Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
GEORGIA
Makenzie Wild is one of those people whose name one hundred percent suits her looks and personality.
She has long, wavy, blonde hair, sun-kissed skin, and dresses like she’s on her way to listen to Joni Mitchell or Bob Dylan at Woodstock.
Given that hippie vibe she portrays, I was expecting a laid-back personality, but no.
That’s where the ‘Wild’ side makes its appearance when the first thing she says as our eyes meet is, “Fuck me, no wonder Sean McCarthy, Cameron King, my dad, and my boyfriend all come in their pants at the mention of your name. Pictures and television don’t do you justice. You’re stunning!”
I don’t often blush, but I feel heat travel from my chest to my neck before my cheeks burn.
“Jesus Christ. Is Ash here?” Cam calls from somewhere I can’t see as I sit with my back to the room.
Standing, I hold out my hand to Makenzie. “Hey, nice to meet you.”
She shakes mine as she looks me over, then gives a wide, white-toothed smile. “I think we’ve met before, but I was just a kid. Hey, I’m Makenzie Wild. Thank you for allowing my team and me into your home. I’m beyond honoured to be working with you.”
“Would any of you like a drink?” I hear Tallulah call and turn to see her holding up a bottle of Prosecco in one hand, a bottle of water in the other.
My first thought is to question whether or not she’s old enough to drink.
I know, given my history, pot kettle and all that, but I’m a responsible parent these days, not a fourteen-year-old wild child of the eighties.
My second thought? She said she met me when she was just a kid. Exactly how old is she now?
“Ohhh, a glass of bubbles would be nice,” Makenzie replies to Lu. “We can drink as we walk, and you give a tour. I’ve been thinking about this shoot a lot since I got the gig. What I’d really like to do is mix your past with your present if you’d be okay with that.”
“In what way?” I ask as Lu hands us both a glass. Looking down at mine, I realise she’s mixed my Prosecco with fresh orange juice. “Dad?” I question my daughter.
“Yep,” she replies with a huge smile on her face.
“What are you grinning about?” I ask her.
She pauses for a moment before reaching out to touch one of the big, bouncy waves my hair has been blow-dried into.
Her head tilts to the side in a gesture so much like her dad’s, my heart feels like it’s about to burst. Eyes identical to mine slide from me to Makenzie, who I’m acutely aware is studying our interaction intently.
Tallulah’s gaze, once again, meets mine, and she shrugs. “I just love the way he loves you, and I love the way you know him so well.”
My tears are instant, giving me zero chance of blinking them away or saving my makeup.
“Do you know how lucky you both are to have what you have?”
“Baby girl, you don’t know the half of it. You have no idea. No fucking clue,” I tell her as I attempt to catch more tears on the back of my index finger before pulling my daughter in for a cuddle.
“Love you, Mumma,” she says into my ear while squeezing me tightly.
“Did we get all that?” Makenzie calls out from beside us, interrupting our moment.
“Got it,” a voice responds from somewhere in the room.
“Don’t worry, you have full control,” Makenzie explains as Lu and I break apart but remain standing with our arms around each other. “We’ll capture all the moments, but we’ll work with you when deciding what to use.”
I nod because my throat still feels too clogged with emotion to speak.
Makenzie’s ‘past meets present’ concept is to have me dressed like a rock chick while posing in front of our log fire, while gardening, with my horses, and also doing other house wifey stuff. She did suggest baking, and oh, how Cam, Lu, and I all laughed.
I like the idea. Lu loves it. Cam scratched at the stubble on his jaw and told me he was heading out for a bit. A bit of what, I’m not sure. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him, but I’ve a feeling he wasn’t comfortable with so many people in the house, which now has me feeling guilty.
While the stylists Makenzie brought with her, aided by Tullulah, rummage through my wardrobe for outfits, I’m back in the chair having my hair and makeup redone.
I watch on as Makenzie paces the floor while talking on her phone. Daniel watches back the candid footage that’s been taken so far, calling out things like, “G, you’re gonna die!” and “Stunning, darling. Just stunning!”
I don’t get what he’s getting so excited about because I don’t feel like we’ve started yet, but I’m not the expert here.
My stomach grumbles loudly. Glancing at my watch, I realise it’s almost twelve o’clock and know that Cam has probably gone out for food. He only had the oats I insist he eats every morning for his heart health earlier, and is probably ravenous by now.
Once Chastity finishes touching up my makeup and steps aside, I catch my reflection in the mirror and get my first glimpse of what they’ve done with the instructions I gave on how I wanted to look for the shoot.
My mouth drops open. My hair has been back-combed and pinned up in a beehive style, but with long strands pulled out around the edges. My eyes are dark and smoky, with winged liner. The rest of my face and lips have been left natural, making my eyes the focus, the dark liner making the blue pop.
The door to the studio swings open, and when I slide my eyes to them, they meet my husband’s, who’s standing there with two large brown paper bags in each hand.
“Fuck me,” he states, making me smile. “You look incredible,” he continues as he moves towards me. “I was starving, so I ordered food from Bifta’s. It was easier to go and collect than wait for delivery.”
Stopping to kiss my temple, he moves to the kitchen part of the studio and sets the bags down on the island.
“Grubs up if anyone’s hungry,” he calls out. “There’s just egg, just bacon, or there’s egg and bacon. If you don’t eat any of those things, you’re on your own,” he states as he starts unpacking each small brown paper bag from inside the larger ones.
And there I was worrying he’d been uncomfortable. I watch as he unpacks a roll with G on the bag and brings it over to me.
Full Bifta is the café down the road that we often frequent.
They specialise in a full English breakfast, otherwise known as a Full Bifta, but also do rolls and sandwiches to take away.
Maureen, who does the cooking, knows I like my bacon extra crispy, and so does Cam.
It makes my heart happy that not one, but probably both of them have made sure my roll contains the crispiest of bacon rashers.
“You’re too good to me,” I tell my husband as he hands me my unwrapped roll and some napkins.
“Don’t worry, you can leave your hair and makeup exactly like that and repay me later,” he says with a wink.
Even after all these years—around forty of knowing each other, over twenty married—this man still gives me fanny flutters.
Reaching out, I comb my fingers through his more-salt-than-pepper hair before raking my nails over his stubble-covered jaw. “I don’t think you could handle the kind of repayment I have in mind, old man,” I tell him.
“Try me,” he says while brushing his lips across mine.
“Get a room, you two. Ohh, bacon rolls! They from Bifta’s?” Lu asks as she comes through the door with an armful of my clothes.
An hour later, I’m wearing black leather trousers, a black, oversized Carnage tour tee with the red heart/eye band logo on the front, red Doc Martens, huge silver hoops in my ears, and leather bracelets around my wrists.
Makenzie, or Kenz or Kenzie as she has asked us to call her, thought it was hilarious when we explained what a shit cook I am when she, once again, suggested shooting me in the kitchen.
Instead of ruling it out, she got one of her assistants to make, bake, and burn a cake, and after taking shots of me in the stables, as well as doing some gardening, she now has me with flour on my face, cake batter down my tee, standing with my arms crossed, wearing the defiant scowl I wore for most of my teenage years—and maybe a few years beyond my teens.
I’m surrounded by the detritus of my unsuccessful baking, with the burnt cake on the island in front.
I pout and pose, unfold my arms, lean on the island, sit cross-legged on it, hold up the cake, and perform various other poses. I’ve enjoyed myself so much that I’ve lost track of time, but I have noticed the natural light has started to fade, and so am I.
Stifling a yawn, my eyes connect with Cam’s, who’s spent most of the afternoon watching, asking if I’m okay, sending Lu over with water, and generally hovering within arm’s reach.
I know today has been the easy part of all this. Tomorrow is the day I bare my soul when I sit down with Daniel and start the actual interview, but having Cam nearby all day has still been a calming presence.
From the outside, our relationship may appear problematic with the number of times we bicker, but for over twenty years, we’ve spent almost twenty-four hours a day, for days at a time, in each other’s company.
And since the kids have mostly moved out, a lot of those days are spent with no one else around.
So, yeah, we do get on each other’s nerves.
I’m a neat freak with OCD tendencies who likes to plan ahead and always be in control.
Cam thinks wet towels hang on the floor or the end of the bed, while also thinking toothpaste is fine to be squeezed from the middle, and he likes to go with the flow and see where the day takes him.
I like loud music, whereas he’d rather watch a documentary, but we work.
Do we have to work to make it work? Of course we do, but he’s my world, and I have no doubt that I’m his.