Carnage Boxset

by Jones, Lesley

  I’d received some beautiful letters from people all over the world after the accident, but I’d also received hate mail wishing me dead and telling me it should’ve been me and not Sean who died. I’ve always received messages from the usual bunch of weirdos spouting filth or God to me, but somehow, a few people had managed to get hold of my parents’ phone number. They’d called me here to scream abuse down the phone, but no one had ever gotten hold of my mobile number. I chew on the skin on the inside of my lip for a few moments, debating what to do; I shrug. “Let’s do this; love me, hate me, reading your message won’t change that,” I say out loud as I press open on the message.

  Georgia, I know today will be a tough one for you, but I just wanted you to know I am thinking of you. I’ve checked in with your parents and Bailey every couple of weeks, and they tell me you’re doing as well as can be expected. I’ve wanted to talk to you for ages, but felt it was too soon; that you wouldn’t be ready. But I couldn’t let today pass without wishing you the happiest birthday you can possibly manage, and remember, I’m always here for you, if ever you need to talk, or just to get away.

  Cam x

  Wow. I stare at the message and read it at least five more times. He’s been checking on me with my brother and parents? My mum told me he called in the early days and I’d felt grateful, but it had all been such a blur. He’d always been so good to me, even though I’d treated him appallingly. I’d treated a lot of people appallingly at some stage or another in my life, but Cam especially.

  I hadn’t really thought too much about Cam since Sean’s death. Then again, I hadn’t really thought too much about anything since Sean’s death; I’d just focused on getting through each day. But before that, after the whole house-buying incident and Sean finding out about him being the previous owner of our old home, I had, in fact, gone out of my way not to think of Cam.

  In the months since I lost Sean and Beau, I rarely left my parents’ house. My dad had set me up with a home office in the soundproofed room on the grounds, and from there, I re-immersed myself in the running of Posh Frocks, mine and my mum’s business, and I also became involved in a fair bit of charity work.

  Sean was wealthy, very wealthy, and all that he’d owned and all the future royalties from his music came to me; it was more money than I could spend in my lifetime. I’d taken care of my brother Bailey’s mortgage and set up a trust fund for each of my nieces and nephews. I’d given money to Sean’s family, despite the fact that he hadn’t included them in his will. I gave money to his mum, his dad and the half-brother and sister he had never met; the children his mum had gone on to produce after leaving Sean’s dad. They were now all set for life. My family didn’t need any help; they all had money in their own right. Bails was the only one with a mortgage and a loan, so I dealt with that and decided there were still far too many zeroes at the end of my bank balance. I didn’t want anything, nothing money could buy anyway, so I gave some to charity. I donated to the drug rehabilitation charity Sean had supported for so many years and I started a few new ones, mainly involving young people, music and fashion, and I ran my little empire from the studio in my parents’ backyard.

  I had never once been back to the farmhouse that Sean and I owned. The contents were packed up and stored, all my personal stuff was brought over to my mum’s, and I’d moved back into my old bedroom permanently, but I spent a lot of nights in my office, sleeping on the old Chesterfield that had been around for years. I still have nightmares about the accident, and I hate waking my parents up with them, so if I sleep in there, they’ll never know. Well, of course, they knew; they weren’t stupid, but at least they didn’t have to hear me scream and cry, and they could get a sound night’s sleep. In return, I usually got Sean in my dreams.

  I stare down at my phone and wonder whether I should reply. I smile as I think about how formal the text sounds; no abbreviations, none of the text talk my other messages contained. He would be about fortyish by now, so I bet texting wasn’t something he usually did, and for some reason, the thought of Cam’s big fingers trying to type out a message makes me smile; a real, genuine smile that feels a little alien to me, since it has been so long. Before I think about it any longer, I reply.

  How many attempts did that take with those huge sausage fingers of yours?

  I stare at my phone for a few seconds, waiting on a reply; when none comes, I reply to all my other messages and then use the bathroom. When I return, there’s a message flashing.

  NINETEEN

  This texting nonsense is a load of bollocks! Why don’t people just pick up the telephone and speak to each other in a civilised way?

  And just so you know, this took me twelve attempts, but at least now I know how to write in capitals. I just can’t find the numbers yet.

  Cam x

  That strange thing happened to my face again; the muscles in my cheeks seem to have a mind of their own this morning and keep forcing my lips into a smile. It feels quite nice.

  LOL, u r funny

  I pull on a pair of Sean’s joggers and an old hoodie of his; I’m already wearing his T-shirt since I only ever sleep in his clothes. I put my hair up in a scrunchy, pick up my phone and stare at the door. I can do this. I’m going to get through today and I’m going to smile as I do. My family has been through so much alongside me, and much of it has been unnecessary and caused by my own selfishness. I’m determined not to give them any cause for worry today. I turn my phone from silent to ring and head out the door in search of coffee.

  * * *

  The house is empty, which is unusual since my parents have been up my arse like a pair of knickers for the past ten months. I can’t blame them; I put everyone through Hell in the first few months after Sean died. I behaved selfishly and twice attempted to take my own life, without a single thought for the effect it would have on anyone else. As much as living hurt, it’s not something I plan on putting anyone through again.

  There is a note on the table telling me my mum and dad have gone to the shops. The whole family are coming over tonight, and they have to buy food and alcohol.

  I asked that we kept things low-key; I wasn’t ready to celebrate anything in my life yet, but my brothers insisted we all spend the evening together regardless. We would have to have a cake, though; they insisted, just for the sake of the children, who would want to blow out the candles at least nineteen times, and my mum would let them. And anyway, I always looked forward to spending time with my crazy-arsed family, so I’m actually looking forward to it.

  My phone pings, alerting me of another text. I flick on the coffee machine and sit at the bench while it percolates.

  What language are you speaking, Kitten?

  Oh, and I’ve found how to work the number thing

  12345678910

  Kitten. He calls me Kitten. God, I used to love it when he did that. My insides squirm a little bit for some reason, and I laugh to myself as I read the message and pour my coffee, wearing a stupid grin on my face. I’m thinking of a reply and about to sit down when the buzzer sounds for the electric gates at the front of my parents’ property. I stare at the intercom for a few seconds, not sure what I should do. I jump as they buzz again; then my mobile rings and I jump so badly this time, it causes me to spill coffee all down myself.

  “Shit,” I say to no one in particular, my mum’s number flashing on the screen.

  “Mum, what’s wrong?”

  “Don’t worry about getting the gates; we’re coming through them now.”

  “Okay,” I say and end the call. Well, that was a pointless conversation since I could actually hear Mum and Dad pulling up outside. My mum has only recently gotten her first mobile phone and the idea is still novel to her; she will even call me from the next room, just because she can. She is on a one-hundred-and-eighty-minute plan, and is determined to use every bloody one of them; she’s even called Marley while he was in the toilet and told him to make sure he washed his hands. Marley pretended he’d gotten crap on his
phone by answering it and had chased her around the house, waving it while she screamed for ten minutes. Marley’s phone has since become known as the ‘shitty phone’ and no one will touch it.

  I walk to the front door, wiping the coffee from the front of my hoodie onto the sleeve, where it would be less obvious. I open the door as Mum reaches it, carrying a massive bouquet of creamy-white arum lilies; my stomach lurches and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed. I think I pant or gasp for a few seconds trying to get my breath. I look at my mum, who’s as wide-eyed as me.

  “There was a florist trying to deliver these at the gate; this was with them.”

  She passes me the bouquet and a thick, cream-coloured envelope. My breath leaves my lungs, my legs start to go from under me and I think I see my mum’s front step come towards me as she screams my name. My dad rushes towards me and then nothing.

  Chapter Two

  I become aware of two things at once: voices whispering in the distance and an absolute pounding in my head. I lay still, debating whether opening my eyes will make my head feel worse. Somebody kisses my lips very gently and my eyes fly open to meet Marley’s, who is sitting in the armchair opposite me. I try to sit up, but my head feels like it’s been punched so I lay back down as Marley darts out of the chair and kneels in front of me.

  “Muuuuum,” he bellows. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping if I can’t see him, I won’t be able to hear him, either. It doesn’t work.

  “Please don’t shout, Marls, and did you just kiss me, right on the lips?”

  “Fuck off, Porge, you must’ve banged your head. You’re hallucinating babe. Muuum, I think George needs to go to the hospital.”

  Mum, Dad and Jimmie come rushing through the archway of my parents’ front room, just as I force my eyes back open.

  “Where did you lot all come from?” I ask, totally confused. How long have I been out for? My mum comes and kneels next to Marley, taking my hands in hers.

  “You fainted, George. Your dad carried you in here just as Marley pulled up. We only just laid you down and were gonna call for the doctor when Jimmie arrived and you woke up. You’ve only been out a few minutes.”

  I look at each of their worried faces. “Did someone kiss me? While I was out, did someone kiss me, right on my mouth?”

  “Told ya, she must’ve banged her head. She needs to go to the hospital,” Doctor Marley repeats his diagnosis.

  “Shut up, Marley.” My mum slaps his arm as she speaks.

  “You didn’t hit your head, George. You barely went out. You started to go and I caught you then Dad was there and carried you in here. You weren’t out long at all and nobody kissed you, babe.”

  My hand unconsciously moves to my lips and I brush over them with my fingertips as I look at Marley again. “Don’t fuckin’ look at me like that; I ain’t some fuckin’ weirdo who kisses his sister when she’s out cold.”

  “That’s debatable,” Jimmie says from where she’s standing behind him. I smile as I look up at her.

  “Fuck off, Jim,” Marley says as he stands up.

  “Language, Marley Layton,” my mum reprimands him.

  “Ha, rock star, you got told,” Jimmie jokes with him. He flips his middle finger at her, behind my mum’s back, of course, and I grin at the pair of them and shake my head. My big brother the Rock God really gets put in his place around here.

  My dad passes me a glass of water and kisses the top of my head.

  “Happy birthday, princess.” I smile up at him.

  “Thank you, Daddy.” I take a sip of my water and sit up. My head feels fuzzy, but at least the pounding has stopped.

  I spend the next few minutes being wished a happy birthday while my mum makes a cup of tea. Jim’s sitting on the sofa next to me and Marley is back in the arm chair. Jimmie takes my hand.

  “What happened, babe?” I raise my eyebrows and shake my head.

  “It was just the flowers. Did you see them? It’s the exact bouquet Sean always sent, the same flowers, the same colour, the same piece of lace tied around them.” I shake my head as I realise I still don’t know who they’re from.

  My mum comes in carrying a tray full of cups of tea, my dad behind her with a plateful of bacon rolls. They are a proper little team nowadays, since my dad doesn’t work anymore. Well, he sometimes goes to meetings, but he is home most days; he plays golf a lot and he goes shooting. Other than that, he and my mum are inseparable, and it gives me a nice, warm feeling inside.

  Marley reaches for a roll before my dad sets the plate and side plates down on the coffee table. My mum swipes his arm away and slaps him again as she glares at him. “Manners, Marley; you weren’t raised to be rude.”

  Marley stands with his hands on his hips and opens and closes his mouth a few times before saying, “I’m not five. Will you stop slapping me and telling me what do?” My dad turns his head slightly and gives him ‘the look’; the look that would instil fear into the hardest of men, the look that has had my brothers and me knowing we had best be quiet now, for most of our lives.

  “Sorry,” Marley mumbles and slumps back down in the armchair. I can’t help but giggle.

  “What’s that noise, did you all hear that?” Everyone looks at my brother as if he’s gone mad.

  “What noise?” Mum asks as she puts bacon rolls on side plates and passes them around to each of us.

  “Don’t matter, it’s stopped now.” He winks at me.

  We all sit, eat, and drink our tea, chatting about nothing in particular. After answering four phone calls on his shitty phone, Marley eventually heads off, telling me he will see me here for dinner tonight. My dad goes off to play golf, with a promise he won’t be late home, and I go for a shower and pull on some non-coffee-stained clothes. My mum booked us in for a pamper day at a spa somewhere so I make myself look presentable. As I come back into the kitchen, she’s putting my flowers into a vase while she chats to Jimmie. “Was there a card with them?” I ask her.

  “No, just the letter. Are you going to read it?” I pick it up from the kitchen bench top just as Ash comes through the front door with Sam. “Happy birthday, slag bag.” Ash pulls me in for birthday cuddles as I hear my mother gasp at her greeting.

  “Thanks, slutster; you look good.” She lets go as Sam takes her place.

  “Happy birthday, George.”

  “Thanks, Sam,” I reply.

  “We need to go. We’re booked in for our first treatment at eleven, and you know how much that bunch of stuck-up fuckers moan if you’re late at that place.” I put the thick envelope into my bag.

  “Well, I hope you girls are going to tone the language down when we get there; royalty frequent this place, you know,” my mum complains.

  “Fuck ‘em. We’re rock royalty, so we can say whatever the fuck we like,” Ashley replies. Jimmie, Sam and I burst into laughter as my mother looks like it’s her turn to faint or have a coronary.

  “So, it’s true. Marley just called from the shit phone and told me to listen out for that noise.” We all must wear a confused look as she explains, “He reckons he heard you giggle earlier, George, but thought he must be hearing things. But naah, he was right. You did actually giggle just then. In fact, I would go as far as saying you actually laughed.” I shake my head as we walk to the stretch limo waiting outside for us. My brother can be such a dick sometimes.

  * * *

  We spend the next few hours drinking champagne, while enjoying manis, pedis, facials and a full-body massage. By the time we head back out to the limo, I’m totally chilled-out and well on my way to being drunk. I reach into my bag to check my phone, but realise I’ve left it at home; instead, my hand finds the envelope that came with the flowers. I’ve been thinking about this most of the day, worrying about who it might be from. Fuelled by my alcohol-induced bravery, I pull the envelope from my bag and tear it open. The conversation going on around me fades away as I try to make sense of the words on the first page.

  Happy birthday, Georgia Rae
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  Show us your tits!

  Gia, my beautiful, beautiful girl, I hope you’re well, baby.

  If you’re reading this, then I’m no longer around, and I hope this hasn’t come as too much of a shock to you.

  I made arrangements with my solicitor, that in the event of anything ever happening to me, you would always receive flowers on your birthday. If at some stage you have moved on and this is no longer appropriate or you just don’t want to receive them, then please contact the offices of Fishburn, Colt and Co and they will deal with it.

  So, today is your birthday, Georgia Rae, and despite the fact that I’m not there to share it with you in person, I will do my best to be there with you in spirit. I hope today finds you surrounded by the love of your family, of our children and of our grandchildren, and I hope you are being spoilt rotten.

  I hope our life together was a good one and that I made you happy, G. I always did my best to try to make sure that was the case.

  Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, please think of me, because you can be sure that, wherever I am and what ever I’m doing, I’ll always be thinking of and loving you.

  Thank you for being my wife, Gia, and for making my life what it was. Remember, near or far, in this life or in the next, it’ll only ever be you.

  Sean xxx

  I almost choke on the sobs that escape me. I curl into a ball and hug my knees to my chest as everyone sits in stunned silence. Jimmie takes the letter from my hand and I hear her sob out, “Oh, God,” as she realises what it is and who it’s from. She silently holds me in her arms as the limo makes its way through the evening traffic back to my parents’ home. By the time we arrive, I’ve composed myself to some degree and am trying my hardest to focus on the fact that I was so blessed and lucky to be loved the way I was by Sean. I don’t want to dwell on the horrible circumstances in which he had been ripped away from me, along with our son, far too soon.