by Lesley Jones
“What loft, George?”
Shit, I’ve not been there since Sean died. Cam knows about it, but we’ve never been there. It’s Sean’s place. I would never take Cam there.
I give Benny directions and we drive in silence back into the city. I turn off the radio. I’m not in the mood for music right now, so I sit and lose myself in my own twisted thoughts and overactive imagination.
I know by coming here that I’m reverting and doing what I’ve always done in the past. But running away is just how I cope when things feel out of my control. Running away is my choice. Something I’ve chosen to do, therefore putting me back in control.
Benny opens my door. We’ve stopped outside the old warehouse and I didn’t even realise it. Benny’s top lip is sweating and I know it’s not from the afternoon sunshine.
“Ben, look, I know you need to do your job and tell him where you dropped me, but please tell him not to come here expecting to see me. Tell him to let me have some space and I’ll talk to him when I’m ready.” Benny lets out a big huff.
“I can try, George, but that big fucker don’t see sense where you’re concerned. He’ll be here, and he’ll bang that door down till he gets to you. Mark my words, girl, he won’t leave till he sees ya.”
I say nothing, kiss Benny on the cheek and turn and tap my number into the security doors. I put my hand up in acknowledgement to the two doormen in the office and head for the lift.
* * *
I step inside the apartment and know in an instant this is wrong. I’ve done the wrong thing coming here. This is Sean’s place. Me coming here is going to hurt Cam and I’ve done it without even waiting to hear his side of the story. I did that once before with Sean and it cost us four precious years.
I pull out my phone and call for a cab to come and fetch me to take me to Cam’s apartment. It’s just ten minutes away and I could walk, but I’m worried about the paps.
I go back downstairs and wait in the lobby for the cab to arrive. It’s a big black London taxi and the driver reminds me of my Uncle Finn. I talk to him through the window and explain that I need to get into my apartment block, but the press might be waiting for me. Once he realises who I am, he agrees to help me out. I give him the code to the underground car park and he gives me his jacket and tells me to get down in the foot well in the front of the cab. If the photographers don’t see anyone in the back, they will assume his cab is empty. He also leaves his ‘for hire’ sign on, just to help me out a bit more.
The cabbie's name is Don and he tells me that he knows my dad. He has a drink with him in the Boleyn Pub on Green Street before a West Ham game sometimes. Apparently, they went to school together.
He talks me through every street and tells me there are four photographers on the street outside the apartment block. I hear him tap in the code and we drive into the underground parking garage.
“Right, love, I’ve got ya as close to the doors as I can. I’ve parked so the passenger door opens up straight on the path. I’ll come round and let ya out. I can’t see any of them arsehole reporters, but ya never know where they might be lurking.”
I pull Don’s jacket from over my head.
“Thanks so much, Don. How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t you worry about that, sweetheart. You just get in there safe and tell your ol’ man he owes Don Weeks a drink when he next sees him.”
He comes around and opens the passenger door. I climb out, swipe my security card into the box and tap in the code.
“Thanks so much, Don,” I tell him as he waits to make sure I get in safely. I will pay him and I will make sure he gets a bloody big tip too.
“You’re more than welcome, sweetheart. Be lucky and I hope you get all this sorted and them scum leave you alone. It’s a crying bloody shame what they’re allowed to get away with. Leave ‘em down a dark alley with your dad and Uncle Finn and they wouldn’t be so brave. I can tell ya.” For some reason, this makes me give him a quick peck on the cheek as I step inside the small lobby of Cam’s apartment block. Because he owns the penthouse, he has his own lift so I swipe my card again and the doors open instantly.
As soon as I’m up and in the apartment, I start to shake. My jaw is so tense; it’s making my temples ache, but as the shaking gets worse, my teeth begin to rattle. I head to the kitchen and pour myself a wine.
The apartment has been left exactly as if we were still living here. We still use it and stay here if we’ve been working late and can’t be bothered to go back to Essex, and I’ve stayed here twice since Cam’s been away, rather than stay in our huge new home on my own. I gulp down my wine, then head upstairs for a shower.
I let the water hit me from every angle and try to get my thoughts into order. Cam loves me, of that I am one hundred percent sure, but he likes sex, a lot. I have no idea at what age men’s sex drive starts to reduce, but at forty-two, Cam likes sex every day, twice a day, sometimes three times. He doesn’t bring me to a toe curling orgasm every time; my sex life isn’t some make-believe novel where the leading lady constantly has multiple orgasms. Sometimes it happens; occasionally, it doesn’t, but I love it regardless. I love the connection it gives us. I don’t tell Cam when I don’t come. He worries and thinks it’s his fault, so I do what I assume most women do and fake it, and to be honest, I feel like a bit of a freak because he does make me come so often.
My brain goes into overdrive as I start to overthink things. What if he’s done this as revenge for when I left him for Sean or for when we fucked and I refused to leave Sean afterwards? Do I have any right to be angry? I fucked Cam behind my husband’s back. Isn’t this just that bitch Karma, seeking her revenge? But this is Cam. Would he do this to me?
I start to cry. I don’t know why, hurt, anger, a little bit of exhaustion. The stress of the IVF. We find out on Monday if we have managed to create a pregnancy.
What if all six embryos attach? What if we end up with six babies and these allegations turn out to be true?
What if I’m left on my own to bring up six children?
I slide down the wall of the shower, rest my forehead on my knees and really let the tears flow as I wonder, why me, why is this happening to me again?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cam
As soon as the seatbelt sign is off, I turn on my phone. Fuck what they say about waiting until you’re inside the terminal building and all that bollocks. I need my phone ready to rock ‘n’ roll once I get inside that terminal. I need to speak to my Kitten. It’s been thirteen hours. Thirteen fucking hours, on a plane, most of it with a hard on.
I’d spoken to her on my stopover, woken her up in fact. I smile as I think about how miserable she is in the mornings. I love the fucking bones of the girl, but she is one moody bitch until she’s had a coffee and sex, so I tell her to call me back when she’s had a coffee and feeling more sociable.
Sex. Fuck, I need sex like you wouldn’t believe. Ten days, ten fucking days, and then when I’m about to get on the plane, she calls me back, and in that sexy morning voice says to me,
“Tiger, I’ve had my coffee. Now all I need is an orgasm. You’re not here so I’m about to DIY it.”
“Kitten, don’t you fucking dare. I’m about to get on a plane for a thirteen hour flight. There is no way I’m wanking in an airplane toilet, so if I’ve gotta wait, then so have you, baby.”
“God, Tiger, I love it when you’re all dominant. Tell me what to do again. I’m so close. Ahh God, so close.”
I had to step out of the line of first class passengers waiting to board so they couldn’t all carry on enjoying the conversation.
“I’m fucking warning you. Don’t you dare come. You wait until tonight and you save that for me.”
She giggles down the phone, and fuck if that sound don’t do something to me. It’s like my heart, my belly and my balls all get squeezed at the same time.
“God, I love the fuck out of you, Kitten.” I know what she’s going to say. No matter how many tim
es I ask her not to swear; she defies me. Every. Fucking. Time.
“And I fucking love the fuck out of you, Tiger. Now you go catch your plane, and I’ll go have a quick orgasm.”
I could hear a buzzing sound coming down the phone. “What the fuck’s that noise?”
“What noise?”
“That buzzing noise.”
“Oh, that, sorry, didn’t realise your hearing was so good for an old man.”
I cracked my jaw and moved it from side to side to release the tension. She’d told me she was going to buy a vibrator for when I was away and I told her no she wasn’t. She either comes with me or not at all.
“What. The. Fuck. Is. That. Buzzing. Kitten? I won’t ask you again.”
“Calm the fuck down, Tiger. It’s my toothbrush. I’ve got you on loud speaker while I clean my teeth.”
I feel my jaw and shoulders relax instantly.
“Don’t worry, T. My O’s are all yours, baby. I’ll be wet and waiting for you when you get home. D’ya want me naked or in that black lace number you like so much?”
Fuck, I had to walk completely away from the line now. My dick was so hard; it was hurting and I wasn’t sure that I hadn’t just come in my pants a little bit.
“Stockings,” I tell her down the phone. “Nothing else, just stockings and heels and I want you on the bed, knees up, legs open.”
“Fuck, Tiger, I won’t make it through the day. I’ve missed ya.”
“Kitten, you have no idea. Just a few more hours and I’ll be home and inside you, and just so you know, we’re never doing this again. Where I go, you go. These last ten days…” I actually get a lump in my throat as I think about how much I’ve missed her. “I’ve gotta go. I’m hard and missing ya. Just hold onto that thought.”
“I’m wet and waiting. You hold onto that.”
She ended the call and left me in that state, hard, with jizz leaking from my dick like a fucking school boy. I took off my jacket and carried it in front of me as I got on the plane, just in case.
* * *
The great thing about first class is that you don’t have to wait, first on, first off and first to collect your luggage; it’s there, all ready for you. No waiting, which is a good thing because I fucking hate waiting.
I call Kitten but it rings out and goes to answer phone. We haven’t had the landline connected at the house yet so her mobile is my only option. I try a couple more times and get the same result. I don’t know if it’s the years of ducking, diving and dodging bullets, but I feel a frisson of fear unexpectedly travel up my spine.
I gave Scotty the time off while I was away and told Benny to watch Georgia. I trust Scott but I trust Ben more, especially while I was so far away. It’s his number I call next. I know I’m going to see him in a minute, but I need to know that Kitten’s safe.
Before my call to Benny connects, my phone vibrates and bleeps as my messages and missed calls all start to come through. I look at my screen. It lights up continuously, message after message, missed call after missed call. Benny, Frank, Lennon, Jimmie, Ash, Marley, Bern but no Kitten, not a single call or text from Kitten, and suddenly, it feels like a lead weight has been tied to my heart. It feels heavy, like it’s trying to sink into my stomach. My head spins and I feel dizzy for a few seconds as complete and utter panic starts to grip me. Something’s wrong. I already know, without even speaking to Benny, I know that something’s wrong.
As the doors slide open onto the arrivals hall at London’s Heathrow Airport, I’m momentarily stunned by the flash from the photographers’ cameras waiting to greet me. I put my head down and keep walking. I’m suddenly flanked by Benny and Scott.
“Keep walking. Don’t say nothing. Markey’s right outside in the car,” Ben says quietly as he walks beside me.
“Is Kitten safe?”
“She’s fine, boss. Did you read my texts?” Thank fuck.
“No, I didn’t get the chance. What the fuck’s going on? Where is she? What’s happened?”
“I’ll explain in the car. Don’t say anything.”
I keep my head down, but try and make out what it is the paps and reporters are saying. I hear the name Lynsey. Nope, no clue there. Allegations, what allegations? Oral sex, what the fuck are they talking about?
It must be Sean, another attention seeking whore, trying to make a quick quid off a dead bloke. Fuck, right before the memorial concert. Georgia’s going to be devastated. I’ve never hit a woman, but these bitches who go to the papers with their fabricated stories need a fucking slap for what they put her through. It breaks my heart watching her suffer every couple of months when this happens.
Ben undoes the door to the Land Rover. I quickly step into the back seat and he closes the door behind me. I nod towards Mark as Ben and Scott jump in, Benny joining me in the back.
The paps surround the car as Mark tries to pull away, but a couple of old Bill step in and move them back enough for us to be able to pull out.
My heart and my head are pounding and I feel sick to my stomach.
“Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”
The boys in the front don’t say a word. I turn towards Ben, who’s looking at me like he wants to kill me. What the fuck is that all about?
“Just tell me you didn’t do it?” I can’t help but notice the sweat on Ben’s top lip as he speaks.
“Do what, Ben? I have no fucking idea what’s going on. Please, enlighten me before I swing for someone.”
“Did you get a blow job off a bird at Sydney Airport?” Oh, for fuck’s sake, have these fucking journalists got nothing better to do?
“No, I fucking never. Who’s saying I did?” She’s going to kill me. I know Georgia, swing first, ask questions later.
“Some bird has told the papers that the pair of you went into a toilet in the first class lounge and she gave you a blow job before your flight to London. I don’t know all of the details as I was rounding up the boys and driving here, but the papers are running with the story on Sunday.
I’m already speed dialling Georgia. I need to talk to her. Explain that this is all complete bollocks. She knows better than anyone what the press are like.
“Where’s Georgia, Ben? She’s not answering her phone. I’ve got missed calls from all of her family. Is she with them?” I rake my hand through my hair. Benny’s phone rings as my call once again goes through to Georgia’s answer phone.
“What?” I end my call and turn my attention to Bens.
“December and she’s only just come out with it now?… Yeah, sounds like a load of ol’ bollocks to me mate… Well, do what you can and I’ll let him know.”
He ends his call and looks at me. “Apparently, it happened back in December.” I swear my heart stops beating for a few seconds. For fuck’s sake. She’s going to kill me. I’m dead. If she don’t string me up by my balls, her ol’ man will and fuck knows what them psycho sister-in-laws of hers will do to me. Oh, fuck, we’ve got the pregnancy tests on Monday.
Fuck!
Shit!
Bollocks!
“Eli’s all over it and trying to stop the paper from…” Benny stops talking and just stares at me. “For fuck’s sake, boss. You fucking idiot. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I move my tongue around my mouth, trying to unstick my lips from my teeth. I swallow a couple of times, despite my mouth and throat being bone dry.
“We weren’t together. Nothing had been sorted.” I know it’s a piss poor excuse, but it’s all I’ve got right now. “Where’s Georgia? I need to speak to her and explain.” I feel like my head and my chest are about to explode. Fucking newspapers. Fucking vindictive women selling their sex stories to newspapers. I let out a long breath. I need to find Georgia. I can’t think beyond that right now.
“She don’t wanna see ya, boss. She told me to tell ya, ask ya, to stay away.”
“Yeah, like fuck that’s gonna happen. Where is she, Ben? At her mother’s?” Fuck, I’m going to have
to face all the fucking Laytons now.
“I dropped her at an old warehouse conversion in Docklands. I don’t know who lives there, but that’s where I left her.”
I start to feel even sicker. She’s gone to him. That’s his place. It’s where he lived with Marley before she and him got back together. She’s told me about it, but I’ve never been there. She’s not been there since he died either, or so she told me, but now she’s gone to where she’ll feel close to him and that hurts. It really fucking hurts, and what makes it worse is, it’s all my own fault. I should’ve told her. I know we weren’t together, but we’d talked. She’d told me how she felt just the night before, in that hotel room in Sydney. We were happy. For a few hours, we were happy and making plans, and then her spiteful cousin had turned up and spoilt it all.
I’d found out while I was in Australia that it had been Jodie who had gone to the press and told them that Georgia had spent the night in a hotel room with me on the anniversary of Sean’s death. Lovely girl. Who the fuck does that to their own cousin?
Jackson had come to see me and told me. I have no idea how he knew I was in town, but he had come to the club and found me. He’s actually a really nice bloke and I could just tell from talking to him that he loves Georgia. He was telling me about the practice Georgia had funded and the counselling work he was doing. She’s never said a word to me. Never once had she mentioned that she’d helped set him up.
I get a lump in my throat thinking about her. She’s going to be devastated. I’ve let her down in the worst possible way and it serves me fucking right if I lose her, not that I’m gonna let that happen, no fucking way, but what’s hurting me right now, is that she’s gone somewhere that makes her feel close to him. I fucking hate being jealous of a dead bloke. I’ve never been jealous of anyone in my life, except him. Dead or alive, I’ve always been jealous of him.
I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. I need to see her, nothing else matters. I just need to see her.