The Story of Me (5 page)

I suddenly feel ashamed, and rightly so. Just because I was a lying, cheating whore of a wife doesn’t mean Sean behaved the same way. Marley has sworn to me, over and over again, that there is just no way Sean cheated on me. That one incident in the hotel room in Spain taught them all a lesson, and all of the boys had been careful after that; one, to not mess around on their girlfriends, and two, to always use a condom. Sure, Sean had fucked a lot of women in the time we were apart, but according to Marley, he hadn’t looked at another woman since the night I fell through Lennon’s front door and landed in his lap twelve or so years ago. Marley had told me to watch the videos of all the interviews they had done over the years. That they would give me an indicator of where Sean’s head was at, but really, in all honesty, there was no need for me to do any of that, because I knew; Sean would never do what I did. Sean was a good person. I wasn’t.

“What you not telling me, George?” God, sometimes his intuition pisses me off, so I bare-face lie to him.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, you’re lying to me.”

Up until I was ten years old, Marley, Jackson, myself, Jodie and Jimmie had been inseparable. We lived a few streets apart, went to the same preschool, and then on to the same primary school. Our families had holidayed and taken day trips together. Then Kathy and John decided to move to Australia, but even on the half-dozen times we had met up since then, it was like we had never been apart. He knew me as well as my brothers…

“I worshiped the ground Sean walked on, but I still fucked someone else while we were married.” I pull a bottle of wine from the fridge as I speak and pour myself a glass.

“What… you did what?” I gesture towards the balcony doors; I need wine and cigarettes for this confession. Nobody but my mum, Cam and I know what had happened in Cam’s office the night of my run-in with Whorely, and now I am about to confess all to my favourite cousin. Jackson pulls the bottle of wine back out of the fridge and a glass from the cupboard, joining me out on the balcony. He pours himself a glass and watches me from over the top. I wait for him to repeat his question, but he doesn’t, and it just makes it harder for me to start talking.

“I did something I’m totally ashamed of. I did something that… still to this day, I have no idea why I did it.” I take a big gulp of my wine and light a cigarette, take a puff and begin. I start at the very beginning. I tell him about the very first time I set eyes on Sean and how I have loved him from that moment. I tell him about my sort-of breakdown when we were apart, and I tell him about how Whorely used my mum to conspire in keeping us apart. Then I tell him about Cam, all of it: Cam’s life, what happened to his dad and his wife and suddenly it occurs to me while telling my story to Jackson that Cam has been through something very similar to me. Not once since Sean’s death had I considered that fact. I carry on with my story and explain how Cam fixed me, how he brought me back to life to a certain degree, and that it wasn’t until I was back with Sean and had allowed myself to feel again that I realised just how much I did actually feel for Cam.

“If you hadn’t gotten back with Sean, d’ya think you would’ve stayed with him?”

I don’t hesitate with my answer. “Yes, absolutely. We were good together, but until I was over Sean, he never stood a chance.”

“But you were never going to be over Sean.”

I shrug. “No, I probably wasn’t, but I think I would have gotten better at coping with my feelings. And in time, I think I would have realised that I could still love Cam, while feeling what I did for Sean. It would never be the same, but it still would’ve been love, I think.” He pours us both another drink.

“Would’ve been or was?”

“What?” I understand the question perfectly. I just don’t understand the first answer that’s popped into my head.

“You loved him, Georgia. I think you knew you loved him while you were with him, but you still weren’t prepared to give up on Sean. I think you used Sean and what you felt for him as an excuse not to admit your feelings for Cam.”

I shrug again. “Maybe.” I know full well I did.

I continue on with my story and tell him about the night I fucked Cam in his office and then about buying the house. I feel sick to my stomach, admitting all of this, but at the same time, I feel so relieved to tell someone. I don’t try and justify my behaviour to Jax; I can’t. There is no justification for what I did. It was wrong, so wrong, but telling the story out loud to someone relatively impartial sort of helps me make peace with myself over my actions.

“You loved him, Georgia, don’t you see? You keep telling me how much you loved Sean, how Sean owned you completely, but he didn’t. Don’t you see that? However small a part it was or is, Cam owned a part of you, too.” I shake my head. “Was there ever anyone else, George? Did you ever come close to touching, kissing, fucking anyone else while with Sean?”

“No, of course not. I loved my husband; it was a one-off.” What the fuck sort of wife does he think I was? I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t told him anything now.

“Because Cam is the only other person you have ever loved. There is no way you would risk your marriage, your life with Sean, for someone you didn’t love. I don’t get why you’re trying so hard to deny it.”

“I’m not denying it. I have thought to myself over the years that perhaps I did love him, in a way, but it doesn’t matter now anyway. It also doesn’t change the fact that I fucked someone other than my husband. It doesn’t make it right.” I can feel anger welling in my chest, at myself and aimed at Jackson for making me think, feel and say all this aloud. I’ve buried it so far down all these years. It’s painful as guilt uses its sharp, pointy nails to drag and claw its way back up into my psyche from wherever I’ve had it so deeply buried. Tears are stinging the backs of my eyes, and I feel a little short of breath.

“I’m not saying it makes it right, George. I’m just trying to help you understand why you did it, and to make you realise Sean never loved anyone else. Like the song and the tattoo and your fucking ring tone tell you, there’s no one else; there never was. It was only ever you, George, so pack that box up, stop looking for evidence for something that never happened and live happy with the fact that Sean loved and never cheated on you.

“One day, for the right reasons, you take the time to read all that shit he sent you. Read it because you just want to know what was going through his head, not what he may or may not have been doing with his dick.” He finishes what’s left in his glass and points a finger at me. “Stop crying and feeling sorry for yourself, George. You did a shitty thing, but you crying ain’t gonna change that, and it certainly won’t make you feel better.” 

Well, there’s nothing like a bit of straight-talking Aussie advice to put things into perspective. He hasn’t finished with me yet, though.

“I bet you were half-hoping you’d find evidence he had been unfaithful, just so you would feel better, weren’t ya?” I nod and wipe my nose on my sleeve. There’s no point in lying; I was, but at the same time, I wasn’t. It would kill me to know he had been unfaithful or that there was a chance he had a child running around out there, but it would have made me feel a bit better about my own actions. I look up from my lap and my eyes meet his.

“I don’t mean to be a bad person, Jax. I just, I start out with good intentions, but I always seem to manage to turn things around so they’re all about me.” Jackson gives a little laugh and shakes his head.

“You’re far from a bad person, George; you’re just human. We all make mistakes, darl. You’re still only thirty-two. The life you’ve lived, the things you’ve experienced, most people wouldn’t achieve them in ten lifetimes and you’ve achieved them before your mid-thirties. I’m sure if the rest of us lived life at the speed you have, then we’d all be in for a few more fuck-ups.”

I smile as I look across at him. “How’d you get so clever, Jackson Bell?”

He smiles back at me, his blue eyes shining, and he shrugs, “I dunno, living here changes ya. There’s no bullshit here. What’s the point? It’s a small place, everyone knows everyone else and if you bullshit, well, then there’s a good chance that at some stage, it’ll come back and bite you on the arse.” He tilts his head up slightly and says, “Lies will get ya nowhere, George, especially if you tell them to yourself.”

“Go and splash your face and put some make-up on; Roman’s back in town, and he’s playing in the bar for a couple of hours. He’s good, you should come and listen. Give us your professional opinion of the local talent.”

I pull my knees up so the heels of my feet are on the edge of the chair and smile across at him. “I don’t have a professional opinion, Jax. I was married to a musician; I’ve never claimed to be one.”

He frowns as he looks across at me. “Your brother and your husband are members of one of the biggest bands in the world, and you don’t think you’re qualified to give a professional opinion? Bullshit, you’ve been around music longer than any so-called professional out there. Go and pretty yourself up, and don’t worry about giving an opinion; just come and listen. Emily’s gonna meet us in about twenty minutes. We’ll get some tea and then listen to the music. I’m not leaving you up here on your own tonight.”

I actually don’t feel much like being on my own, so I do as he says. It doesn’t take me long to change and be ready. Getting ready to go anywhere in Australia is actually quite hard for me; I’m so used to heels, make-up and designer labels, whereas here, it’s more vest, denim cut-offs and a pair of flip flops. The girls here always look pretty and very girly, but in an effortless kind of way, and coming from my background, it takes a lot of effort to make my look, look effortless. After thirty minutes, I think I’m there.

We head downstairs to the bar, which is pretty busy for a Sunday night; my aunt and uncle are both working tonight, which is why I got the day and night off. Jackson had reserved a table earlier right at the front, and he tells me to sit while he goes and gets drinks and orders our food. While he’s at the bar, Emily arrives. She is just gorgeous. She, too, is a surf instructor and an Elle Macpherson lookalike. She is possibly the most laid-back person I’ve ever come across.

“Hey, Georgia, how’s your day been so far?”

“Good, Em, how are ya?”

She nods as she looks around the bar. “Where’s Jax?” She sits herself down in a chair and smiles serenely at me. I know she and Jax smoke a lot of weed between them, but Emily just seems to float through life on a fluffy cloud; at least, that’s the aura she gives off.
Obviously, because of the work they do, they aren’t really permanently stoned; that’s just the way Em always is, away with the unicorns, with or without the weed.

“He’s at the bar getting drinks and ordering food; he said he knew what to get you.”

She nods. “Yeah, my baby knows what I love.” She winks at me but says no more. I would love just five minutes inside her head; rainbows, unicorns and pink fluffy clouds are what I would probably find. Jackson arrives back at our table with a bottle of wine in an ice bucket with two glasses and a beer for himself. He places it all on the table and then leans down to Emily, who looks up at him expectantly.

“Hey, beautiful.”

She smiles serenely again, “Hey, baby.” He leans in and kisses her full on the mouth, at the same time cupping her boob in his hand and brushing his thumb over her nipple, not giving a shit about anyone who might be watching. A little pang of jealousy spikes through me at what they have together, but I deal with it by pouring Em and me a wine. Life goes on, and the rest of the world is entitled to love and be loved. An amazing man loved me exceptionally for most of my life; I need to focus on that, rather than what I’ve lost, I tell myself. It doesn’t work, and I blink back tears and gulp down my wine. Jax and Em finally return from their rainbow-coloured cloud of love just as my aunt comes over to the table.

“Hey, George, Em.” She kisses us both on the cheek, pulls up a chair and sits down with us.

“You’re in for a treat tonight, George. Roman’s back in town, and he’s a right spunk.” I spit my wine at her term, remembering the word spunk means something completely different here.

“Mum, Georgia’s English, remember? That place where you come from, where spunk means sperm, semen, jizz? I don’t think Rome would appreciate being referred to as any of those things.” Jax shakes his head as he talks to her, and Kathy turns back to me and winks.

“Shut up, Jax, I just forget sometimes. Georgia, Roman is well fucking fit and his singing ain’t bad, either,” she says in her best cockney accent, which isn’t bad considering she’s lived in Australia for over twenty years. “We only get the pleasure of him during peak season; he works in the mines the rest of the year, but takes four months off and sings all around the local bars while he’s home, ours being his first port of call. Should be a good crowd tonight. I’ll have to introduce you to him. He’d be just your type.”

I smile back at her, I know she means well, but it’s far too soon for me. I’ve not even thought about other men since Sean, and I’ve not had a single stirring of desire in me. I wasn’t sure if that was to do with having my womb
removed, or if it was because I was still grieving, but either way, I hadn’t felt the need for sex once, not even with myself.

“Oh, yeah, George, Roman is definitely hot,” Emily agrees. Jackson raises his eyebrows and looks at her. “But not as hot as you, baby. I just meant for George, not for me. You’re all I need.” I’d actually heard different to that. Brooke had told me that Jackson and Em have a pretty out-there relationship and often have threesomes with both other men and women.
Oh, well, they seem happy enough; let them live the way they want to.

Kathy stands from the table as the waitress, Zoe, brings our food over. “Enjoy, my lovelies. I’ll send some more drinks over in a bit.” She heads off back to the bar as we tuck into the house special, a world burger.

When I can’t possibly eat another thing, I head off to the ladies room, and as I return to our table, I see him; he’s talking to Jackson. I continue walking towards our table, then he turns his head, his eyes meet mine and it’s instant. I don’t know what it is, but something moves inside me very slightly and my step falters. It’s such a minor sensation, but I feel it and I don’t like it; it unnerves me. He stands up straight as I approach, and his eyes don’t leave mine for a second; they are the most amazing ice-blue, almost grey, and I can’t help but hold his gaze. I reach the table and finally look away from him, and down at my chair.

Before I can sit, Jax says, “George, this is Roman Peterson, a good mate of mine and a bloody good singer.” I look back up and he’s still staring at me. I suddenly worry he knows who I am and my heart
rate increases marginally. “Roman, this is my cousin, Georgia. She’s come to stay with us for a while, all the way from London.” He puts his hand out to me across the table, and I look down at it for a few moments before taking it.

“How ya going, Georgia? This would be a little bit different to London at this time of year; a bit warmer, too, I bet.” My smile is automatic, not fake, it just automatically appears on my face and I try to tone it down a bit.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cold there right now, and everywhere would be busy with the build-up to Christmas.” He continues to smile, making the corners of his eyes crinkle; his skin is fairly tanned and quite weathered. ‘Rugged’ my mum would call it.

“Yeah, I studied in London for a couple of years, about ten years ago now. Christmas is manic over there. What brings you to Australia?” I realise he still has hold of my hand, so I very gently slide my fingers away. He puts up no resistance.

“She just needed a break away from it all and decided to visit her favourite cousins. She’ll be helping out around here and the surf school, so you’ll probably see her around.” Jackson speaks for me, for which I’m grateful.

Roman’s smile widens and he nods. “Cool, look forward to it, Georgia; nice meeting ya. I need to go set up; don’t want Big John after me on my first night back.” He turns his head to Jackson. “Jax, Em, keep sending the beers over, would ya.” He winks and walks away. I realise after a few seconds that I’ve remained standing, watching him as he jumps up onto the small stage and undoes his guitar case. I flop down into my chair.

“Told ya he was hot, George,” I hear Emily say, but I keep staring at Roman. His hair is blond and long, pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. He’s slim, but not as slim as Sean, and he’s muscular, but not as muscular as Cam. He must be around six-feet tall. Why I’m comparing him to Sean and Cam, I have no idea. Jackson says something from beside me, and I drag my eyes away and look at him.

“What?” I ask. He frowns at me. “What did you say?” I ask.

“I never said a word, darl, not a word.” He smiles and I narrow my eyes.

“You did in your head and I heard it. What’s that look for? What were you thinking?”

He gives a little chuckle. “So, you can read minds now, can you, George?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t say I read your mind. I said I heard it. You were thinking something about me, and you were thinking it so hard that I heard it.”

He shrugs. “Okay, I’ll tell ya what I was thinking, but you’re not gonna like it.”

I stare back at him for a few seconds. Dare I ask, knowing how direct and to the point Jackson is? Dare I ask what he was thinking? I drain the last of the wine from my glass.

“Come on then, tell me, for fuck’s sake; what little analytical observation have you made or think you’ve made?” I feel like a science project at the moment, a case study.

He laughs again. “Just go with it, George; that’s what I was thinking. Don’t fight it; if you’re feeling it, then the time’s right. Don’t fight it and don’t beat yourself up over it. Just let it happen and see where it goes.”

I play with the stem of my wine glass as my eyes fill with tears; I don’t want to hear this. Jackson’s hand shoots across the table and stops mine from worrying the glass any more.

“Hey, look at me.” I shake my head and try to stop my bottom lip from trembling.

“Look at me, George.” I raise my eyes to meet his and tears fall from my lashes onto my cheeks. “Stop that. Stop feeling guilty, stop beating yourself up. Like I said, if you’re feeling it, then the time’s right.” He gestures towards me with his chin. “You felt anything like it before, since Sean, I mean?” I shake my head. “But you felt something then, between you and Roman?” I nod very slightly.
If I nod less, will it make my guilt less
? “Then the time’s right; something might happen, nothing might happen, but just go with it and just see. The worst thing you can do is try and fight it. The biggest lies we tell, George, are the ones we tell ourselves.” I nod, understanding what he’s saying but not agreeing. It’s too soon. It’s not even been a year yet. It’s wrong. I’m a bad person. A bad wife. And it’s wrong.

My uncle John appears at our table with another bottle of wine. This is how I get my wages. I refuse to let them pay me; I don’t need their money and I’m more than happy to help out, so they let me stay in the apartment and eat and drink at the bar for free. I get a kiss and a cuddle from John before he heads back to the kitchen. The place is now packed. Every table is full and people are eating at the bar. Every bit of standing room is taken and the place is noisy.

Roman strums his guitar a few times, makes some adjustments and the noise from the crowd fades.

“Good to see you all, people; another year older, but none the wiser, I see.” He looks right at me and starts singing “Drops of Jupiter” by Train.

It’s perfect.

His voice, the way he plays his guitar, the way he stares at me, the way he closes his eyes every now and then. Perfect. The song seems to end without me even hearing it, and the crowd roars with applause. Roman takes a swig from a beer bottle, then continues with “Follow Me” by Uncle Kracker, and I realise he’s singing it to me. He’s looking down at my hand as he sings, down at where I still wear my wedding ring, and it all suddenly becomes too much. I feel angry. I don’t care what Jax thinks; I’m not ready for this. As I stand from the table, Jackson looks up at me, his eyes wide with surprise.

“I need to go. I… I’m not… I need to go.” I kiss Jackson and Emily on the cheek and turn to leave, but Jackson grabs my arm.

“Do
not
go up there and beat yourself up over this, Georgia.”

I pull my hand away. “You’re not my fucking shrink, Jax, so stop trying to analyse me.” I turn and leave.