The Story of Me (38 page)

“Seriously, a chauffeur driven limo isn’t enough, he wants a helicopter?”

“Mr Wade doesn’t have the time or the inclination to sit in traffic. It’s a chopper or nothing.”

“He does know that this is a charity event, right, a charity event organised in the memory of Sean McCarthy, lead singer of Carnage?”

“Mr Wade is well aware of that Ms… sorry, I didn’t get your name?”

“McCarthy. My name’s McCarthy. Mrs Georgia Layton McCarthy and don’t worry about it. We won’t be needing the attendance of Kurt Wade. We’ll get by with the other fifty-odd rock and pop stars that’re all giving their time for free and making absolutely no demands for transport, not even a contribution towards their bus fare. So you can tell Kurt from me, that he can go and fuck himself with the rough end of a pineapple, and when he’s finished, perhaps he might choose to make a small donation to the Maca Music and More foundation, seeing as my husband had more talent, grace and humility in his little toenail than Kurt fucking Wade will ever have even if he lives for a millennium.” With that I end the call.

I look up to see Marley and Lennon looking at me from across their desks.

“You do realise if this gets out you’ll lose the support of millions of nine-to-sixteen-year-old girls across the world?” Lennon says while tapping a pen against his temple.

“I don’t give a fuck. He’s a five-foot-nothing, sixteen-year-old prick who can’t even sing. I don’t want him involved in this anyway and neither does Sean.”

“And he told you that personally, did he?” Len asks.

“Yeah, actually he did. We have convo’s almost daily and that’s the one thing he has insisted on.”

“No Kurt Wade?”

“Yes, Len. No Kurt Wanker Wade.”

He nods his head at me slowly. “Fine, your call.”

I sit and rub my temples with the middle two fingers of both hands and close my eyes for a few seconds.

“Why don’t you go home, George. Go home and get some sleep,” Marley tells me.

I lean back in the big leather desk chair and let my arms drop to the side. I’m exhausted, mentally drained and running on pure adrenalin. What we have pulled together in the space of six months is mammoth and now we have just over a week before the big weekend.

Neither Sean or I followed a religion of any kind. We believed in good and evil, right and wrong, so I decided that instead of having a formal and stuffy memorial service in a church, which Sean would’ve hated, I wanted to celebrate his life with the one thing he loved as much, or even more than me: music. But then the idea grew and evolved and I thought that I would include something I loved, fashion. After all, I had a lot of contacts in both industries, why not use them to do some good and remember Sean all at the same time.

Cam and I had spent our first Christmas together at Jimmie and Lennon’s place with all of my family. After a lot to drink on Christmas day, I announced to everyone what I wanted to do. I’d already discussed it with Cam a few times since first coming up with the idea. He had been an absolute rock and told me to do whatever I felt was right and he guaranteed he would be there to support me every step of the way. He had, in fact, gone above and beyond that.

As soon as I’d told Len and Marley that I wanted to organise some kind of combined music and fashion event in memory of Sean, they had both been on board and then Cam had come up with an even better idea, why not make it global? So, here we were, a week out from a charity event like no other, the biggest names in rock, pop, fashion, film, entertainment and sport, all coming together in the name of Sean McCarthy and the charity Lennon had helped me set up in his name.

Cam had given us the use of every venue he owned around the world, and we had acts, fashion shows, comedians and guest presenters lined up for each and every one of them.

We ended up with a massive team of event organisers, all working for free, taking charge in each country. We even had football matches arranged between sports stars and celebrities.

Cam had been in Australia all week, making sure that everything was going to plan with the biggest venue, K.L.U.B, in Sydney. He was due home today and I have been missing him like I could never have
imagined. My heart hurt and my gut twisted just thinking about seeing him this evening. We’d spoken on the phone this morning and I’d promised to be waiting for him to get home, wearing nothing but stockings and heels.

There was really no more I could do here now and a million and one things I should be doing at home.

Home, the house Cam and I had renovated, modernised and created together. We had moved in just two weeks ago and were still in desperate need of furniture, but for now, we had the basics, a fully functioning kitchen, with every modern appliance known to mankind, a television, something to play music on and a bed. Once this fundraiser was over, then we would shop and finish kitting the place out. I’d used a professional interior design team for the fixtures, fittings, carpets, curtains and blinds. I had also given them free rein with the guest bedrooms, but for the main living areas and the rest of what would go into our bedroom, I wanted us to choose together.

If all of that hadn’t been enough to contend with, Tamara had given birth to a baby boy, six weeks ago. He was early and a little underweight, but other than that, he was a perfectly healthy little boy, and without a shadow of a doubt, most definitely Cam’s child.

I had thought all along that I would go to pieces at that news, but I’ve actually been fine. Well, not fine, that’s a complete lie. It hurts like fuck, but I’ve been so busy that I just haven’t had time to have a meltdown of Georgia proportions. On top of that, out of the eight eggs that were harvested from my one remaining ovary, six had gone on to develop into embryos after being introduced to Cam’s super sperm. The doctor had warned us that at Cam’s age, his swimmers probably wouldn’t be so great and we might possibly end up with just one embryo worth implanting. Cam had proceeded to call him a cheeky cunt, asked Doctor Shepherd if he knew who he was talking to and threatened to knock his lights out. Needless to say, he was more than a little smug when the fertility clinic had rung a couple of days later to say they did in fact have six viable embryos. Ash and Jimmie had insisted on being implanted with three each, despite knowing there was a risk of a multiple pregnancy. That had happened around nine days ago. Today was Friday, on Monday they were to take a pregnancy test and we would find out if either of them were pregnant.

All of this had given me something to focus on, other than the fact that Cam was now the father of a newborn; a beautiful dark-haired little boy he and Tamara had named Harry, after Cam’s dad. I knew without a shadow of a doubt from looking at the very first photo of Harry that he was Cam’s, but Cam wouldn’t believe anything until the paternity test came back. We had sat on the bottom stair of our new house and opened the letter together. We both cried and then I showed him the paint and wallpaper I’d bought to decorate Harry’s room with, just in case he had turned out to be Cam’s. I wanted Harry to be as big a part of Cam’s life as possible. I wanted him to know his dad and not spend his life being solely influenced and parented by Tamara’s evil, twisted mind.

Tamara was still living in a special care, mother and baby facility for addicts. She was assessed regularly and was being given small windows of time, where she could leave the facility on her own, but she wasn’t at any time left alone with the child. The idea was, that once she had proven she could head out into society and not be tempted by drugs, then she could be entrusted to look after her baby on her own.

Cam was terrified, and worried constantly she would get fucked up and do something to hurt Harry, but she was tested and checked regularly.

I actually felt sorry for her. I really believed that she was trying and it must’ve been awful not to have your newborn by your side at all times like any other mother, but I suppose that was a right you should expect to forgo if you choose to take drugs while pregnant.

Cam had already appeared at the family court and joint custody had been agreed upon for Harry’s upbringing, but the court had decided that as Tamara was breast feeding, Cam wouldn’t take the baby out of the rehab facility. This was for Tamara’s benefit, nobody else’s. She had gone into absolute meltdown when she thought Harry would be leaving without her, but since she had decided after just two days that breastfeeding wasn’t for her, that decision had been reversed and Harry would be spending the weekend after the charity event with us and I am absolutely terrified. I’ve been around babies. I’ve looked after, fed and changed my new born nieces and nephews on many occasions, but for some reason, the thought of
having Cam’s two-month-old son to stay with us for two nights was seriously scaring the crap out of me. Almost as much as pulling everything together for this bloody event.

The chair I’m sitting in spins around and I open my eyes to see Benny standing in front of me.

“What the fuck, Ben?”

He gestures over his shoulder with his head. “Sort it out with them two, George. They called and told me to come fetch ya and take ya home.” I look around Benny’s bulk to my brothers.

“Fuck off home, George. We don’t want you here. You stink and we don’t love ya.”

I flip Marley my middle finger and let out a long sigh. “What time does Cam land?”

“Ten past seven.”

“What time is it now?” I ask.

“Three. By the time I get you home, it’ll be time to shoot to the airport.” I look around the other side of Benny to where Lennon is sitting behind his desk talking on his phone.

“Hang on a minute, Max.” He covers the mouthpiece. “Go home, Georgia. Have a nice long bath, a glass of bubbly, wash your hair, shave all the bits women shave and wait for Cam to arrive.” I smile at Len.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were gay after that suggestion.” He pouts, rolls his eyes and points at me with his pen.

“And wear the blue lace thong and bra, that set totally sets off your eyes, darling.” He flutters his lashes and continues, “Now fuck off out of here. I’ll see you at mine Monday morning for the piss-on-a-stick party.” I smile at him, then move my eyes to Ben, who’s now leaning on my desk. He shakes his head.

“I don’t even wanna think about what that might mean. You Layton’s are fucking weird. I tell ya.” A rolled up piece of paper hits Benny up the back of the head and I cringe as I look at him. He looks back at me with raised eyebrows. “Marley, when I catch you, I will break your fucking face.”

“Benny, Benny, Benny. When you lose ten stone that might happen. Till then, dream on, sunshine.” Ben shakes his head some more.

“Let’s go, George. We’ll leave the children to play.”

I grab my bag from under my desk and head for the door. Just as we step outside to the lobby, Benny pops his head back in.

“Oi, Marley, tell Ash that I love that new red thong with the beaded crotch.” I laugh and keep walking towards the lift as Marley calls out.

“What the fuck, Ben? What’s that mean? When’d you see her new thong?”

The doors slide back and I’m joined by a chuckling Benny.

“You know he’ll be on the phone to Ash now, wanting to know how you know about her new thong.”

He shrugs. “Serves the fucker right, throwing paper at my head. Sorry, George, shouldn’t swear.”

“I’ll let you off, Ben. Just don’t let Cam catch ya, especially around the baby.” He raises his eyebrows and makes a small upward motion with his head.

“How you doing with all that, George? Can’t be easy for ya?”

I fold my arms across my chest, instinctively becoming defensive. “I’m okay, Ben. It hurts, but it is what it is. There’s nothing I can do to change things, so all I can do is try and make the best of a bad situation.”

He nods his head and I follow behind him out the lift and into the underground car park of the block where Len has his offices. “I admire ya, George. Tamara’s fuckin’ mental. Even when she weren’t on the sniff, she was always a bit odd, and on it, she’s just a fuckin’ psycho.”

I shrug as he opens the door to the Land Rover. I climb in and watch as Ben walks around to the driver’s side and climbs in next to me.

“I love Cam, and unfortunately, Tamara is part of the package that comes with loving Cam. He puts up with all the shit I come with, the press attention, the fans and whatever. One crazy junkie is nothing compared to all of that. It’s what you do when you love someone, Ben. You accept everything about them unconditionally.” Benny chuckles as we pull out into the Friday afternoon London traffic and start heading back to the Essex countryside and home.

“You’ve become quite the philosopher ain’t ya, George? Grown up a lot from that mouthy little Essex bird who used to come in the wine bar.”

I smile as I think back to those days. “Age does that to ya. I’m still me, underneath it all. I’m still that same mouthy Essex bird, but life happened, Ben. I’ve lived and loved and lost and experienced a lot, and I hope I’ve learnt from all of that.” He takes his eyes from the road and gives me a wink.

“You do all right, George, you do all right.” I’m not sure what that means exactly, but I’ll take it as a compliment and I close my eyes as I listen to Ashanti’s “Foolish” on the radio. I must drift off to sleep, as the next thing I hear is Benny saying, “What the fuck’s goin’ on?” I open my eyes to about twenty paparazzi surrounding the gates to my house. Benny pulls over and tries to do a U-turn but we are on a narrow country lane and what starts out as a possible three point turn, ends up being about an eight point turn.