Inked Chaos

by Grace, M. J.

  Inked Chaos

  M. J. GRACE

  Copyright © 2015 M. J. Grace

  KINDLE Edition

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, referenced in this work of fiction, which has been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Cover photograph by Natalie Caroline Zak

  Copyrights reserved

  PublishNation, London

  www.publishnation.co.uk

  Dedication

  For my daughter Rachel.

  You make me proud every day. To infinity and back, sweetie. To infinity and back…

  And

  For Callum, Meghan, and Jenna, whom I love with all my heart.

  Acknowledgements

  To Margie, my best friend and confidante for more years than I care to mention, and who kept my little writing project a secret. I thank you for all your love and encouragement. I love you dearly.

  To My Twitter family, you know who you are. For all the help and encouragement and support you have given me over the last few years. There are too many to mention but especially Tammy S, Frap, Janine, Tammy W, Cindy, Shin, Spicy, and Jen.

  A special mention for Nik and Natalie. Your generosity knows no bounds, along with your patience and understanding, when dealing with my insecurities and meticulousness.

  And finally for Tia, who once said the words “you should write a book.” Thank you for planting that little seed of imagination.

  CHAPTER 1

  Standing looking at myself in the mirror, I try to figure out where the years have gone. I woke up this morning, and I’ve turned forty. Bloody hell forty, and what do I have to show for it? Okay, I have a nice but modest home, and I have my own car, even if it is old. I’m lucky to still have those after my divorce from James; he did try to take everything he could, the creep.

  Turning in profile, I let my gaze roam over my body, assessing myself. I guess my figure isn’t too bad; however, it’s far from perfect. I possess a few stretch marks, the remnants from losing some weight last year; and I’d still like to shift a few more pounds.

  I wouldn’t say I’m pretty or even attractive, but I’ve had my fair share of attention in the past. At five feet nine inches, I’m quite tall; so my legs tend to appear really long. My long hair, a deep shade of auburn, falls almost to my waist, and my eyes are green. Eyes, which I’ve always considered to be a little too large for my face.

  Then there’s that bloody scar. The scar that caused all the tearful recriminations, and in the end the divorce. The scar that meant I would never have a child.

  So here I am, forty years of age, no man, no marriage, and no chance of having a child. Just great.

  I hadn’t seen it coming with James. We’d been married for three years; our relationship strong, built upon love and respect for each other, or so I had thought. I also thought that whatever life threw at us, we were strong enough to cope with it together. Hell! How wrong was I!

  We had met at a local bar one hot summer. He’d been on holiday with his friends down in Cornwall, where I grew up. He wasn’t the usual kind of guy that caught my attention; I always fell for the badass kind of guys, with tattoos and motorbikes. James was a smartly dressed guy, with well styled hair, and always very particular about his appearance. Even wearing a suit you could tell he had a fine body beneath, his physique toned to perfection; maintained by the many hours he put in at the gym. He was what I called a pretty boy, charming and funny, and it didn’t take him long to get under my skin. Before I knew it, we were married and we were living just outside Birmingham, close to where James’s office was located.

  When we’d found out I was pregnant, our world had been complete. We hadn’t been trying for very long, so we were ecstatic that it happened so quickly. We’d started planning and choosing names, and discussing the nursery decorations, just like any other excited couple.

  I’d been at work when the unthinkable happened. I hadn’t understood what was occurring when I felt the first pain; however, that didn’t last long. I was soon bent double, crying out in agony. The sweat from my brow running down my face, mingling with my frightened tears, as one of my colleagues rang for an ambulance and another rang James.

  Ectopic pregnancy was the term the doctor used. Miscarriage and surgery were others. The words ricocheting around in my head, as I gazed at James, observing the tears in his eyes.

  Before I knew it, I was waking from having the surgery; the pain of which paled into insignificance, next to the pain of losing our child.

  I didn’t want to acknowledge all that had happened, and James didn’t seem able to look me in the eye, and I was sure he blamed me for the loss. We seemed to back into our own respective corners instead of uniting together in our grief, but then James already knew that there would probably be no more children. For me anyway.

  The doctor had eventually arrived, and informed me of the results he had already imparted to James. That during the surgery, they had had to remove the Fallopian tube from the ectopic pregnancy, but also that my other Fallopian tube, seemed severely scarred and damaged from some previous unknown problem. In his opinion, there was a high probability that I would never again be able to conceive naturally.

  I now finally understood James’ reaction. He came from a large family, and had always wanted one of his own. Well! He wasn’t going to achieve that with me. I knew that, and he knew that. Yes, there was adoption or IVF, but deep down as much as I would have given both a try, it seemed James wouldn’t.

  It didn’t take long for the rot to set in. Weeks passed into months, as we either argued or ignored each other. I know I played my part in that, I won’t deny it. Deep down I felt guilty; as far as I was concerned it was my fault, it was my defective body not his. I grieved, for not only the loss of our child, but also for the loss of our marriage and relationship. Obviously, we were not as strong as I had thought we were.

  It was six months down the line when I discovered he was seeing someone else. I suppose that was the trigger that fired the gun, and I told him to leave. He didn’t even try to stay. I thought he may attempt to come up with some excuse, to try to defend himself. No, he packed his bags and walked out, without even looking back.

  That had been four years ago. Four long years, where I had at first struggled to come to terms with what had happened. Especially when the divorce papers had arrived, but I have slowly moved on and organised my life. I have even been on a few dates, although I have never let them progress too far. My self-preservation has built itself a wall; a wall so thick, that not even a bomb would cause a small crack in it. And James? Well, he’s married again, and his new wife is pregnant. What more is there to say?

  I pull a face at myself in the mirror.

  Okay girl, pull yourself together. There is no hope if you let it get you down. What’s done is done. It’s time to move on and get over it. It’s a waste of time standing here all maudlin, when you have to get to work.

  No more am I going to hold back. Disappeared has the fu
n loving, carefree Jorgi; to be replaced with a faded cut out. Someone who wouldn’t let herself be free and live life to the fullest. Well no more. I’m going to endeavour to bring the old Jorgi back, even though I know it may take a while. It seems I have lost myself, as well as the baby, James and my marriage.

  “I’m going to come back.” I whisper to myself as I quickly head for the shower, dress and grab a quick glass of orange juice.

  *****

  My mobile rings, just as I am locking my front door on my way to work. Glancing at the screen, I smile as I answer the call to my sister Davina.

  “Hey Boo, Happy Birthday. How does it feel to be forty?” she screams down the line, before commencing to sing Happy Birthday; which believe me, is not good, as she is totally tone deaf, just as I am.

  “Davy shut up. You’re killing me with that squawking.” I reply laughing.

  At thirty-six, Davys life is the complete opposite from my own. Married to Ben with a little girl named Eva, she and Ben run their own internet party business. She’s out going where I am now reserved, and being in the party business, I suppose it helps that she’s as mad as a March hare.

  “Boo, are you all organised for tonight? We’ll arrive at yours about five, so we should be ready to roll for seven. Make sure you’re ready to party.”

  “Okay, I’ll look out for you. Just be careful on the journey up. You know Friday traffic on the motorway can be evil.”

  “Boo! When am I not a careful driver?” she asks tetchily.

  “I know, but you know how I worry, and babe do you think that now I’m forty, you could stop calling me Boo and I’ll just be Jorgi? It seems more appropriate somehow.” I ask.

  “Not a chance in hell Boo. You’ve always been Boo to me and you always will be, even when we are old and grey.” She laughingly replies.

  I should have known really. I’ve been trying to kick that nickname for years, but she won’t let it go. I acquired it when I was little; apparently, it was the first and only word I said for months, so it just stuck. At least my immediate family, and my best friend Jen, are the only people who call me by it, so I suppose it’s not too bad.

  We say our goodbyes with the arrangements made for later. We will go to Zayars nightclub, and have a girlie night out, followed by a girlie sleepover. Although, I dread to think what Davy has up her sleeve. It has to be said, I don’t trust her at all where surprises are concerned.

  When I arrive at work, there are balloons tied to my chair, and cards upon my desk. I receive the usual jokes about being forty, with congratulations, gifts and kisses, and then I knuckle down to some work. Watching the clock; impatiently counting down the hours until tonight.

  I’ve been working as a secretary for Cavendish Interiors for five years. Five years of the same repetitive thing, but what I’ve always wanted to do is write a novel. So in my spare time, that’s what I do. It’s my dream to see my words in print. I know it will probably never happen, but I find great joy in writing down my thoughts. Letting my imagination create a character, and telling their story. Imagining people being swept away into another world, as they read what I have written. Well that won’t be any time soon; I know there’s a lot of work to do before or even if that ever happens.

  In the meantime, my job serves its purpose. At least I have money coming in to pay the bills, even though it’s not a fortune.

  *****

  The day passes quickly, and once again I am standing in front of the mirror. This time I’m surveying another Jorgi; my face lightly made up to emphasise my eyes. My long hair in curls, shining down my back; and I’m wearing a midnight blue dress and heels. Quite a transformation from this morning. So what if I am forty? Hell! I don’t look half bad if I say so myself.

  I’m determined, that tonight will be the beginning of my return to my old self.

  The phone rings, and I run to answer it, nearly breaking my neck in the high heels I’m wearing, in the process.

  “Note to self,” I mutter, “do not, under any circumstances, try to run tonight after I’ve had a drink. I’ll never make it.” I pick up the phone and say “Hello.”

  “Hello sweetie.” my mum says, “Happy Birthday. Have you had a good day?”

  My eyes fill up with tears as I hear her voice, and I blink hard trying to dispel them, before they roll down my cheeks. I have looked forward to my mother’s call all day. As I leave for work so early, and the fact that I’m not allowed personal calls at work, (yes, even though it’s my birthday) I knew she would be phoning this evening.

  “Hey Ma, it’s so good to hear your voice. I’ve had a great day, but it would have been better if you were here. I miss you.”

  My mother lives in the small village of Tredowr in Cornwall; in the house where Davy and I grew up. Although she’s lived there on her own for the last ten years since our father died, she says she has no desire to move, as the house holds too many memories for her.

  I don’t see her as much as I’d like, but I try to travel down to Cornwall as often as I can, work permitting. When all the James and baby scenario happened, she came up immediately, and stayed for a while. I had never been so glad to see her. We have always been very close, and I can truthfully say, that I have always felt very much loved by my parents. Davy and I had the most idyllic childhood, and grew up knowing that we had support from our parents in everything we set our minds to.

  “I miss you too Boo, my darling. Have Davy and Jen arrived safely?”

  “Yes, they’re in the process of making themselves beautiful as we speak.” I laugh. “We’re going to Zayars. God help me. I fear what Davy has planned, you know what she’s like Ma, and she’s been very cagey when I’ve brought up the subject. I’ll ring you tomorrow and let you know if she needs a stern word from you.” I joke.

  “I bet you’ll be off out shortly, so I’ll let you go and finish getting ready. Have a wonderful night. Davy has your present, with strict instructions to give it to you while you’re out. Have fun darling. Love to you and the girls, and I’ll speak to you soon.”

  “Bye Ma, love you too.” and she’s gone, leaving me inquisitive about my gift.

  I hear movement behind me and turn to see Davy and Jen grinning at me.

  I guess it’s time to party.

  CHAPTER 2

  Oh my God, the music’s thumping so loud, and my feet are killing me, but hell I’m having fun. We have danced all night, and are now chilling out with our glasses of wine.

  Davy leans over and hands me an envelope shouting “Happy Birthday Boo.” Smiling, I take the envelope as she gives me a big hug. “Ben and I couldn’t think of a more fitting present for you babe. It’s killed me keeping the secret; I kept thinking I was going to blurt it out. So at least I can relax now.” she grins.

  I open the envelope and scream as a ticket to see my favourite group ‘Inked Chaos’ falls into my lap. Ignoring the strange stares and smirks I receive from fellow clubbers, I stand and do a little dance before hugging Davy.

  “Okay! Okay! I get that your happy, just leave my ribs intact.” she laughs. “Don’t worry, you’re not going on your own; Jen and I are coming with you. It’s going to be a girl’s weekend away, thanks to Ma’s contribution.”

  I can’t believe it. Inked Chaos have been my all-time favourite band for years. Being American, they don’t come over to England very often, and I always seemed to miss them or was unable to afford the tickets. The lead singer AJ Lewis, is just the most handsome, sexy rocker of all time, with a body to die for. With his dark, almost black, unruly wavy hair, piercing azure blue eyes and powerful voice, he is just perfect. Yep Mr Alexander John Lewis it has to be said, has it all. Then of course there are the tattoos, hence their name. All five members of the band being known for them, AJ having the most.

  I have to admit, I tend to feel a cougar where AJ is concerned. Especially now I am forty, as he is only thirty-four, but I just don’t care. I google him now and then to see what he’s been up to, and who his latest girlfriend
is. He used to date tall stunning models or actresses, but he’s been in an on-off relationship with the actress Melody Forrester for a couple of years now, so it must be serious. It’s not surprising really, she’s beautiful; tall and slim, with long brunette hair and is a brilliant actress. She seems to have it all.

  “I’ve had those tickets for months Boo, I just couldn’t wait to see your face. We are going to stay in a hotel that night, and have a real girl’s party. It’s all booked.”

  Davy and Jen are laughing hysterically at me, as I can’t stop the huge grin on my face.

  “I’m coming to see you Chaos.” I shout, throwing my arms in the air and jigging around in my seat. I’m acting like a teenager instead of a forty year old, but I don’t care. I safely stow my ticket in my bag, grab Jen and Davy, and head down to the dance floor, determined to groove the night away, until my feet can’t take any more.

  *****

  Oh…My…God! I have the hangover from hell. I know it’s the morning; I can hear the birds singing. It’s just unfortunate that I can’t open my eyes to confirm the fact. I lie there, trying not to move my aching head too much, as I slowly raise one of my eyelids. Only to shut it pretty quickly again, when the brightness hits my eye like a laser.

  Well! I’m not surprised at my self-inflicted state. I really went to town last night, luckily remembering most of it.

  We had danced until my feet were pounding like in the cartoons. I dread to think how many glasses of wine I consumed, before hitting the Southern Comfort. I’m not a big drinker, so usually only three or four drinks are enough to make me a little more than tipsy. Well! I remember having a lot more than that. I also remember the clock reading after three, when we staggered home this morning.