Chapter 10 #2
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 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.
“Fuck, G, don’t ever think for a minute that you’re not important. If you had died that day, then there’d now be no George, Kiks, or Lula. Harry would have no mum. Without you, those little people wouldn’t exist today. Would you deny them the right to life George?”
I feel her shoulders shake as she silently cries, but she manages to shake her head no.
“If you had died that day,” I continue, “Maca would never have survived. He could never live without you in this world.”
“He would. He would’ve come to terms with it. Event—eventually, just like I’ve had to.”
“You came to terms with it because you’ve had Cam to hold your hand and help guide you through.
He’s been there. He lost his wife, unborn baby, and his dad under horrible circumstances,” I tell her.
“I’ll be totally honest here and tell ya, George.
I don’t think you would’ve made it without Cam.
I’m not religious, I don’t believe in fate, destiny, or that things happen for a reason.
Life is what it is. Shit happens to good people because that’s just the way life is.
You and Cam, you really are just perfect for each other, and what happened in both of your pasts made it that way.
There’s no one else on this planet that could’ve put you back together the way he did, George, and I mean no one.
It goes against everything that I believe in, but it’s almost like you two were destined to be together. ” I tell her from my heart.
“I love him. He’s my Tiger,” she explains matter-of-factly.
I smile at her because I can see the smile in her eyes as she talks about the man that saved and rebuilt her the best that he could.
We never got the old Georgia back, how could we?
None of us were the same after Maca’s death and the loss of Beau.
Our whole family was, and will be, changed forever because of those events.
But Cameron King gave us back a version of Georgia that we never thought we’d see again.
Step by step, day by day, I got my beautiful, funny, mouthy, diva of a sister back, and I’ll never be able to thank him enough for that.
Jimmie appears in the doorway, a full champagne flute in hand.
“I told you no more drink.”
“And we told you to fuck off,” Jimmie replies.
“Actually, you didn’t. It was your two mouthy mates that did that,” I remind her.
“Yeah, I did. I just said it in my head, so that counts double.” She smiles at me and gives her eyebrows a little raise, as if to say ‘so there.’
“How fucking old are you?” I ask.
“Old enough to know when I want another drink.” She narrows her eyes and smiles.
I give in. It’s three against one until the boys arrive. Which reminds me, I need to ring Cam. I slide Georgia off my lap and stand to get my phone out of my pocket.
Ashley arrives with a bottle of Moёt and two more flutes. “No more for her,” I tell Ash, pointing at George.
“Fuck off, Marl,” I get from all three of them, followed by “Love you, Rock Star,” coming from Ash.
“Love you, baby,” I tell her back. I know I sound like a wuss, but it makes my wife happy and horny when I call her baby so I do it as often as I can. Because at the end of the day, I like my wife happy, horny, and knowing that I love her.
I head out to the kitchen to ring my brother-in-law. “Marley, you heard from the girls? I was just about to call you. Georgia’s not answering her phone.”
“She’s here, mate,” I reassure him. “The three of them are here, a little worse for wear, and very emotional.”
“What, pissed you mean?”
“Yep, and as much as I’ve tried to stop them, they’ve just opened a bottle of Moёt and seem determined to carry on the party.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“Funny, Len said those exact same words.”
“Right. Let me get the kids sorted and I’ll be over.”
“Bring them with you if you want. Len’s on his way, and I was gonna ring him back with a food order if you fancy staying and eating.”
“Yeah, sounds good. Marian’s here, actually. I’ll get her to stay with the kids. What were you thinking of eating?”
“Whatever you fancy, mate … Chinese?”
“Yeah, sounds good. Tell Len to get plenty and I’ll sort him out the money when I get there.”
“Will do.”
“Does Georgia need anything?”
“Just you, mate.”
“What’s that mean? How drunk is she?”
“Yeah, they’re all pretty gone and about to get worse.”
“She cried?”
“She has.”
“Right. You got any decent bourbon or single malt?”
“I’ve got Jack, Jim, or Laphroaig. Take your pick.”
“Good, I think we’re gonna need it.”
“I think you’re probably very right.”
“I usually am, ask my wife.”
“Yeah, don’t know if I’ll get much sense from her right now.”
“Great,” he replies sarcastically. “I’ll see you in a bit. Try and get them to slow down.” He hangs up before I can reply. Well, good luck to me then.
I call Len back and ask him to order everything off the menu from our favourite Chinese takeout and to pick up some mixers for the bourbon as Ash doesn’t allow fizzy drink in the house as a rule.
The girls have taken the party out to the deck by the time I get back to them. For some reason, best known to themselves, they have Right Said Fred’s, ‘I’m Too Sexy’ playing from one of their phones and are doing their best ‘model on the runway’ walk.
It’s bad.