out there listening, even the devil himself. Me for you George. That’s what I offered. My life for yours, but at the same time, I had to work out what I was gonna do if no one listened. I had two hours to work out exactly how things would go if you didn’t make it. I’d have to make sure you had a proper funeral, George. I’d be dying inside, but I’d get through it, knowing that soon enough, I’d be joining you too.
So, I would give you the perfect funeral, and then I would join you and our baby, George.
Then the doctor came and explained everything. Ectopic, fallopian tubes, rupture. Apparently, we were lucky, we lost our baby, but we got to the hospital in time to save you. I don’t feel too lucky right now, but I’m so fucking grateful I still have you.
I love you, Gia, my beautiful girl. I love you so fucking much. This next few months are gonna be hard. We’re gonna be sad, and we’re probably gonna fight and cry and blame each other. We just need to remember that when it all feels like it’s too hard or when it’s all too much, we’re Georgia and Sean. Sean and Georgia, and we’re meant to fucking be.
Sleep soundly now. Tomorrow is a new day, and I will do my absolute best to make it a little brighter for you, because if your heart is as broken as mine right now, then I know just how much pain you will be feeling.
I love you, Gia, my brave and beautiful girl. I love you Baby McCarthy, I’m so sorry that we never got to meet you, but rest assured, you will be remembered with every beat of my heart. xxx
My head hurts and my face stings with the salt from my tears.
He hurt so bad after we lost baby M, and I was so selfishly wrapped up in my own grief that I never saw it. It was all about me. Never once in those first few weeks did I think about the fact that he had thought that he’d lost us both.
Aside from the anguish he conveys in this letter, I can’t help but notice the irony in the similarity of the way we thought.
He planned on getting through my funeral and then killing himself if I died. When he died, I attempted exactly that.
“Oh, Sean, life was so unfair to us, babe. Can you see me now? Are you watching me? I hope you’re happy for me. I hope I’ve made you proud.”
I pull a handful of tissues out of the box I have next to me and blow my nose.
Back in the early days, after Sean died, I was convinced I could feel him around me, but that’s not happened in a long time now.
Occasionally, when I’m in the car or the house by myself, I’ll be thinking of him and a song will come on that reminds me of him, but other than that, nothing. I wonder if it’s because he’s stepped aside. That would be such a Sean thing to do, to just step away and leave me to live my life, knowing that I have Cam and the kids to take care of me.
Zara Larson’s “Never Forget You” starts to play, and I laugh through my tears.
“Is that you? Are you talking to me through the songs?” I look around the room while I ask, but I get nothing. I don’t know what I was expecting but I can’t help but feel a little disappointed.
I throw myself down on the beanbag I’ve dragged in from the game room and start reading the next letter in the pile.
Why, why does it still have to hurt so bad?
When, when will it stop?
This hurt.
This ache.
I need it to go away.
I need it to never leave.
Do you feel it? This longing, the sense that something’s missing.
Or are you just numb? Numb and cold.
I hope you do.
I hope we share this misery.
Just one more bond to forever tie us together.
I let out a long sigh. I feel like we had so many “If Only’s” in our relationship, and as much as I regret the time we spent apart, it was all such a long time ago that having regrets over both our actions back then seems pretty pointless now.
Lukus Graham’s “7 Years” filters through the sound system, serving as a little reminder of how quick life passes us by.
Three more. I’m going to read three more and then I’m gonna go shower and get ready for Jimmie and Ashley’s arrival.
It's 2.48 a.m., G, and I just woke from the most beautiful dream. You were here, tucked in tight against me.
We never really had much opportunity to spend whole nights together, but when we did, it's the way we always slept. Your back pressed to my front, your head resting on the pillow, my arm tucked underneath it.
I would run my fingertips from the top of those long legs of yours, over the curve of your hip and the dip of your waist. I'd watch, fascinated as goose bumps spread across your body.
It's what I was doing when I woke from my dream, hard.
Do you ever think about us like that, G? I don't mean the sex, the closeness we shared, the intimacy? I miss it, G. I miss you. So fucking much. It's been over 3 years now since we shared a bed, since you gave your
self to me so willingly. Remember the way you used to shake, G? Whenever we used to make love, you would shake with nerves and then shake with pleasure. There'll never be anyone like you, beautiful girl. Wherever this life may take us, there will only ever be you for me. I have to keep believing that we are meant to be and one day, when the time is right and we are least expecting it, it'll happen. You'll fall back into my arms, and I'll never let you go. Until then, G, I'll hold onto dreams like tonight's, when I called smell your hair and hear your sighs and just pretend that you are mine.
It will only ever be you!
Sean and Georgia. Georgia and Sean. The way it's meant to be.
I’m done for tonight. I can’t put myself through anymore of this. The girls will be here in an hour or so and I don’t want them to find me a blubbering mess.
“I love you, Sean, my beautiful boy, but your words, your words just hurt my heart so bad. So I’m gonna put them away for a while. Jimmie and Ash will be here soon, and I plan on having a few wines, a takeaway, and some girl time.”
Sam Smith’s “Stay with Me” is playing, and I let out a long breath.
“Ok, just in case. Just in case there is the slightest chance that you’re messing with my playlist, I’m gonna read one more and then I’m gonna go shower.”
Today was both a good and a bad for me, Georgia. Today, we met our son. We listened to his heart beating loud and strong, and although they told us it’s too early to tell, I know with 100% one hundred percent certainty, there’s a Beau in your belly not a Lilly.
I am so happy, G, in a way that I can’t even put into words, and words are usually my thing, ya know? They’re sort of what I do, but I can’t come up with anything that can adequately express to you the absolute love, joy, and pride I feel when I think of you carrying our son, all tucked up safe and warm in that little belly of yours.