Carnage Boxset

by Jones, Lesley

  “D’ya mind?” The tin contains rolling papers and weed and a few cigarettes. I shake my head.

  “Go for it.”

  The one thing I’ve learnt in the short time that I’ve been in Byron is that a lot of people smoke weed. I don’t know if it’s because of the markets and music festivals that go on locally that attracts people into the area who just happen to be into it, or if it’s just something that’s acceptable here. I’m not being judgmental about it; how could I be? I’d grown up around it, and where I came from, from the age of about fourteen or fifteen, everyone smoked the stuff. I just had never seen it done so openly anywhere else, other than Amsterdam, of course. And that thought leads me into another conversation with Roman. While he rolls a joint, we sit side by side on the beach, smoke it and talk about Amsterdam, the coffee houses, the red light area. The conversation is easy and I feel totally relaxed and at ease with him. When we’ve had enough sun, we pack up our things and wander back to the bar.

  * * *

  Brooke’s back and already working; she comes around the bar and gives me a big cuddle as I pull up a stool.

  “George, you missed a grouse weekend, darl. Seriously, next time I go down, you’ve got to come. So many men, George, so many.” Roman sits down on the stool next to me and Brooke gives a little squeal.

  “Fuck me! Roaming Roman the Rooter, when d’ya get back in town?” She throws her arms around his neck and he wraps his around her waist; I watch with interest, especially after what she just called him. I know we all talk English, but the Australians have completely different slang to what I was used to, and I was learning it slowly. I know a ‘Rooter’ or a ‘Root Rat’ was someone who shagged about a lot.

  Roman kisses Brooke’s cheek. “How ya goin’, Brookie? Ya lookin’ good, darl.” She stands back, puts her hand on her hip and looks him up and down; he’s put his vest back on, but his nicely tanned and toned arms are still on display.

  “You too, Rome, lookin’ pretty damn hot yourself. Broken any hearts since you’ve been back yet?”

  He shakes his head, turns and looks at me. “Would you like a drink, Georgia?”

  Before I have a chance to say anything, Brooke shrieks, “Oh, my fuckin’ God, you have got to be kidding me!” She looks between Roman and me. “Three days, three fuckin’ days I’ve been away, how… when did this happen?” She gestures with her pointy finger between the two of us.

  “Shut up, Brooke,” Roman says to her. She folds her arms across her chest and cocks her hip to the side, tapping her foot.

  “Brooke, can I get some drinks please? Stop being a child, nothing’s going on. We only met last night,” I say to her. She frowns.

  “So, why are you here together now, George? Seriously, you need to watch this one, darl; he has a rep. Where was Jax? Didn’t he steer ya right?”

  “Hello.” Roman waves his hand in front of Brooke’s face. “I am here ya know; I can hear what you’re saying.” He looks across at me. “Don’t believe a word of it, Georgia; none of it’s true.”

  “Haaa, bullshit Roman, bullshit,” Brooke shouts as she walks back around the bar. “What can I get yas? And no getting my cousin drunk and trying to get in her pants; she don’t need none of your kind of trouble in her life.” Roman and I look at each other, both smiling and shaking our heads.

  “Thanks for your concern, Brooke, but maybe he’s exactly the kind of trouble I need right now.”

  Her mouth drops open, and Roman leans into my ear and whispers, “I’m exactly the kind of trouble you need right now, exactly the kind.” Goose bumps travel up my spine, but I keep staring ahead as if he’s had no effect on me.

  “Georgia, you are a bad, bad girl, but you’re in very good company. I’ve heard first-hand that Roman here is a very bad, bad boy. Now, take this bottle of wine and go be bad together, but be done with the badness by the time I finish up here tonight.” I can feel my face flush. What is it with my Australian family and their outspokenness?

  Roman takes the bottle from Brooke.

  “C’mon, Georgia, I can’t take much more of your cousin’s mouth.”

  We stand as Brooke calls from where she’s serving another customer, “Yeah, go on; get out of here, ya pair of freaks!” I turn and glare at her; she shrugs, winks and turns back to her customer.

  * * *

  We spend the rest of the evening sitting on the balcony, drinking wine and talking about our lives. Despite the drink, I remain fairly guarded. I’ve never really had many friends outside of my family. My best friends growing up were my brothers and Jimmie, then later on, Ashley; my best friends had gone on to marry my brothers so they eventually became family, as well. Sean was my brother’s best friend and was already a part of my family before we were even in a relationship, which all meant I’d never really trusted anyone outside my family, and I’m not about to start now. I like Roman; he’s a nice bloke, but I don’t know yet if I can trust him. What if he goes to the papers? What if I kiss him? What if I let slip some secret the press doesn’t already know about my life and he sells me out? I’m suddenly feeling extremely paranoid…

  “What are you thinking, Georgia? What’s going on in that mind of yours?” His eyes sparkle in the dark. We’ve drunk wine and beer and smoked another joint between us.

  I sigh deeply. “I was just thinking about how hard it is learning to trust people.”

  “What people? Hope ya don’t mean me?”

  “No offence, but yeah, you included, Rome. Sorry, but when you’ve had as many lies told about you in the newspapers as I have, it makes it really hard to trust anyone.”

  He nods. “Yeah, I s’pose it would, but what makes you think I’m gonna go to the papers with anything? I’ve got nothing to go to them with.”

  I feel really bad, but I need to put it out there. “I know you haven’t, and I need to keep it that way.”

  “That’s horrible, Georgia. That’s a horrible way to think of me and that’s a horrible way to go through the rest of your life. To be honest with ya, darl, I’m offended.” I knew it would piss him off, but I’m a little stoned, a little drunk and feeling brave. I just needed to get it out there, so there it is.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I thought we’d had a nice day, George. I thought we’d become friends, but obviously I was wrong.” He stands and pushes his chair back loudly; I assume he’s going to leave, but he moves around the table that’s between us and leans down into my face “You’re just a girl, a beautiful girl I met in a bar. You’re funny and intelligent, and I’m really pissed off that you think I would do something like go to the press. You’re not famous to me; you’re just someone I really, really…” he looks all over my face, then brings his fingers up to my mouth and brushes the tips over my lips, “…really want to kiss.”

  My breaths are coming short and shallow, my heart is beating hard in my chest and I can’t take my eyes from his mouth. He brings it closer, smelling of wine and cigarettes. His hand slides around the back of my neck and he closes the distance between our mouths, his lips gently brushing mine. He pulls me up by my arm and I stand; his lips move slightly while his tongue traces along the seam of my mouth but our mouths are still closed and I resist. His hands rest on my hips and he pulls me into him closer, tighter, my boobs pressing against his chest as my arms wrap around his neck. My fingers slide into his hair, and he lets out a little moan as my nails rake his scalp.

  A million emotions are racing through me: this is wrong, but it feels so right; this is good, but it should be bad; I want this but I shouldn’t. Then I realise that while I’ve been thinking, my mouth has opened and his tongue is inside, tangling with mine. He grinds against me. I can feel his erection pushing through the thin material of his shorts and want, need and desire rush through me. From where? I don’t know. I’ve not felt a thing for almost a year. Nothing, and yet instantly, it’s back. I’m a woman of thirty-two, and despite the shitty hand life recently dealt me, my appetite for sex has apparently survived.
I grip Roman’s hair hard and grind my hips into his.

  “Jesus, Georgia, don’t do that, babe; it feels too good.” He kisses my bare shoulder, next to the thin strap of my vest and then up to my neck. His hand slides up my waist and I tuck my elbows tight into my side, blocking its path to my boob, exactly the way I used to when I was fourteen and Sean first started trying to touch them… Sean, Sean, my boy, my beautiful dead boy…

  “I can’t; stop, please stop.” The words rush out of me and Roman stops in an instant. I open my eyes and look at him; his eyes are closed and he’s biting down on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m not ready. I can’t give you more.” He nods and opens his eyes. My stomach aches, really low, low down as I register the desire he has in them while looking at me. I shake my head, pleading for his understanding. “I just can’t.”

  He nods again. “I understand, George; we’ll take our time, but we’ll get there.” His eyes wander back to my mouth. “We’ll take it slow but we’ll get there. I want to be the one, Georgia. I want to be the one to help you learn to live again. I want to be the one who makes you realise it’s okay to let it all go. I won’t lie, and I won’t make you promises, apart from promising I won’t sell your secrets to the press.” He winks and smiles as he speaks. “I’m only here till February and then I’ll be gone; just give it till then. Follow me, baby, and I’ll make everything right.” He smiles again, referring to the Uncle Kracker song he sung the night before. “Will you give me that?” He bends his knees slightly so we’re eye to eye. “Will you let me try and do that for you?”

  I want him to do so much more than that for me right now. Well, physically, I do at least, but mentally? Mentally, I’m still a married woman, desperately in love with and missing her husband. I need him to go; I need to take a shower and get my thoughts straight.

  “Georgia, will you give me that? Will you let me help you?” I nod and he kisses me gently on the mouth. “I’m gonna show you and teach you how to just let it all go. Right now, though, right now, I need to go, coz I want to fuck you so bad, so, so bad.” He kisses me once more, then he’s gone, and I’m standing there, alone, my lips feeling bruised and tingly; a delicious ache is between my legs and an all-too-familiar sense of guilt fills my heart.

  Chapter Seven

  For the next week, Roman does what my mum would call ‘courting’. Basically, we hang out together.

  The busy Christmas season is about to start for the town, and there are lots of new staff at Worldies. I sort of feel in the way; they’re all expert at bar work and waiting tables, whereas I’ve never done work like that in my life. I still go in a couple of days, but there’s not really a lot I can do so I spend my time with Roman. We swim, we surf, we go for walks along the nature trails in the surrounding area, and we go for long drives along the coast road on his Harley. During the evening, I usually go with him to whatever pub he plays at and just sit—at the bar or at the side of the stage—and listen.

  On more than one occasion, I get a sense of déjà vu. Obviously, I have a ‘type’, it would seem. Sean and Cam are both dark, dark hair, skin and eyes, but personality-wise, they are poles apart. Roman looks nothing like Sean or Cam but has a personality and a love of music, very much like Sean. He’s been sweet this entire week. He’s held my hand; he’s kissed me passionately, but he’s not tried anything more. As much as my body is craving a physical connection, mentally I’ve no idea where I’m at. I’m a fucking mess to put it bluntly, and I’m really missing having Jim and Ash to talk to.

  It’s a Friday night, and Roman has played at Worldies, but I didn’t stay down at the bar to watch for too long; I have a headache and feel like being on my own. Brooke has already left for Sydney, and I’m looking forward to having the place to myself for the weekend. I think I’m feeling a little homesick and despite what I promised Roman, I’m wondering if it’s time for me to head back to England. The only problem is, I don’t want to be there before next Saturday; next Saturday is the first of December, exactly one year since the day that ended my world, and I want to be as far away from all of that as possible. The press, the television shows, the heartbroken fans—I just can’t be around it, and Australia is about as far away from England as I can get. So for now, I will stay put.

  I’ve still not decided what to do about Jodie’s invite. She wants us all to go down for the club opening, but it just feels wrong to be doing something like that on the anniversary of my husband’s death. Jax is trying to convince me to go, telling me it’s just another day; the pain, the heartache and loss I feel, will be no more or less on Saturday than on any other day. Plus, going out and being with people is a much healthier option than staying in bed all day and crying, which would be my first choice.

  I lay on my bed, alone in the dark, listening to the sounds drifting up from the bar; there was a packed house when I left, and it was really noisy. I didn’t feel like a drink and I didn’t feel like company, so I asked Jackson to tell Roman I wasn’t feeling well and headed up here. It was a humid night so I’d taken a shower and pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and a vest. Now, here I lie, on the top of my bed, the painkillers I took before my shower just starting to work their magic. I reach for my phone and call Jimmie; it would be Friday afternoon in England so she should be about.

  “Georgia Rae McCarthy, how the fuck are you, gorgeous?”

  “Jamie Louise Layton… I’ve met someone. He’s sweet and he’s kind and he plays guitar in the bar and he rides a Harley and fuck, Jim… I’m so confused.” I had absolutely no intention of telling her any of this when I picked up the phone but the words just sort of jumped out of my big fat gob without asking my brain’s permission. I can’t hear a thing, not a sound, and I wonder if I’ve been disconnected, but my phone screen says otherwise when I look at it.

  “Jim?”

  “I’m here. I’m here, George.”

  “Say something, Jim. Tell me I’m a bad person. Tell me it’s too soon. It’s wrong; just tell me something, Jim.”

  “I’m not telling you any of those things, George, coz none of them are true.” She lets out a loud huff. “What’s his name? Is he fit? Is he an Aussie? Oh, my God, does he look like Jackson? Jax is well fucking horny from what I can remember. Does he call ya Sheila? Have you shagged? Oh, my God, George, have you?” This is the sort of conversation I would expect to have with Ashley, not with Jimmie, my sensible sister-in-law and best friend. Before I can answer any of her questions, she shrieks again, “Oh, my fucking God, George, is he gonna be your baby daddy? Am I gonna be carrying his baby in my belly?”

  “What? No! For fuck’s sake, Jim, what’s gotten into you? I called for advice from Jamie Lou’s sensible advice surgery, and instead, I’ve gotten Agony Aunt Ashley’s looney line instead.” My headache has returned, and I wish I hadn’t bothered calling her now.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, George. Harley’s got a bug. I had no sleep last night, and I’ve done nothing but cuddle her today because she’s so clingy. She’s finally just gone off to sleep and I think I might be a bit delirious. Ziggy had it at the beginning of the week, and I lost two nights sleep with him throwing up everywhere.” She pauses and the silence seems to stretch on, and I’m so worried about what she must think of me. “What’s his name, George?”

  “Roman,” I reply quietly.

  “That’s different. I like it. What’s he look like?”

  “He’s tall and blond, with the most amazing ice-blue eyes, and he’s just nice, Jim.”

  “So, what’s the problem, George? Have ya shagged him?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. We’ve just… I don’t know if I’m ready, Jim.”

  “George, we spoke about this last week. Please stop feeling guilty; you’re young and beautiful, and you’ve still got needs. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing, George, nothing at all.”

  “I’m not doing anything, Jim. We’ve kissed… a lot, but that’s it. I’ve told him I’m not ready for more and he’s said
he’ll wait, but it just feels wrong.”

  “No, it doesn’t, George. After all this time, it probably feels fucking great. It only feels wrong in your head when you let it, when you start over-thinking.”

  I have tears running from my eyes now; they’re running into my ears and around the back of my neck. “But it’s not even been a year. It’s too soon.”

  “And what, after next Saturday, it’ll be all right? You’re talking bollocks, George, and you know it.” My heart leaps at the mention of next Saturday; all my thoughts, all my memories have started with ‘This time last year…’ but after Saturday that would be gone. All the time it was ‘just’ a year ago, I could justify that moving on was wrong, too soon, but when my thoughts start with ‘This time the year before last’, it sounds like it’s a long time ago. It sounds long enough ago for me to be moving on, to be letting go. A sob comes from within me that I have no control over, then another.

  “I want them back, Jim. I just want them back.” My chest and my throat burn. I roll onto my side and curl up into the foetal position, still holding the phone to my ear.

  “Don’t do this, George. Please don’t do this. Fuck, I wish I was there.”

  I choke on my words as I almost tell her I wish she was here, too, but I disguise it as another sob. If I ask her, I know she’ll come, and as much as I would like that, I need to get through this on my own. I need to prove to everyone, especially myself, that I can get through these next few weeks. Sometime in the very near future, I want to become a mother, and if I can’t get through this, then how am I ever going to raise a child on my own? That thought is all I’m living for right now; it’s all that’s keeping me going. My family and the hope I have for one day having a baby are what make me get out of bed each day, if I’m totally honest with myself.