Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
When I got back to Ireland, Maca was waiting to meet me at the airport with Milo and a car. He had a baseball cap on backwards over his long hair and a pair of aviator glasses.
“Rock star much?” I asked, totally taking the piss out of the quintessential band member outfit of the white T-shirt, jeans, leather jacket, and beads around his neck.
“Fuck you.”
It was the first time he had spoken directly to me since the disastrous Sunday afternoon visit to my parents’ place.
“Yeah, and I missed your smiling face too, brother, a whole lot,” I said, holding my hand out to shake his as I did. He stared at my hand for a few moments, taking it, but then pulled me in so we bumped chests and he slapped me on the back a few times. You know, the way real men do.
“How is she? Did she get my flowers? Is she feeling better? Did she talk to you?” He fired his questions at me one after the other.
“Ladies.” Milo called from the other side of the bonnet of the big four wheel drive he was leaning on.
“You have to be at the television studios for this lunchtime chat show you’re scheduled to appear on by eleven.
Can you have your shag and make up session in the back of the vehicle while I drive, please?
I have to get back to the hotel and pick up the rest of the girls. ”
We both flipped him the middle finger but climbed into the back of the SUV anyway.
“So?” Maca asked as soon as we were in. He took off his hat and glasses and raked his hand through his hair. I was instantly distracted by the new ink I could see below the V-neck of his T-shirt.
“You get a new tat?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He pulled his T-shirt away from his skin to give me a better view.
“I’ve been thinking about it for ages and someone had recommended a bloke in Dublin, so I called him when we got here Monday and he fit me in yesterday afternoon.”
I took in the lettering around his neck and recognised the words instantly.
‘There’s no one else. There never was. It’s still only ever you.’
It was taken from our biggest selling single to date, ‘With You,’ and he had written it for Georgia.
Obviously he was still totally unaware that she was seeing someone else and there was no way I was gonna be the one to cause him any more heartache.
My thoughtlessness had done plenty damage over the years, and I wasn’t about to add to that.
“Cool. Looks good.”
“Cheers. Now answer my questions. How’s she doing?”
“You gonna cover your whole body in tats dedicated to my sister?”
He already had a G over his heart that matched the necklace he had given her one Christmas, years ago. I’d noticed last night that she still wore that necklace, but there was no way I was gonna tell him that and give him any kind of hope that she still cared.
“Maybe. What’s it to you?”
“I couldn’t give a fuck, but a future Mrs McCarthy might have a problem with it.”
He turned and looked at me, biting down on the corner of his bottom lip as he did.
“You just don’t get it, do you? Read what’s written on my neck, mate.
The only Mrs Maca there will ever be is her.
We will get back together. One of these days, it’ll happen.
” He let out a long breath and shook his head.
“Now answer my questions. How the fuck is she?”
I let out a long breath of my own and looked out the window at the passing traffic for a few seconds.
“She’s doing better. She’s been a mess all week, but she was happy to see me and we had a bit of a talk and agreed to put an end to all the shit that’s gone on.”
His eyes widened at the news.
“Yeah?” he asked with a smile. “I’m pleased for ya, dude, I really am.”
My stomach felt a little uneasy. I really didn’t want to fill him with false hope. I knew that he would think that if George could bring herself to talk to me, then she might be on her way to talking to him.
“Did she say anything … ya know? Did she mention me at all?” he asked quietly and I caught Milo’s eyes looking at me through the rearview mirror. I shook my head slowly.
“Na, mate. I’m sorry, but she’d just had a bit of a breakdown after seeing you for the first time in almost four years. I wasn’t about to bring up your name if she didn’t.” I told him honestly.
He put his hat back on. “Fair enough. I get it, dude, I really do.” Despite his words, I could hear the disappointment in his voice and I couldn’t miss the way his throat moved as he swallowed his emotions down.
“Baby steps, mate. Talking to me is a massive leap for her, and once she’s back on her feet and feeling a little more stable, I promise—I swear to you that I will do all that I can to put everything right between the two of you.”
He nodded his head slowly. “I’ll give her a bit of time, but we need to get our shit sorted before the wedding.”
Len and Jimmie’s wedding was happening in June.
When they’d first got engaged, a wedding in two years seemed forever away, but we were down to weeks.
Bailey was best man. Myself, Maca, and the rest of the boys from the band were groomsmen, whatever that meant.
My knowledge regarding wedding etiquette was as lacking then as it is now.
All I knew was that Georgia and Maca would both be a part of the wedding and so like he had just said, they really needed to get their shit together before the big day.
“It’ll get sorted, Mac. She’s doing better and she’s already told Jim that she doesn’t want anything to spoil the day for her and Len, but this is George. Let her go at her own pace. You know what she’s like if you push her.”
The rest of our stay in Ireland went well, and Maca was definitely in a better place when we got home than when we left.
We had a quiet few months scheduled as Len had wanted time off both before and after the wedding.
Maca and I spent a few weeks writing before taking a week in Ibiza, and then we sailed with a couple of producer friends of ours on their boat around the Balearic Islands, off the coast of Spain.
We landed back in England on a rainy May Thursday, just around lunchtime.
We had promised to call around to Len and Jimmie’s place that night and so just stopped quickly at our place to shower and change our clothes.
We were both tired after three weeks of partying and sailing in the sun, and our day of travelling.
We almost called and cancelled, but the promise of a home cooked meal from Jimmie meant that wasn’t an option, so we made the effort, both of us unaware that the decision to drag our tired arses over to my brothers that evening would ultimately change both our lives forever.
Dinner was great. Jimmie was an excellent cook and after the roast beef with all the trimmings, we had homemade apple crumble and custard for dessert.
I’d gotten over my issues with Jim and Len being together years ago. I viewed her as nothing more than a sister and I couldn’t have been happier for her and my brother. They were so good together. The way they looked at each other even had me wondering if maybe, one day, I might want what they had.
We sat around the dinner table, enjoying a few wines and then more than a few bourbons as we told stories of our recent trip away.
This holiday had been a little subdued compared to our usual trips.
We’d partied and clubbed the first week, but Maca hadn’t done more than chat to a few girls and had no interest when a girl called Elanora from Italy or France, or wherever, had asked if she could come back to our hotel and fuck us both.
Luckily, we had separate rooms and I’d gone back with her, along with a Swedish, Dutch, or wherever it was they made tall blonde girls that talk like the chef from the Muppets and are called Anna, Arrna or Hannah.
They stayed for two days. By the third, I could barely walk and needed them to go.
The following couple of weeks, we’d spent fishing, snorkelling, and sunbathing while sailing on Max and Nicole’s boat.
They had just had their third baby so there was no partying on board.
Most of the places we docked at night were quiet little fishing villages.
Nic was happy to cook most evenings, as it was hard work taking three kids, including a newborn, out to dinner.
A few times she sent Max out with us, telling us to go get drunk, which being the good boys that we were, we obviously obeyed.
One night, we ended up staging an impromptu concert at a little bar in Palma on the island of Majorca.
It was a place where the locals drank, but we had been instantly recognised and the singer from the band that was playing invited us up on stage to sing a few songs.
We didn’t get down for over two hours and it was the happiest I had seen Maca in what felt like forever.
We helped Jimmie load the dishwasher and clear up the kitchen before taking our drinks and sitting on the big comfy sofa’s they’d just purchased.
I was only half listening to Len go on about how they were custom made when the ring of the front doorbell came.
Keen to get away from the riveting sofa conversation, Maca jumped up with an, “I’ll get it,” before I could get a breath out.
He winked at me as he headed for the door, probably the first person ever to hope that he was gonna find a large religious cult on the doorstep, looking to spend hours trying to convert him.
“So yeah, if you’re ever looking, I can put you onto this bloke in San Antonio, Texas.” Len was telling me. I nodded and smiled, feigning interest before knocking back my drink. Imported cowhide? Shoot me now, cowboy.
I added ice from the bucket on the coffee table and started to top up both mine and Len’s drinks when I thought I heard a woman cry.
“What was that?” Len asked.
“Dunno. Sounded like someone crying.”