by Lesley Jones
“Starving.”
“Don’t they feed you at these interviews you do? Looks like you ain’t been fed for a week.”
“Yeah, but it’s not proper food like this. I feel like I’m six again when I open mum’s cupboards. They’re always full of my favourites. You wanna cup of tea? Kettles just boiled”
“Yeah, go on then,” he replied while pulling out a chair and sitting himself down opposite where I’d set out my picnic on the table. He too rearranged the florist shop going on all over the house.
When I headed back to the table with his drink, he was shoving a half of one of my sandwiches into his mouth.
“What the fuck you got in there, crisps?” he asked through a mouthful of food.
“Yeah, cheese and onion.”
He smiled and shook his head. “You’re as bad as your sister. She always puts crisps in her sarnies.”
“Yeah, I know. It was me that introduced her to that culinary delight.” I admitted before taking a bite of my sandwich.
“How’s she doing?” I asked him.
He lets out a long breath and shakes his head again. “She’s not left her room all week, son. She scares me, I gotta tell ya. She needs to get over him and move the fuck on.” He was quiet for a few seconds, so I offered him another half of my sandwich, which he took.
“It’s not just her though, Dad. He hasn’t moved on either, and he obviously wants to let her know how sorry he is.” I gestured with my chin to all the flowers.
“It’s getting on for four fucking years. They were kids. What the fuck is wrong with the pair of them?” my dad questioned, ignoring the fact that I’d just mentioned how sorry Maca was.
“I don’t know, Dad. Apparently love can have all sorts of effects on people.”
“Well, it’s affected them two all right. I ought to bang their fucking heads together. Perhaps that would knock some sense into the pair of them, and then hopefully, we’ll all get some peace.”
I watched as he broke a chocolate biscuit in half and dunked it into his tea. “You not got a bird?” he asked.
“You’re joking, right? After seeing how fucked up things are with my sister and best mate? No thanks. I’ll keep on fucking then forgetting them for a few more years yet, if it’s all the same to you?”
“As long as you’re being careful, son.”
“Always, Dad. My dick never gets wet, it’s always wearing an overcoat,” I assured him.
“That’s good to hear … good to hear.” He pushed up from the table and stood. “Clear up your mess, else your mother’ll go mad in the morning. How long you here for?”
“I’m on a flight out of Gatwick first thing.”
I stood and moved around the table, where my dad pulled me in for a blokey type of cuddle.
“You need to sort things out with your sister, and you need to come home and show your face around here a bit more often, son. I know you’re a big star these days, but you’re still our little boy and we miss you.”
That was so unlike my dad. He never said shit like that and I fought to swallow down the big ol’ lump that I had in my throat.
“I know, Dad, but it’s been hard, ya know. What with work and Georgia not wanting to talk to me, and I feel bad—so fucking guilty for all the shit I’ve caused her and Maca— but I will sort it, I promise. It’s why I’ve come home tonight. She’s gonna have to talk to me before I leave. I’m not giving her a choice.”
He nodded his head and patted me across the back with his big hand. “I understand, son, but just so you know, despite all the bullshit that’s gone on with your sister and that dickhead thing you and your bushy-eyebrowed mate did in France, I’m proud of you, boy—very proud.”
I fought to control the wobble of my chin and didn’t even bother battling the two fat tears that rolled down my cheeks.
“You hear me? Me and your mother, we’re both very proud of what you’ve achieved.”
I nodded because talking around the tennis ball sized lump in my throat was proving to be impossible.
“Love you, boy. G’night.”
“Night, Dad. I love you too.”
I cleared away my mess and headed back upstairs to change into a pair of jogging bottoms and running shoes, thinking that I might have to go for a run before I could get any sleep that night. I splashed my face with water and cleaned my teeth before going to check on Georgia. I sat in the chair near her bed and watched her sleep for a little while. She talked in her sleep, but I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying—something about Sean and a tiger? Well, as long as it was Maca she was dreaming of and not this new bloke, there was still hope, I thought to myself.
Her eyes opened and she shivered.
“Marley George Layton, would you please get in here and give me a cuddle? I’m freezing my fucking tits off.”
I didn’t even attempt to hide the smile from my face. It made my cheeks ache it was so big, but fuck it, my sister wanted a cuddle from her big brother and world-famous bad boy of rock or not, I was over the fucking moon.
“Fuck, it must be cold coz you’ve got some fuckin’ tits to freeze off there girl.”
She shook her head in my general direction, obviously not finding my joke about the size of her boobs funny. I toed off my trainers and climbed into bed beside her. She climbed under the duvet and pulled my back into her front so that she was spooning me.
I was assaulted from all directions by the smell that was so uniquely Georgia and once again, I felt like a six-year-old as I swallowed down the lump in my throat. I’d missed that, I’d missed her, so fucking much.
“Don’t you dare fart on me,” she warned.
“Oh please, George, don’t make out. We all know that you’re the farter of the family.” I wondered if she could hear the smile in my voice as I spoke.
“Yeah right, Marls.” She came back with a sarcastic tone. “Anyway, at least when I fart, it smells of roses. Yours smell like something crawled up your backside and died.”
She gave me a dig in the ribs as she talked.
“Hark at you, fuckin Avon arse,” I responded.
There was a long moment of silence. It hung heavy in the air. Despite the feeling of dread over the conversation we needed to have sitting on my chest, I couldn’t wipe the shit-eating grin off my face.
I was there with my sister, and no matter how uncomfortable the next few minutes were about to become, I was just so fucking happy right then.
“Marls?” she said quietly, her breath making my hair move as she spoke.
“Porge?” I replied.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m so glad you wanted me here,” I told her honestly. I hated that there’d been this rift between us. I know I caused it, but fuck, I really thought that she would’ve forgiven me sooner.
“Let’s never not talk again,” she whispered.
“No problem … Porge?”
“Marls?”
“I’m so sorry, for everything.” I think that was the most honest thing I had ever said in my life at that point.
“I know you are, Marls. Let’s go to sleep.”
I listened to my sister’s breathing even out, her heart beating into my back, and felt happier than I had in a long, long time.
Fuck the fame, fortune, and fake aspects of my life. Family was so much more important. Loving and being loved felt so much better than achieving a platinum selling album. I was acutely aware in that moment of just how miserable Maca must’ve been. I knew he loved my sister in a different way than me, obviously, else that would just be weird. But I thought, right then, that I could understand a little better what he had been going through.
I slid out of my sister’s bed, grabbed my overnight bag and headed downstairs to wait for the car service to come and pick me up. I had a flight at seven thirty, so I was hoping they’d be there by five. I felt bad for leaving before everyone was up, so I left a note on the side, explaining my early flight and promising my mum that I’d be
back soon.
Chapter Sixteen
1989
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.”
We were quiet for a minute, both of us trying to listen over the top of The Jam’s ‘Butterfly Collector.’ He looked around for the remote to the state of the art—for 1989—sound system that he’d had installed.
“Is that crying?” That was what I’d just said.
“I don’t know, Len. Go and have a look,” I suggested. He could do anything, as long as it wasn’t talking to me about furniture.
“Where’s Jim anyway?” I asked him, hoping that he would at least want to go in search of his wife to be.
