Carnage Boxset
Lesley Jones
Carnage—Book One—the Story of Us
Copyright © 2013 Lesley Jones
Carnage—Book Two—The Story of Me
Copyright © 2014 Lesley Jones
Marley
Copyright © 2015 Lesley Jones
The Letters
Copyright © 2016 Lesley Jones
A Different Kind of December
Copyright © 2017 Lesley Jones
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical or electronic—without the written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
CARNAGE BOXSET—
Formatting by T.E. Black Designs
Cover Design by Cosmic Letterz
CARNAGE—BOOK ONE
Editing by Ashley Williams, AW Editing
CARNAGE—BOOK TWO
Editing by Ashley Williams, AW Editing
MARLEY
Editing by Ashley Williams, AW Editing
THE LETTERS
Editing by Ashley Williams, AW Editing
A DIFFERENT KIND OF DECEMBER
Editing by Ashley Williams, AW Editing
Contents
Lesley Jones
Carnage—Book One
Playlist
Glossary of Terms
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Bonus Chapter
Afterword
Lesley Jones
Carnage—Book Two
Playlist
Glossary of Terms
Prologue
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Afterword
Marley
Playlist
Glossary of Terms
Foreword
Prologue
Carnaged
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
The Letters
Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
A Different Kind of December
Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
The Definition Of Insanity Prologue
The Definition Of Insanity Prologue
About the Author
Books By Lesley Jones
Carnage—Book One
The Story of Us
Lesley Jones
Playlist
The Jam—“Liza Radley”
The Jam—”Start”
The Jam—“English Rose”
Queen—“Crazy Little Thing Called Love”
Dire Straits—“Romeo & Juliet”
Gloria Estefan—“Don’t Wanna Lose You”
Alexander O’Neal—“Fake”
Soul 11 Soul—“Back To Life”
Glossary of Terms
The following is a glossary of terms that are used throughout this book. These euphemisms and slang words form part of the United Kingdom’s spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.
Please remember that the words are not misspelled. They are slang terms and are part of the everyday, United Kingdom and Australian lifestyle. This book has been written using UK English.
If you would like a further explanation, or to discuss the translation or meaning of a particular word, please do not hesitate to contact the author – for your convenience, contact details have been provided at the end of this book.
I hope you enjoy a look into the United Kingdom/Australian way of life.
Arsed—Can’t be bothered doing something.
Bespoke—Created especially for someone, in the same way that you say custom
Bird—A young woman
Bib/Bibbed—To honk your horn
Bloody—Swearword originating in England, used in the middle of words/phrases to emphasize meaning - be it good, sarcastic or bad
Blower—Telephone
Bog—Toilet
Bogies—A piece of dried mucus discharged from the nose
Bollocking—When one is lectured, criticised or reprimanded
Bollocks—Generally indicates contempt for a certain task, subject or opinion, also used in place of bull shit.
Brass—Prostitute.
Charlie—Cocaine
Divvy—A fool or idiot.
Faffing—To spend time on a non-productive activity "to waste time".
Fuckeration—The meaning is that whatever you have gotten yourself into, it is one holy fucked up, fuckeration of a mess.
Gaff—House or place.
Gissit—‘Give Us It’ or just ‘Give It’.
Gobby—Talkative.
Gregory—Cockney rhyming slang: Gregory Peck – nec
k.
Give us a bell/ I’ll bell ya—Call me/I’ll call you
Hark—Look at you, or listen to you.
Mate—Buddy or a friend.
Motor—Car
Narna—To get very angry or to lose it.
Mildred—Vagina
Fanny—Vagina
Off My Tits—To be VERY much under the influence of a substance. Most commonly used as either an excuse or a conversation starter.
Off License—A shop licensed to sell alcoholic beverages for consumption off the premises.
Plonked—Meaning to put something down, unceremoniously.
Scooby—Clue.
Shag—To have sex, or get your fuck on, to score, get some, hit it, tap it, do it.
Shitfaced—Under the influence of drugs or alcohol.
Skin Up—To make a cannabis cigarette.
Soundo—This is London slang for asleep. It derives from the phrase "sound asleep" thus "soundo".
Stellar—A word used when something is outstanding or immense.
Summit—A lazy way of saying ‘something’
Swanning—Posing or posturing around.
Take/ing the Piss—To take liberties at the expense of others, or to be unreasonable. To mock or make fun of.
Tarted Up—To improve the appearance of something.
Telly—Television.
Tits Up—Something that is no longer functioning or working.
Tuppence Worth—Phrase used when someone has brought all the evidences to support his point of view.
Vest—Tank Top/Singlet
Whaz—Urinate
Whizz—Speed
Chapter One
I was swinging upside down by my knees on the monkey bars in our back garden the first time I met him. My best friend, Jimmie, and I were hanging facing each other, eating pop rocks, and singing what we thought was a stellar rendition of “Liza Radley” by The Jam, at the top of our voices. We’d heard my big brother, Bailey, listening to the B side of the twelve-inch version of the single “Start” the week before. He said that he liked it better than the A side, and he’d been playing it nonstop for the last few days, so we’d been listening to it and had learnt the words.
Jimmie was in love with each and every one of my three big brothers. She was convinced that if she knew the words to their favourite songs, they’d notice her. I couldn’t say I blamed her. They were all very good looking. Jimmie just hadn’t decided which of the three she was going to marry yet. Lennon probably wasn’t really an option as he was already sixteen, and we were, after all, only eleven. Bailey, my eldest brother, was eighteen, so that pretty much ruled him out, too. So as far as I was concerned, it had to be Marley. The brother closest in age to me that she was going to marry, and I was pretty sure, it was his legs I could see approaching us from the back of our house.
“George, I can see your knickers. Get the fuck up, will ya?”
Yep, that was Marls. I had no idea why he was moaning though. He usually loved seeing Jimmie’s knickers. In fact, I’d heard him beg to look at her knickers in the past. Then I saw them, the other pair of legs following Marley up the garden path towards us.
Monkey Boots?
Whoever was approaching was wearing Monkey Boots. I loved Monkey Boots! They were already on my Christmas list for that year, despite the fact that it was only August.
A very loud wolf whistle interrupted my thoughts. I’d heard boys do this before. My dad and my brothers did it to me when they knew I was all dressed up for a special occasion, and my dad did it to my mum every time she came down the stairs dressed and ready for the day—it always made me so happy that he did. But this whistle did something to me I didn’t quite understand. It sent feelings through me that landed in places I’d only just realised I had. That sound woke something in my body I never even knew was sleeping.
Jimmie and I swung up at the same time, grabbed the bars by our hands, and dropped to the floor. I was pretty sure we were in complete synchronisation and looked like a pair of Olympic gymnasts. We turned to Marley, took a bow, and then collapsed into each other, giggling like the pair of preteen girls we were. I looked back towards Marls who wasn’t laughing. He was, in fact, glaring at the pair of us. I tipped my head back and emptied what was left of my packet of pop rocks in my mouth, letting the tiny, orange shards explode all over my tongue.
I looked back towards my brother, waiting for the popping to stop in my mouth so I could give him some attitude about the shitty look on his face when my world suddenly stopped turning. It stuttered for a few seconds and then restarted, erratically, matching the rhythm of the candy exploding inside my mouth. But when I swallowed, the explosions didn’t stop. They went down into my chest and on into my stomach, settling uncomfortably low down in my belly. And for some strange reason, the sensation caused my brain to cease its connection to my mouth, leaving me devoid of speech.
I was eleven years old, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt I was staring into the eyes of the boy I was going to love forever. Big, brown eyes locked onto mine from over Marley’s shoulder. He stared at me for a little too long, and then his eyes moved down my body and locked onto my chest. Yeah, I was eleven at the time, but two years before I’d started to develop boobs and was already wearing a size B cup. Most of my friends were jealous of me, but I hated it. Everything began to change when my boobs grew. The boys treated me differently. They knocked on my bedroom door instead of just barging in, and they never came into the bathroom anymore for long chats like the ones we used to have while I soaked in an overly full bubble bath. They never pinned me down and tickle tortured me anymore either.
Then, the year before, I had gotten my first period, and things got worse. We lived in a nice house on a nice street in a nice area. I’d always been allowed to play out late because my brothers were always around to look out for me. We were a large group of about twenty kids. Both boys and girls, varying from age ten to about fifteen. It was harmless, innocent, and sexless fun. We would hang out on the bench at the corner, at the park across the road, or down at the little row of shops a street away. Up until I had gotten my period, nobody asked whom, in particular, I was going out with or who else would be there, because as long as one of my brothers were around, I was fine to go where I liked and with whom I liked.
But getting my period changed everything. I felt interrogated with questions. Where are you going? Who’s going to be there? Will there be boys? That was all they seemed to want to know—whether there’d be boys involved in anything that I was doing outside of our house. At the time, I didn’t get it. It never occurred to me that at such a young age I could potentially get pregnant.
My dad wasn’t home much, so it was my brothers who dished out the discipline. My mum was around, but she left it to the boys to tell me off if I’d gotten home late or couldn’t be found at one of my usual hangouts when they came looking for me. This was usually Bailey or Lennon, as I gave Marley too much shit. I didn’t understand why he should be the one telling me what to do. He was only thirteen himself and not yet an adult. Funnily enough, Marley was the strictest of all my brothers.
I stood, staring at the boy with my brother, and the new love of my life. Forget Adam Ant, he had nothing on the boy who stood in front of me, the boy, who was so very obviously looking at my boobs.
“Sean, this is my sister George and her mate, Jimmie,” Marley introduced us.
Sean laughed before speaking, “I thought I was gonna meet some more brothers when you said, ‘Let’s go and see George and Jimmie,’ not a pair of girls with red and pink knickers on.”
“My name’s Jamie and hers is Georgia, but everyone calls us Jimmie and George,” Jimmie stated confidently to the new kid, my future husband.
I folded my arms across my chest, which was entirely the wrong move as it just made my boobs look bigger and it drew Sean’s eyes straight back to them.
“Show us your tits.” He gestured with his chin towards me.
It’s a wonder I didn’t dis
appear in a puff of smoke. I was so embarrassed. Even my hair felt like it was blushing.
“Fuck off, Maca. She’s my little sister. She’s only eleven.”
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