The Story of Me (4 page)

I haven’t decided when I will return to England yet, but it won’t be any time soon. Most of the stories about Sean and his supposed infidelities had been disproved, but there are still a few floating about. I don’t think they are true; I want to believe I knew my husband well enough to be sure of the fact he would never father a child and not tell me about it. But there is one thing stopping me from being totally convinced and that is my guilty conscience caused by my own infidelity. If I could do it, then why couldn’t he?

I sit on my bed in the apartment above the bar and stare at the crate that was delivered by courier on Thursday; it’s now Sunday morning. I’ve gotten as far as undoing the top and that is it. I’ve approached it a total of eleven times these last two days, but I still can’t bring myself to look at the contents. I know what is in there; I’ve known what is in there for years. The contents had moved with us from Sean’s loft in Docklands to the house in Hampstead, to the farmhouse, then to my parents when the farm was packed up and sold, and never at any time have I had the courage to look at anything inside. Sean had told me many times to look; he wanted me to read the letters, cards, poems and songs. He wanted me to watch the videos. He wanted me to understand what he was going through when we were apart, but I never felt the need to open up old wounds. Now, with him gone, I want to know everything I can, every thought, every feeling. I had the box crated up and flown over from England, containing not only the letters and videos from our four years apart, but also Sean’s diaries come notebooks that he kept with him constantly. They weren’t diaries as such; they were where Sean wrote down thoughts, feelings, phrases, anything he thought he might use as part of his song writing. There were dozens of them and they were all sitting in the large crate, staring me in the face right now.

Getting up, I make myself a coffee and bring it back into the bedroom with me. I sit on the floor and stare some more, sipping on my coffee.

“What shall I do, baby? Can you tell me? D’ya want me to read them?” I say aloud. I know I sound like a weirdo, but I know he can hear me; don’t ask me how or why, it’s impossible to explain, much like the love that we shared. I couldn’t put the reasons into words. I just knew.

I sip on my coffee, wait for some divine intervention and nearly throw the contents of my mug over myself when my phone rings, blasting out Sean’s voice as he sings “With You”.

“Morning, Jim.”

“Hey, G, how’s it going, babe?”

“Yeah, I’m doing okay. Just woke up and made a coffee. I have the whole day and night off.”

“Is that a good thing? Are you not better off keeping busy?”

“I will be busy; the crate arrived Thursday, and I’ve done nothing but sit and stare at it since.”

“Are you sure about this, G? You don’t think reading all that stuff is gonna set you back?” Jimmie had been the one to organise the shipping of the crate over, but she hadn’t been entirely convinced it was a good idea. I told her that now I was away from England, I felt stronger and more able to deal with the crate’s contents. It wasn’t entirely true and I don’t think she entirely believed me, but she sent it anyway.

“I think they will help me move on, Jim. I’m looking forward to reading his thoughts; it’ll be a new part of him, a part I’ve never had before.” My stomach churned just at the thought of reading Sean’s words, and I’m not sure if it is due to excitement, fear or the fact that I am lying to myself.

“How’s everyone there?” I ask, wanting to change the subject.

“Yeah, okay. I’m missing you. It’s freezing cold. The kids are getting hyper about Christmas and blah, blah, blah, same ol’ same ol’.” This isn’t like Jim at all; she is always an upbeat girl and she sounds a little off.

“You okay, Jim? You sound a little down.”

“Just tired. Len’s been busy working on some new project with Marley and away a fair bit, and the kids have just got so much on between school and concerts, football, dancing and every other bloody thing they do. I swear, the kids have a better social life than me; you know how it is.” I know she didn’t mean anything by what she said, but I instantly have a lump in my throat. I would love to know what all of that feels like. I would love to know how it is. I would love to be rushed off my feet looking after my husband, running around after my kids, but I don’t. There is still a possibility that I won’t, not ever.

“Oh, George, sorry. I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean…” I can hear the tremor in her voice and I hate that she feels she needs to apologise to me, of all people. Jim has always been one of the few people who have never tiptoed around me. She has always been straight-up and told me to get my shit together, so now, alarm bells are ringing.

“Jim, seriously, stop saying you’re sorry. What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me, and why’d you ring in the first place?” She is quiet for a few seconds too many. “Jim?”

“I found a condom in his suit trousers pocket,” she sobs.

“What… I mean, I, what the fuck, Jim? Have you spoken to him?” My head’s spinning as I try to think of reasons why my brother would have a condom in his pocket.

Jimmie sniffs a few times before replying, “Not yet; I only found it when I was about to take his suit to the cleaners this morning and he’s not home yet. He’s been out with Marley all day at some charity football thing. I’m sorry, George…” She trails off and I know she’s crying, so obviously, I start crying, too.

“Shit, Jim, please don’t cry. I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about. Len loves you, and he’s loved you most of his life. He wouldn’t do anything to fuck things up; he’s just not that type. I wish I was there for you right now, babe.”

“No, no, George; you’re exactly where you need to be. Don’t you even consider coming back here until you’re sure you’re ready. I just needed to tell someone. I’ve been a mess all day and now he’s late home. I’ve had a few wines and I just needed you to tell me it would all be good.” Her voice trails off on another sob. I love my brother, but I want to punch him right now. I don’t think for a second he would have cheated on his wife, my beautiful best friend. I’m totally convinced there is a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he has a condom in his pocket. I’m just pissed off that he would leave it there for Jimmie to find and that it’s upset her so much.

“It will. It’ll all be good; I’m sure of it, Jim.”

She sniffs a few times, and I can hear her taking deep breaths in. “Okay, right, I’m sorry about all this. I’ve got pizza about to be delivered and four hungry kids I need to feed; I’ll call you as soon as I’ve spoken to him. I love you, George.”

“Whatever the time is, call me. I’m not helping out tonight so just call. I won’t sleep until you do. I love you, Jim.”

She hangs up without saying any more. I stare at my phone for a few seconds and then look around the room. “Is that it? Is that my sign? If it is, I’m still confused; I don’t know if that means you do want me to look or if you don’t.” I feel like a complete twat talking to my dead husband, but at the same time, I don’t; it feels perfectly normal to be talking to him. I take a deep breath, get up on my knees and open the top of the crate, putting my hand inside.

“Too late now, baby; you had your chance. I’m going in.”

* * *

It takes me over an hour to take everything out of the box. There are letters, videos, cards, the scrapbooks my mum made and Sean’s notebooks. I start with the letters and organise them into date order, starting in May 1985.

My heart hurts where it’s pounding so hard against my chest; the echo is pulsating in my throat and making my head ache. The envelope of the first letter I pick up is still sealed. The exact way it was when my mum returned it to him.

Delaying the inevitable, I go out to the kitchen and find a cigarette. I rarely smoke these days, but right now, I need something to calm me down and as it’s only just turned ten in the morning. It’s a bit too early for a drink. I take the first letter and the pack of cigarettes out to the balcony, sit on the sun lounger and open the envelope.

Gia, please, baby, please read this.

Please pick up the phone and talk to me the next time I call. I’ve had to go back to Europe on this fucking tour, but I don’t want to. I want to be with you. I miss you so much, your smell, the feel of your skin, everything about you; your smart mouth and your sense of humour, and of course, those amazing tits.

I’m so sorry, G, for what’s happened. I would never knowingly or willingly hurt you, you know that, but I also know that’s no excuse.

I know when I saw you I couldn’t tell you for sure what happened, but there were more people than just me and Marley there in that room and they’ve all said the same thing. We were snorting lines off her tits and I know that that in itself is wrong, but that’s as far as it went. She kept trying to get my shorts down. As soon as we got in that room, she was trying to get my shorts down and was trying to suck me off and I couldn’t remember at first. I couldn’t remember if I had let her and I didn’t want to lie to you, but I know now, I know for sure that I pushed her away. I kept pushing her away. I didn’t touch her, G; I swear to you, I didn’t touch her.

I kept calling your house when I was still in England. I came and knocked on your door, but your mum wouldn’t let me see you and then we had to fly back out. I wanted to come home just for the day tomorrow, but they won’t let me. I’ll call you again tonight. Please, G, please tell your mum and dad that it’s okay, that you want to talk to me; please, I just need to hear your voice. I love you like the stars above, baby. Just answer the phone when I call and let me please explain everything.

Sean xxx

* * *

I light another cigarette and read it again; I can hear his voice pleading with me in my head. Why didn’t I just forgive him? Why didn’t I just speak to him? All that wasted time, four whole years. What I would give to have four more years with him now. I was so young and so stupid, but I thought I knew it all.

I suddenly feel very tired, very tired and very alone. I go back to my bedroom, back to my bed, curl up and cry myself to sleep for the next couple of hours.

I’m woken by the sound of someone calling my name, and then someone banging on my bedroom door. I open my eyes and look around at the mess my room’s in; everything from the crate is spread everywhere. I sit up as my bedroom door opens and Jackson’s head appears around it.

“George, sorry, darl; I thought you’d be up and about by now.” His eyes scan over me, then around the room. “What the fuck’s all this lot? Looks like a bomb’s dropped in here.”

I swing my legs to the side of the bed and look up at him. “Go downstairs to the bar and get me a large flat white, please, Jax. I need a quick shower.” He frowns and looks me over again. This boy worries over me as much as my own brothers do; he nods his head slightly.

“You okay, George?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll tell you all about it once I’m showered. One sugar in my coffee, please.” He nods again, but doesn’t move for a few more seconds. His eyes scan the room and his hand rubs over the stubble on his jaw.

“You sure you’re okay?”

I nod again, touched by his concern. “I’m fine; now go, before I start getting naked.”

“Ewww, George, that’s just creepy. I’m going. Large flat white, one sugar; I’m gone. I’m gone.”

He heads down to the bar to grab me a real coffee, while I stand under the shower and try to make up my mind about whether I want to read any more of Sean’s letters.

I shower, dress and then head out to the kitchen. Jackson is sitting on a stool at the kitchen worktop and has my coffee sitting in a takeaway cup with a lid on it in front of him. I go straight to the cupboard and pull out a real mug; I hate drinking out of those cardboard things.

“What’s going on, George? What’s all that shit over the bedroom floor?” I pause for a few seconds, considering what lie I can come up with because I know Jax will think what I’m doing is wrong. I take a deep breath, turn around and face him.

“They’re letters and stuff Sean wrote to me when we split up for four years, back when the band first made it big.” I transfer my coffee from the cardboard to the ceramic mug, and then raise my eyes to meet his.

“Why are they here?”

I swallow. I know he’s not going to be happy. Jackson has been like my therapist since I got here and he’s given me nothing but sound advice, but I didn’t tell him I was going to do this.

“I’ve never read them.” I take a sip of my coffee and wait for his reply.

“So, why read them now?”

I shrug and let out a loud sigh. “I just thought it might bring me some closure. Not closure as such, I don’t think I’ll ever achieve that, but…” I shrug and trail off. “I’m ready to read them. I want to hear his thoughts. What he was going through at that time. It’s a part of him I didn’t have, that I didn’t share, and I want it. I want any part of him I can get.” I gulp down the last of my coffee and almost choke as I try to swallow down a sob with it.

“I think you’re full of shit, George. I think you’re snooping through his things to see if he cheated on you. I think you’re looking for evidence that he might have fucked around.” He takes a long swig on his beer, draining the bottle, but keeps his eyes pinned on mine. “All these accusations that’ve been made, it must be horrible for ya. I totally get that, but don’t let them fuckers make you start doubting what you two had. That bloke worshiped the fucking ground you walked on; that was obvious to anyone who was ever in your company, and not a single one of these accusations has come to anything.” He sounds angry but in a calm way, which is quite intimidating. “Sean was a good bloke. He worked hard and he loved, no, he adored his wife. He never knocked up anyone other than you and we both know it.”