Carnage Boxset

by Jones, Lesley

  He gave a small laugh. “Ya know, I swing from hating her, and I mean really, really hating her, to loving her so much that I can barely breathe at the thought of living the rest of my life without her.” He knocked back the contents of his glass and gestured to the barman for yet another. I say nothing. I’m his mate, not his manager. He’d get enough shit from Lennon later so he didn’t need it from me.

  “I wanna walk away right now, Marls. I wanna walk away from all this and just go to your sister and make her listen to me.” He looked me square in the face. “If I thought there was the slightest chance that she’d listen, I would be on the next plane home.”

  I wanted to tell him no fucking way, he can’t. I wanted to tell him that he didn’t have a chance … that she wouldn’t listen to him and that she sure as shit wasn’t ready to forgive him. But I didn’t. I said nothing. It was my interfering that caused it all in the first place. As much as I loved my band and the life that I was leading, I’d sacrifice it all to make the two people I loved most in the world happy again.

  “Go then. If you feel that’s what you need to do, then go.”

  At that moment, Jimmie appeared at the bar and moved herself to stand in between us.

  “Boys, how are we?” she asked.

  “Jim,” we both acknowledged her.

  “Who’s gonna buy me a drink?”

  Maca nodded in the barman’s direction and Jim ordered a Diet Coke. We were all silent for a few seconds before Maca asked her, “So, how’s everyone back home?”

  “They’re good … everyone’s good.”

  Maca twisted his whole body around on his bar stool so that he was facing Jimmie.

  “How’s Gia, Jim? How’s she doing, and no bullshitting me.”

  Jim tucked her long brown hair behind her ears. “She’s doing great. She’s just finishing up for the summer at college and she’s working hard at the shop with Bernie when she’s not studying or at the gym.”

  “She’s going to the gym now?” he asked.

  “Yeah, she is. Though fuck knows why. There’s nothing of her,” she told him. He nodded his head, not that he knew how skinny she was those days. My sister had never been curvy, but when I saw her at Christmas, she was painfully thin.

  “So the shop, it’s going well then?” I asked. My dad had bought a dress shop in the High Street, and my mum and sister had taken it on as a project, which seemed to have taken off.

  “It is. George and your mum have set themselves up as a business and are already looking to expand. They’re selling all high-end designer labels and people can’t get enough. They’re off to Italy in a couple of weeks to a fashion show and to meet with a couple of new suppliers.”

  I watched as Maca once again finished his drink in a few gulps. He looked over Jim’s head at me.

  “You’re right, mate, it’s time to let go. Let’s get to rehearsals. We’ve got a show to put on later.”

  Maca asked for the tab and I noticed he signed the docket, Lennon Layton, and put Len’s room number down. Len was gonna have heart failure when he found out.

  Chapter Ten

  1986

  The concert that night was one of our worst and best ever. Maca was drunk, shit-faced, and highly emotional. He constantly changed the set list. As his bandmates, we knew the songs and quickly fell into stride along with whatever he decided to sing, but the sound techs and lighting blokes must’ve been majorly confused.

  He broke into one of the best versions of ‘Train In Vain’ by The Clash that I’d ever heard, then a sombre and random cover of ‘Denis’ by Blondie, changing the words ‘Denis’ to ‘Georgie’ and ‘King’ to ‘Queen.’ He followed this with a haunting version of ‘River’ by Joni Mitchell. His song choices were erratic, he went from sad and slow into a manic version of the Buzzcocks, ‘Ever Fallen In Love,’ then slipped into a bluesy version of Dylan’s ‘Don’t Think Twice,’ which he played and sang alone with his electric acoustic. This was followed by our own ‘Seaside Heart,’ his usual raspy-voiced version of ‘English Rose,’ and then ‘Georgia.’ It was possibly the best performance of his life.

  He left me to say his ‘goodnights’ and ‘thank yous’ as he exited the stage without a word.

  Tonight, there would be no encore.

  I watched as he walked straight into Jimmie’s arms and sobbed so hard he could barely stand.

  She held on tight, stroking his hair and his back. She kissed his cheek and the top of his head, speaking words to try and comfort and soothe him while at the same time, encouraging him to let it all out.

  Jimmie managed to coax and steer him out of the venue and into the back of the car that was waiting to take us back to the hotel.

  I sat in silence and watched my best mate fall apart. The pain from the guilt and anguish felt as I witnessed Maca break into a million pieces was like being eaten alive from the inside out, but so much less than I deserved.

  So much less.

  * * *

  2014

  My eyes fly open and my heart skips a few beats. I must’ve fallen asleep while reading. My laptop obviously got bored of waiting for me to scroll down the page and has also gone off to sleep.

  I hear a giggle and realise it must’ve been the noise that woke me. Ash must be home.

  The door to my office flies open and my sister falls through it. Yeah, she actually falls, or more like collapses in a heap.

  “What the fuck, George?”

  She looks up at me with her blue eyes and blinks a few times.

  “Big brother, Marleeeeeeey,” she grins as she calls from her position on the floor. She starts to crawl towards me on all fours.

  Ashley appears behind her in the doorway, frowning as she looks at me.

  “Georgia drunked,” she slurs, swaying as she tries to speak. I realise then she’s not frowning at me, but trying to focus. “G, she got—she got drinked.”

  My sister is now lying flat on her back, looking up at the ceiling and laughing her head off at what? I really don’t have a clue.

  “No,” Ash says. “No, no, no. Not drinked, she’s not got drinked.” She shakes her head, slides down onto the floor and joins G, laughing at whatever it is that’s so amusing on my office ceiling.

  “How the fuck did you get in this state?” I ask them as I stand up and look over at my wife and sister, who are now doing a bang on impersonation of a couple of hyenas.

  On meth!

  “Y-you, Marley Layton, are my favouritist big brother called Marley. The best—my very bestest one.” George points her finger up at me as she speaks.

  “I’m your only big brother called Marley.”

  “This true, this is vrery, vrery true,” she slurs.

  I continue to watch the pair of them lying there. Ash is now curled on her side and crying with laughter. I still have no clue what she’s finding so funny though.

  “Be smiley, Marls,” George says. “Don’t be a Lennon face, be a smiley Marley face.”

  I hear a crash from up the hallway, just before Jimmie appears in the doorway.

  “Oh great, here’s another one,” I say to anyone interested.

  Jimmie is staring at me, well, at least trying to. She squints her eyes and sways as she holds something up to me. “My Louboutins, I brokeded them.”

  What is it with women talking like three-year-olds when they get pissed up?

  “Noooooooo,” Ashley screeches from the floor, attempting at the same time to sit up.

  “Not the Boutins, that’s just so sad.” I give her a hand and move her to sit on the sofa I’d been sleeping on before the drunk circus arrived in town.

  “Love you, Rock Star,” she whispers, making my heart do its usual little happy dance when I hear her say those words. That shit never gets old and my smile is instantaneous.

  “Love you, baby.” As always, that’s my reply.

  “Who said Len?” Jimmie asks. “Someone said Len, Lenny, Lennon. Where’s my baby? Is he here?”

  She looks aroun
d with a smile on her face, as if Len’s hiding from her and about to jump out from behind the sofa and shout ‘ta da … sur-fuckin-prise.’

  They’ve only been invading my space for five minutes but they’re already giving me a headache. I know these three women better than I know my own dick, and I know full well that this is highly unlikely to end well.

  “How the fuck do you go clothes shopping and come back in this state?” I ask again. They went to buy dresses and shoes. I’m pretty sure at no time was alcohol mentioned.

  “S’er fault.” Ash and George say together, both pointing at Jimmie who I’m guessing is the least likely to blame for this.

  Jimmie opens her eyes and mouth wide and looks around the room. Whether she’s still expecting Len to appear, I’ve no clue, but I wish he would. I’d welcome any kind of backup right now.

  “Was Paige,” Jimmie states, vigorously nodding her head.

  “Yeah,” says George, still speaking from her prone position on my office floor.

  “It was her what done it. Lunch, she said, didn’t she girls?” They all nod.

  “Where’s Paige now?” I ask in the hopes that one of them are capable of giving me an answer, and praying that they didn’t leave my niece drunk and wandering around Bluewater Shopping Centre.

  “S’gone,” Ash sings and they all nod in unison, then she suddenly starts to laugh. “She’s not famous…” She gasps for breath between laughing and talking. “She’s not as famous as us.” All three of them are now laughing hysterically.

  Jimmie slides to the floor and takes off her other shoe and crawls over to lay beside George, whose wiping tears from under her eyes.

  “My daughter’s a bigger diva than your sister,” Jimmie informs me.

  “Fuck you.”

  Here we go.

  “No one’s a digger biva than me,” Georgia declares, much to the delight of the other two drunkards.

  “You said digger biva, not bigger diva.” Ash laughs and gasps at the same time.

  All three of them are now cackling like witches, and as much as they’re annoying the shit outta me right now, it’s an absolute joy to watch my sister like this.

  “I’m Queen Diva. Paige is only Princess Diva, and anyway, I’m more fame—shit, famouser,” George declares.

  “But she’s a model,” Ashley says in a stupid voice, which appears to be so funny that I worry for a moment they’ve all stopped breathing as their amusement takes their breath away.

  “Ohmagod,” Jimmie pants. “I need another drink.”

  “Yessss.” The other two agree.

  “Yeah, not happening, ladies. I think you’ve had enough.”

  “Fuck off, Marls,” George and Ash say together and yeah, apparently that’s funny too.

  I walk over to my desk, retrieve my phone and call my brother.

  “Little brother Marley.”

  “Got summit of yours here, mate. It’s currently flat on its back in my office, pissed as a fart and cackling like a deranged hen.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” Yeah, it’s still one of Len’s favourites. “Wife or daughter?”

  “Wife, although I would be tracking your daughter down right now as I can’t get any sense out of these three as to where Paige is.”

  “She’s a model, don’t cha know?” Ash shouts out in her best Little Britain, ‘I’m a lady’ voice, reducing the three of them to sound again like a small pack of hyenas that have now mixed their meth with crack.

  “What the fuck’s all the noise?” Len asks.

  “That, mate, is the sound of The Priory’s next three detox patients.”

  “I’ll be over in a bit. You eaten?”

  “Na, I need to ring Cam. I’ll call you back and let you know what to pick up. We’ll need to double the order if the big man’s coming.”

  “All right, I’ll call Paige. Try and get some water into those three.”

  “Will do,” I assure him.

  I end the call and realise the room is quiet. When I turn around, I see that Jimmie and Ash are gone and there’s just me and George left. She’s still lying on her back. I follow her gaze to a photo of me and Maca on the wall. It’s from some awards ceremony or other. We’re both in suits, but it’s obviously the end of the night as our ties are missing and top buttons are undone. Maca has a bottle of champagne in his hand. We look young and cocky, probably because we were.

  I stand in front of my sister, blocking her view of the picture and hold my hand out to her. She takes it and I pull her up to a standing position. She’s kicked off her shoes and stands barefoot in front of me, swaying slightly.

  I know what’s coming. I mentally square my shoulders in anticipation for it. She’s strong most of the time, I’d say ninety percent these days, but she carries her losses with her on a daily basis. I see that ten percent of sorrow that never leaves her eyes, and I think Jimmie, Ash, and Len do too. I’m not sure if Cam sees and accepts it, or if he purposely chooses to remain oblivious.

  I notice her breathing change and I know that she’s fighting not to cry. Crying for her dead husband and their children overwhelms her with guilt because she’s now happily married to Cam and they have four babies of their own. That, in turn, makes her feel guilty about Maca, Beau, and Baby M. I don’t think any of us will ever truly understand her struggles and the demons she fights every single day of her life.

  I see her sway, watch her legs start to buckle and pull her into me. The sound that tears from her insides and escapes is primal and can only be described as grief in its most basic form—raw and gut-wrenchingly painful.

  I hold her to me as I move us both to the sofa. I sit her down in my lap and let her cry into my chest, the way that I’ve done so many times before. She’s my sister, I love her, and I hate with a passion that there’s nothing that I can, or will ever be able to do, to take away this pain.

  “Why, why Marley? Why them? Why my husband? Why my babies? Oh God, Marley. It hurts so much, so fucking much. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts,” she chants, almost choking on her words, she’s crying so hard.

  “I miss him every day,” she sobs and that, combined with the way she slurs her words, I have to listen hard to what she’s saying, but I already know the gist of it. It’s what happens every time Georgia drinks and old memories are stirred up. Her guilt and self-doubt about the life that she’s gone on to lead are never far from the surface and when she drinks, everything goes to shit when there’s a trigger.

  “With every, every breath and every heartbeat, Marley. Every fucking beat of my heart, I miss him. Does that make me bad, Marls? Does that make me a bad wife to Cam? A bad mumma to my babies?”

  I remain silent. I’ve heard her ask these questions so many times, and I really have no answers. Some would say yeah, it’s terrible that you still mourn your dead husband when you’re married and have children with another. But others, probably those that have been through or witnessed someone else going through what she has, they would totally get the concept that Georgia missing Maca and their children in no way detracts from what she has with and feels for Cam and their children.

  “They’re my mife, Larls—Fuck—my life. You know what I mean. I’m a bit drunk.” She blinks as she looks up at me and all I see is the little girl she used to be. Her big blue eyes are wide with tears hanging from her lashes. I swallow down the lump in my throat before I even attempt to speak.

  “You’re drunk, George? I’d never have guessed that one, babe.” My sarcasm goes right over her inebriated head.

  “Yeah, yeah I am. Just a bit,” she says in all seriousness, and I can’t help but kiss her temple.

  “They’re my world, Marls. My kids and Cam are what keep me going, but there’s always this piece of my heart … this piece, this big fucking piece …” she lets out another heaving sob that shakes her whole body as she punches herself in the chest, her heart. I respond by pulling her in tighter to my chest. I have nothing else to offer, no words that will ever be able to make this better for
her.

  “This piece,” she says again, this time slapping her palm flat over her chest. “It will always be his, always be theirs, but I do, I do, do, do love Cam, I truly do. He’s my rock—my Tiger.”

  “I know, George. You don’t have to explain, you really don’t,” I try to reassure her.

  “Do you still feel it Marls? Do you still miss him?” She tries to focus and look me in the eyes when she asks.

  I take in air and try to free my lungs and chest of the sensation of being crushed.

  “More than I could ever put into words. I miss him so much.”

  “I get scared, Marls. So, so scared. What happens when we’re gone? Who's gonna remember him? Who's gonna talk about him and miss and love him like we do?” She starts to cry again.

  “There’ll always be the music, George. He’s one of the best songwriters this country has ever produced. The music will outlive us all. Elvis has been dead for nearly forty years. I bet all of our kids know who he is though.”

  “I hope so, Marls, I really fucking hope so. He has no babies. They’re the only things left of him, his songs. Our babies died, Marls, they fucking died.” Her crying is agonising, the pain palpable.

  “Why? Why, why, why did I have to lose it all, every part of him? I get so angry. Oh God, I get so angry. Why couldn’t it have been me that died? I’m no one, nothing. He was special, so special and talented, and people all—all around the world love his words and music and his voice, and I’m just no one, nothing.”

  I try and be the strong one when George has these breakdowns. When it’s my turn, we both tend to cry together, but when it’s her, I try and stay strong, but tonight’s different. I hate hearing her say this about herself. It breaks my heart that she feels that she’s so worthless.