Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
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 joined me for a nap.
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 around 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 howling 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.