When we walked into my mum and Dad’s house, my mum was curled into my dad’s armchair, while George and Jimmie were sleeping at each end of the sofa.
I pulled out a stool at the kitchen worktop and sat, looking at everyone in the living room.
Maca knelt down next to a sleeping Georgia and kissed her gently. I held my breath as her eyes fluttered open, my heart feeling like it had actually stopped as she backed away from him, getting as far into the corner of the sofa as her skinny frame would allow.
For a few seconds, her face crumbled and I thought she was going to cry from the hurt I’d caused, so obvious in her expression. Maca closed his eyes and I heard him whisper, “Georgia, I’m so sorry.”
I closed my eyes as the room swayed. I needed to put everything right, but I had no idea where to start. When I opened my eyes, both my parents were looking at me, but I couldn’t meet their concerned stares.
Georgia stood and gave a cuddle to my dad and Len. Totally ignoring me, she said, “Well, now you’re all home safe, I’m going to bed. Night.”
“Georgia, wait,” I could hear the absolute panic in Maca’s voice as he told her that they needed to talk, and I almost choked on the guilt that was rising higher in my chest. Why didn’t I feel it that night? Why did I think that what they had was so unimportant?
I slipped out through the laundry and into the back garden to smoke a cigarette, shutting out the sound of Maca asking my dad’s permission to go up to G’s room.
As I headed back in through the laundry door, my mum’s house phone started ringing. “Leave it!” Len shouted as I went to pick it up. I held my hands up in surrender to show him I wasn’t gonna touch it and watched my dad pick up the extension in the living room.
“Frank Layton,” he answered with the kind of authority that only my dad could at three in the morning, especially after the few days we’d just experienced.
He stayed silent for a few seconds, then his brown eyes slid to meet mine as I walked from the kitchen towards the sofa where Jim and Len were sitting.
“Excuse me?” my dad said into the phone. I watched as he pressed his left hand, palm down, to his forehead and dragged it down his face. My heart was beating so hard, it jolted everything inside of my belly and I felt like I was about to throw up.
The phone was suddenly ripped from its cord, flying across the room, bouncing off of the worktop I was sitting at earlier. “You fucker! You stupid, stupid fucker!” my dad roared. “You let someone take photos?” He took a step towards me, my mum and Len jumping up between us. Jimmie turned and looked up at me with her mouth hanging open and shook her head.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, boy? Did I teach you nothing? There’s photos … evidence, Marley, of you and that other skinny prick upstairs, snorting charlie off that little cunts tits and she’s sold them to the fucking papers.”
Jimmie stood and smacked me across the face. I flinched, but I didn’t actually feel any pain. Aside from the guilt, I was numb.
“Th―this is too much, Marls. This is gonna kill your sister,” Jimmie said quietly. “I hope you two are fucking proud of yourselves.” She sobbed through gritted teeth, then turned and headed towards the stairs.
“Don’t tell her, Jim,” I pleaded, reaching out and grabbing her arm. “Please, don’t tell her.”
I’d managed not to cry so far, but the thought of my sister seeing pictures of what we were doing and with who … fuck! I couldn’t control my lip from trembling, just thinking about what it would do to her.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” Lennon yelled, knocking my hand from Jimmie’s arm.
“Are you gonna tell her Marls? Are you gonna go up there and tell George that there are pictures?” Len asked me.
“Well, someone needs to. The papers will be out in the next few hours, so she’s gonna find out one way or another,” my dad informed us.
Jimmie drew in a breath and headed up the stairs, Len following.
There was shouting. My dad, then my mum, rushed up the stairs next while I stood there alone for a few moments, too much of a coward to go and face my little sister.
When I got to her room, my dad was shouting at Maca to get out of our house while my mum was trying to calm him down. Jimmie was screaming at Maca, and all the while, George just sat on her bed, tears rolling down her cheeks.
She was too young for all this. She was sixteen, but at that moment, she looked like a little girl of about ten; frightened, bewildered, and overwhelmed with what was going on around her, and it was all my doing.
What could I do to make it better?
I was an eighteen-year-old kid, living in a grown-up world and I’d made a fuck up of adult proportions.
I could barely breathe. I’d never felt as alone as I did in that moment. I merely stood in G’s bedroom doorway and sobbed.
Len dragged Maca out, kicking and screaming past me and finally, my eyes landed on hers. She’d been broken, and I swore to myself that I would never fuck up like that again.
Oh, how little did I know!
Chapter Four
1985
The following days were a frantic mess. Georgia didn’t leave her room. Maca wouldn’t stop ringing the house or knocking at the door, eventually deciding to sit outside all day in his car because Dad wouldn’t let him near my sister. Then the press arrived, along with the fans, and I couldn’t leave the house without them chasing me up the street.
Georgia had a week of exams and had to be escorted to and from school. I went up to her room with an apology all prepared in my head, but she just closed the door in my face without saying a word.
That Thursday, we flew off to Sweden for the last two shows on the European leg of our tour. They were a complete sell-out. Kombat Rock celebrated with a massive after-party on the final night, but we got on a plane and flew home in silence. Billy and Tom had their girlfriends with them while Lennon, Maca, and I were alone, none of us talking to each other or anyone else.
We got a much-needed break from each other the following week. Maca rang the house a couple of times for G, but Dad threatened to string him up by the balls with the phone cord if he didn’t stop. I went to stay with my Uncle Fin for a few days because it was so hard being at home. The press were still hanging about outside, George still wouldn’t speak to me, and then there was the guilt. Fuck, so much guilt it was eating me up. Watching Maca withdraw was bad enough, but standing in my sister’s doorway, listening to her cry herself to sleep at night, just about broke my heart. She wasn’t just dealing with the split from Maca. The fuckers at the newspapers had written some god-awful things about her, all of it bullshit. My parents had kept a lot from her, but the bitches at school took great pleasure in filling her in on what they were saying. Then there were the pyscho fans with their constant phone calls and hate mail, but one day came the blow that really broke her―a padded envelope full of dog shit, wrapped in a plastic bag. It arrived with a note…
For breaking Maca’s heart, you little slut.
We hope the rest of your life is full of dog shit!
I was in my bedroom when she must’ve opened it. I ran to her room when I heard my mum shouting, reaching it at the same time as my dad got to the top of the stairs. G just sat on her bed, tears rolling down her face, her blue eyes wide as she looked between my mum and Dad.
“Why?” she cried. “Why? What did I do? I was a good girlfriend. I loved him―I loved him so fucking much!”
“Oh Georgia,” my mum cried.
“Why do they hate me, mum? He fucked up, not me.” She turned her eyes to me. “You … you and him. You did this, but it’s me they hate. Why?” She cried even harder.
“Go downstairs, get Len on the phone. The label needs to put something in place. I’m not having this. I’m not fucking having it,” my dad spoke through clenched teeth as I watched mum rock Georgia in her arms.
“Move your fucking arse, boy, before I kick it down them stairs,” he shouted.
* * *
<
br /> The following day we were all at the record label, listening to the final cut of the album. It was releasing Monday, and our UK leg of the tour started off on Wednesday at the Palais on Shepherd’s Bush Road. It wasn’t a particularly large venue, but over the years, Maca and I had seen a lot of our favourite bands play there, including my all-time favourite bands like The Clash, The Jam, and we’d even managed to get in to see The Sex Pistols when we far too young.
Watching The Clash perform ‘(White Man) In Hammersmith Palais’ is a memory that would always stay with me. It’s the reason my son is called Joe.
Maca’s eye caught mine as our meeting winded down. We were all heading over to the BBC to do an interview to be aired on Sunday, and then to Capitol Radio for a live interview.
“Can we talk?” he asked me with a slight tilt of his head, which I’d assumed meant that he didn’t want to do it in front of everyone.
Len watched our interaction and steered everyone out of the room, leaving me to face my best mate. My mouth was suddenly dry and my insides were not happy.
“Whatever issues you two have got going on, you need to get them sorted. Next week is the biggest in the history of this band. It’s what we’ve all worked so hard for all these years, and I’m not letting the fallout from your fuck up affect the rest of us. Say what you’ve gotta say to each other and let’s move on. I love you both, but could happily bang your heads together right now.” Len looked at both of us, then left the room, calling out, “Sort it out, children. The limo leaves in fifteen minutes.”
Len had just turned twenty-one, but he managed us like a seasoned pro, and I was so glad that he was a part of what we were about to embark on. I’d been so swept away with being a rock star while we’d been touring Europe that I’d not taken any notice of the legalities and formalities of releasing our first album; the rights, the royalties, or the obligations. I’d let it all slide, but not Len. He’d spent hours with Marcus, who worked for my dad, going through contracts and paperwork, finally getting us a better deal than we were initially offered.
I’d thought to myself, ‘One day, I’ll thank Len properly,’ but right now, I need to let my best mate know how sorry I am.
“I’m sorry, Mac. I fucked up. As soon as George will let me talk to her, I’ll explain everything.”
I looked at him, and I mean really looked at him. He had dark circles under his eyes, his hair looked straggly, and he almost had a full beard going on. He’d even lost weight, all since we’d gotten home from France.
He took in a deep breath and shook his head. “We both fucked up, Marls. I should never have gone back to the room knowing she would be there. You’re single, so what you do is up to you, but I should’ve known better. I’ve got G, and I love G. The last fucking person I should’ve been anywhere near is Haley fucking White.”
I didn’t agree with what he was saying, but I nodded my head anyway.
“Have you spoken to her?” I asked. He blew out a long breath that made his hair move, and I watched as his eyes filled with tears.
“Na, I can’t get past your parents on the phone. I’ve sent her a couple of letters, but I don’t know if she’s read them.”
He leaned back on the table we were all sitting around earlier; his knuckles white where he was gripping the edge so tightly.
“Did you hear what happened the other day, with the dog shit?” I asked him. It was a low move. I was trying to deflect the focus onto our crazy fans and away from my wrongdoings.
“Yeah, Jim told me. I put out a statement saying that what Georgia and I are going through is a private matter and in no way are events that happened in France her fault.” He looked up at me and shrugged his shoulders. “Hopefully, that’ll be enough to make the pyscho fuckers leave her alone.” I nodded my head, but I doubted his statement would help. Our fans seemed to be out for George.
“She should be here, Marls. She should be by my side, by our sides. These are the biggest events of our lives, and she should be a part of it. I miss her so fucking much,” he broke down and cried as he spoke, wiping his nose and his tears on the back of his hand.
“I don’t know what to do. I’m so fucking lost without her. How the fuck could I be so stupid? The one person, possibly the only person G hates in the world, and I do something like that.”
“She’ll come around, Maca. You know what she’s like when she’s pissed off. Just give her a chance to calm down.” I tried to reassure him, but he shook his head at me.
“Thing is, Marls, is she’s not pissed off or angry, she’s broken. I fucking broke her … I broke us. She trusted me and I fucked it all up.”
“She’s hurt and she’s angry, but she loves you—we all know that. Perhaps give her a bit of space to get her head around it all. Stop calling and just write the letters. Let her read them and take them in at her own pace. She’ll get there, it’s just gonna take her a while.”
“I’ve got no fucking choice, really, do I? She’s there and I’m here, about to head off around the country. I’m gonna ask her to come and see us play in Liverpool on my birthday. It’s still a few weeks away and I’m hoping that she’ll hear me out by then. Even if she can’t forgive me, I still need to know that I can have her in my life―that she’ll at least talk to me.” His eyes were once again full of tears. “Coz this…” he gestures around the empty room, “this big fat nothing―this blank where she should be―is killing me, bit by bit, day by day. I’m fucking dying.”
I felt like the biggest cunt on earth. My mouth watered a little bit from the sick feeling I had inside.
“I love you man, and I’ll do everything I can to help put this right.” I stepped towards him and wrapped my arms around him. It wasn’t awkward, we’d done it before. We were artists; expressing our feelings came natural to us.
“I think you’re gonna need to, mate. I think it’s gonna take more than just me to convince your sister just how sorry I am.”
Chapter Five
2014
That conversation happened with Maca almost thirty years ago, but I remember every word, and I’ll never forget the defeated look on his face.
The sun’s up. I really shouldn’t be drinking whiskey at this hour, but I can’t be bothered to get up and go make coffee, and I doubt that Ash’ll be up anytime soon.
I pour more of the amber coloured liquid into my glass, taking it and my laptop, over to the sofa. I sit with my legs stretched out in front of me, the computer on top of a cushion and sip on my drink as I start to read more of what I’ve written. When the early morning sun hits the crystal tumbler my drink is in, it occurs to me that the colour of the single malt appears pretty close to the colour of Sean’s eyes. I get that usual stab of pain in my chest, which happens whenever I think of him. I stare at the computer screen in contemplative silence, wondering what sort of level my sister’s pain is at these days. Does she feel that swift, sharp pierce with each memory of him, or has Cam done such a good job of putting her back together that it’s more of a dull ache these days?
As happy as she is with her life right now, I know that she still has the odd moments where she struggles. We were at a function for one of the charities our foundation supports a few weeks ago when a woman asked her how many children she has …
“Six,” George replied. “Four growing up rapidly, and two angels in heaven with their daddy.” I couldn’t meet her eyes for a few seconds. After I swallowed down the lump in my throat, I looked up to find her staring at her plate while everyone else at the luncheon conversed around her, no one sure of the correct response to her reply. I reached out and took her hand.
“I don’t know how you do it.”
She gives me a half-smile and her blue eyes shine with tears as they meet mine.
“I have a family that gave me no choice. I have a husband that holds my hand every step of the fucking way, four beautiful children that make me fight for every breath I take, and I have Sean, Baby M, and Beau to make proud. I’m just doing my best.”
“And he would. He’d be so fucking proud of you, G.” She wipes a tear from under each of her eyes.
“You have no idea how often I question that Marls,” she whispers.
“Well, you shouldn’t, not ever.”
“Shit,” she says quietly, leaning down and pretending to look for something in her bag while blowing her nose.
“Subject change Marls, please?”
She sits back up and smiles at the blonde sitting across from her, “So, Gwen. How’s the fashion line going? I bought a beautiful bag of yours the other day.”
I think that George has learnt better than any of us could on how to hide the pain that memories of Sean and her babies must inflict.
* * *
The door of my office slowly opens and my wife blinks her way through it. Her blonde hair is a bed-headed mess and she looks sexy as fuck. She squints through her blue/brown eyes at me and licks her lips.
“Marls? What are you doing? It’s not even six yet. Have you been down here all night?”
Her voice is croaky from sleep and my dick likes it. Fuck, I love her. I had no idea about being in love or relationships when I met her, and my feelings scared the crap out of me, but we’ll get to that later.
“C’mere.” I hold out my hand to her but she shakes her head no.
“What’s that?” She gestures with her chin towards the laptop.
I arch my back in an attempt to stretch and I yawn. I put my glass down on the floor and look up at her. My wife owns some of the most expensive bits of silky and satin shit ever created on this earth, but she’s standing in front of me wearing a white Ed Sheeran T-shirt of mine, her long legs crossed at the ankles as she leans on the door frame.
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