by Lesley Jones
Playlist
Bob Dylan—“Just Like A Woman”
Matchbox Twenty—“If You’re Gone”
Train—“Drops Of Jupiter”
Uncle Kracker—“Follow Me”
Blink 182—“All The Small Things
Oasis—“Wonderwall”
The Temptations—“Ain’t Too Proud To Beg”
Ashanti—“Foolish”
Lifehouse—“Hanging By A Moment”
The Real Thing—“I Can’t Get By Without You”
The Calling—“Wherever You Will Go”
Groovejet—“If This Ain’t Love”
Ronan Keating—“If Tomorrow Never Comes”
Bread—“Everything I Own”
Shania Twain—“You’re The One”
Savage Garden—“Truly Madly Deeply”
Glossary of Terms
The following is a glossary of terms which have been used throughout this book. These euphemisms and slang words form part of the United Kingdom’s spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.
Please remember, that the words are not misspelt, they are slang terms and are part of the everyday, United Kingdom and Australian lifestyle. This book has been written using UK English.
If you would like further explanation, or to discuss the translation or meaning of a particular word, please do not hesitate to contact the author – contact details have been provided, for your convenience, at the end of this book.
I hope you enjoy a look into the United Kingdom/Australian way of life.
Arsed—Can’t be bothered doing something.
Bespoke—Created especially for someone, in the same way that you say custom.
Bird—A young woman.
Bloody—Swearword originating in England, used in the middle of words/phrases to emphasise meaning - be it good, sarcastic or bad.
Bog—Toilet.
Bogies—A piece of dried mucus discharged from the nose.
Bollocking—When one is lectured, criticised or reprimanded.
Bollocks—Generally indicates contempt for a certain task, subject or opinion.
Brass—Prostitute.
Charlie—Cocaine.
Divvy—A fool or idiot.
Faffing—To spend time on a non-productive activity; "to waste time".
Fuckeration—The meaning is that whatever you have gotten yourself into, it is one holy fucked up, fuckeration of a mess.
Gaff—House or place.
Gissit—‘Give Us It' or just 'Give It'.
Gobby—Talkative.
Hark—Look at you, or listen to you.
Gregory—Cockney rhyming slang: Gregory Peck – neck.
Krypton Factor—A British game show that tested physical stamina and mental attributes.
Mate—Buddy or a friend.
Narna—To get very angry or to lose it.
Mildred—Vagina.
Off My Tits—To be VERY much under the influence of a substance. Most commonly used as either an excuse or a conversation starter.
Off License—A shop licensed to sell alcoholic beverages for consumption off the premises.
Plonked—Meaning to put something down, unceremoniously.
Scooby—Clue.
Shag—To have sex, or get your fuck on, to score, get some, hit it, tap it, do it.
Shitfaced—Under the influence of drugs or alcohol.
Skin Up—To make a cannabis cigarette.
Soundo—This is London slang for asleep. It derives from the phrase "sound asleep" thus "soundo".
Stellar—A word used when something is outstanding or immense.
Swanning—Posing or posturing around.
Take/ing the Piss—To take liberties at the expense of others, or to be unreasonable.
Tarted Up—To improve the appearance of something.
Telly—Television.
Tits Up—Something that is no longer functioning or working.
Tuppence Worth—A phrase used when someone has brought all the evidence to support his point of view.
Whaz—Urinate.
Whizz—Speed.
Whether side by side
or miles apart
we are sisters.
We may not be connected by hand
but we are always connected by heart.
Prologue
Cam
“No, Tamara, not tonight, not this weekend at all. I’m busy.” Fuck, this woman was getting on my nerves.
“What about lunch on Sunday? We could eat out or I could cook. Then you could have me for dessert. Please, Cami, I didn’t see you last weekend.” Seriously, this bird could not take the hint. I got up from my desk and walked over to the window of my office; it was snowing heavily again as I looked out onto the street below. It was only just after six in the evening, but there was hardly anyone about. The pavements and roads looked white and pretty, hiding the fact that they were, in fact, slippery and dangerous. I wondered if this would have an impact on the numbers we’d get through the doors of the club tonight. I doubted it. Most people didn’t drive to us anyway, most coming by cab and so Charlied up they think they’re invincible; a bit of snow was not gonna stop them. They loved the white stuff, anyway it comes.
“Is that a yes?” Tamara’s voice whined down the phone. If it wasn’t for the fact she gave such good blow jobs and took it up the arse like a retired rent boy, I would’ve kicked her into touch years ago. I have a big dick; what can I say? I’m a big bloke. At six-feet-five inches, I would’ve been laughed at with your average six inches. It would’ve looked lost on my big frame and so the Cock Gods blessed me with about nine, I think. I’d never actually measured it. Well, not since I was thirteen, anyway, or was it twenty? Anyway, the downside of having a big dick was that women gagged when you face-fucked them with any enthusiasm, and they didn’t like the idea of anal and I did, a lot. I could usually talk them round with a few drinks, but Tamara, she was just always up for it, which is why I kept her around.
“So, shall we say one o’clock?”
“What?”
“Lunch, Cameron, Sunday at one. Does that suit?” I blew my hot breath onto the cold window and drew a cock and balls on it, and just to show my maturity, I added spunk spraying from the end.
“No, Tamara. As far as I’m aware, Sunday is still a part of the weekend and like I said, I’m busy all weekend.” I wasn’t; I was going to watch football tomorrow with my brothers and going clay shooting on Sunday. I could’ve made it, but I didn’t want to. If I needed a fuck for the weekend, I would just pull a bird at the club and bang her on a sofa downstairs once we closed, or in my car or hers; never up here in my office, though, never. There’s only one woman I’d ever fucked in this office and that’s the way it would stay, always.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass as my heart felt like it was being squeezed. My balls tightened and my cock twitched as I thought of her, her long legs wrapped around me as I fucked her hard against my office door, well over a year ago now. I turned my head so I could see my chair; the same chair I had at the wine bar, the ‘twirling’ chair as she had called it. Despite the fact it was old and cracked, I’d kept it and had it moved to my office at the new club, all because it reminded me of her. I swallowed down the all-too-familiar ache I felt inside whenever I thought of her.
My office door flew open and Benny filled my doorway.
“Boss, you need to put the telly on now.” He was sweating, more than usual, and looked panicked. Tamara was still waffling on in my earhole. “Gotta go.” I ended the call and threw the phone on my desk as I picked up the remote to the enormous flat-screen telly I’d had put on the wall.
“Ben?” I’d no idea what I was looking for, but I assumed it was something bad.
“Sky News, boss, or any channel. It’s on all of them.” I let out a long sigh. I wasn’t really known for my patience, and Benny’s cryptic clues were beginning to piss me off. I folded my arms and leaned back against my desk, my legs stretch
ed out and crossed in front of me. As I listened to Ben’s heavy breathing next to me, a reporter appeared on the screen. She was on a snow-covered street, with a section of pavement taped off and what looked like an old Mercedes on the path, rather than on the road; the reporter looked freezing as the snow fell around her.
“Lisa Mitchell, Sky News, Brentwood in Essex,” she said into the camera. I looked up at Benny and opened my mouth to say something, when a horrible, indescribable wave of fear, terror even, washed over me as the anchor in the newsroom began to speak. At first, I didn’t hear her words. I just looked at the images behind her head; it was her and him, Kitten, my Kitten, but why was her picture on the news? Then I realised, her baby was due any day. She’d probably had her baby, and because it was his baby, it’d made the news. I didn’t want to know this. I didn’t want to hear about her happy little family. I turned to pick up the remote, about to bollock Benny, because why the fuck would he think I would want to hear this shit? But as I turned back to the telly, there was another reporter outside a hospital.
“Andrew, there is still no official news from the hospital, but from what we are being told, unofficially, is that the lead singer of Carnage, Sean McCarthy, and his heavily-pregnant wife, Georgia, were air-lifted here just before five this afternoon after being hit by an out of control car on Brentwood High Street. The young couple are both said to be in critical condition and are both believed to now be undergoing surgery.” The camera panned around to show a large crowd of reporters, a number of police and what were obviously fans, crying, sobbing and looking stunned.
I knew my mouth was open. I knew I was standing awkwardly, half-twisted between my desk and the telly on the wall, but I couldn’t move. My legs were locked. If I unlocked them, I knew they would give way, and I’d hit the floor. Benny passed me a tumbler filled with what looked like whiskey. I drank it down.
“Get me Bailey Layton on the phone. If you can’t get Bailey, try Frank or Finn. Find out what hospital they’re in.” Benny started making calls from two phones at the same time. I held onto my desk as I walked around it and sat down in my chair, our chair. Benny topped up my glass as he passed me a phone. “Bailey,” is all he said.
“Layton, it’s Cameron King. I’m… I just…”
Fuck
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t form words.
Fuck
A strange, strangled sort of sound escaped from my chest and made its way out of my mouth.
Fuck
I needed to know; good or bad, dead or alive. I needed to know.
“How bad?”
“As bad as it gets.” I wanted to throw up; the glass I had in my hand shattered as I held it.
“Is she… Fuck, what does that mean?”
“She’s in surgery. They’re trying to save her. The baby…” I heard a sob. This big, hard man, who I dealt with on many occasions, who was scared of no one and nothing, was sobbing down the phone to me right now.
“The baby’s dead, Cam. She’s lost her baby. Now they’re trying to save her life, but they can’t stop the bleeding. She keeps bleeding out and they can’t stop it.” He takes a few deep breaths. “Maca’s gone, it was instant. They’ve got him hooked to a machine, but it’s just so George can say goodbye. There’s nothing they can do… Fuck. I don’t know, Cam. Perhaps it’s best if she goes, too. She won’t survive this. She’ll never get through it. I just, I don’t know if we’ll get her back from this.” His sobs grew louder as I shouted to make myself heard. They had to get her through. I couldn’t… I wouldn’t live in a world without her in it, but he was right. I didn’t know how she would get through this. Fuck, I would’ve gladly taken Sean’s place if it meant my Kitten living a happy life. I would’ve given my life for his and the baby. I would’ve given anything to make her happy, to keep her safe.
“She will. She fuckin’ has to.” She couldn’t die; I wouldn’t let her. I’d do whatever was needed. I’d be there. I’d stay away; whatever it took. I would do whatever was needed, but I would get her through this. I’d put her back together once, and I’d do it again when the time was right. When she finally realised she needed me, I would be there and I’d put her back together once again.
Prologue
Georgia
“So, Georgia, it’s good news.” My mum’s hand squeezed my right hand just a little bit tighter; Jimmie couldn’t have squeezed my left any tighter if she tried. I was pretty sure I was going to have nerve damage, or at least some broken fingers, if she didn’t ease up on her grip soon, but my mouth was so dry, I couldn’t say a word. I blinked a few times and watched Doctor Patrick Shepherd, the man who held my future in his hands, or in a test tube, if you wanted to get technical, or would it be biological? Anyway, the direction in which my life was about to go was all dependent on what he told me now. I felt sick. I felt hot. I felt cold… But at least I was feeling; that was something.
“We managed to harvest eight eggs and they have been successfully frozen; now all you need to do is decide on a donor. There’s no rush; take your time and let us know when you’re ready to proceed.”
Eight.
Eight eggs.
Eight chances.
A sob escaped my throat and a tear plopped into my lap as I hung my head. I didn’t want a donor; I wanted Sean. I wanted Sean’s babies. I wanted Sean and I wanted Beau. I wanted my boys back… But I knew that was impossible. I knew they were gone, and I would be so eternally grateful for this opportunity I may potentially been given.
It had been by absolute pure chance that I’d found out there was a possibility of me having a baby of my own, and it was that hope that had kept me going these past nine months since I’d lost my husband and child.
Jimmie and my mum had come with me for a routine check-up with my gynaecologist, just over three months after the accident that ended my world, and it was there that we discovered something no one had been aware of at the time of my emergency surgery…The one remaining ovary I’d been left with after my ectopic pregnancy had been saved, and my eggs were probably still viable.
Jimmie didn’t hesitate; the instant the news registered with the three of us, she instantly offered her womb to carry my child in. She had offered once before when she thought Sean and I were having trouble conceiving, but I didn’t think she actually meant it; she did. She called Lennon from my doctor’s office and simply told him what she had offered to do. She didn’t ask his permission. She told him and he agreed; as long as she was sure, he had no issue with it.
And so began a six-month course of fertility drugs for me, a cocktail of drugs to stimulate my one ovary and lo and behold, we had eight eggs, frozen until I decided on my next step. All Jimmie had requested was I make my choice by the time she was thirty-five; she had four children of her own to look after and really didn’t want to be over thirty-five, pregnant and running around after four kids.
Once again, the love, support and selflessness of my beautiful family had pulled me from the dark, and this time, this time, I was determined to never go back there.
Chapter One
My eyes flutter open, take in the early autumn sun and then close again. I inhale a deep breath; I can smell him. He has been with me in my dream and now I can smell him, all around me, on me; I pull my knees to my chest and let out a sob.
Today is my birthday. The first birthday I have ever had without Sean being on the planet, without Sean existing. Okay, so I didn’t always know him, didn’t even know he existed for my first eleven birthdays, but he was still around, still alive and breathing, living his life. A month before my twelfth birthday, he was there in my back garden, looking at my knickers and asking me to show him my tits. And from that moment, from that day onwards, he had remained in my heart and he will always be there, owning it until the day I died.
I’m thirty-two years old today. I sit up and press my back into the headboard of my bed, still holding onto my knees as I contemplate that thought. For twenty of those years, Sean had been a part of m
y life in some way or another; for almost three of them, he had been my husband. Now he was gone, and somehow, I had to get through today.
The fact that I’d been given the news about the successful harvesting of my eggs less than a week ago is going to make this day more bearable. I know my family are here to hold my hand, to love and support me in whatever way they can. I know Sean will be around, too; he’d just told me in my dream. He’d kissed me senseless and wished me a happy birthday. He’d told me he loved me; that he was sorry he couldn’t be with me, but he needed to be with Beau, and they both wanted me to enjoy my day. Then he said the strangest thing; he told me not to forget to light the candles twice and he hoped I liked my flowers. Then he was gone, and all that was left was the smell of him on my skin when I woke.
I dream of him a lot, and my dreams are always so vivid; his touch, his taste but mostly his smell. I’m always so sure he was really here. I could feel the silkiness of his hair as I ran my hands through it, when I pulled on it as his mouth sucked hard on my nipple, as he kissed his way down my belly; it was all so real.
I take in a deep breath, wipe my eyes and lean across for a tissue to blow my nose. My phone is flashing to alert me of a text message; in fact, there are several. I blow my nose, place the spare pillow in my lap and sit cross-legged on the bed as I read my messages. My brothers, my sisters-in-law, even my older nieces and nephews, who now all own mobile phones, have all messaged to wish me a happy birthday. However, there is one number marked as unknown and I stare at it for a while, debating whether I should open it.
I’d received some beautiful letters from people all over the world after the accident, but I’d also received hate mail wishing me dead and telling me it should’ve been me and not Sean who died. I’ve always received messages from the usual bunch of weirdos spouting filth or God to me, but somehow, a few people had managed to get hold of my parents’ phone number. They’d called me here to scream abuse down the phone, but no one had ever gotten hold of my mobile number. I chew on the skin on the inside of my lip for a few moments, debating what to do; I shrug. “Let’s do this; love me, hate me, reading your message won’t change that,” I say out loud as I press open on the message.
