by Lesley Jones
“Jimmie’s the same. The house has been lit up like Blackpool since the first of—” He stops and then corrects, “The end of November.”
We give each other a nod, both knowing the importance of the date he was going to say.
The first of December is always a tough day for Georgia. Always has been, always will be. I’ve learnt over the years just to play it by ear. Some years the day goes by quietly, others it’s manic. What has become a tradition is that it’s the date the house gets decorated for Christmas. I think this is just a way to keep her brain occupied and busy.
This year, things changed though. It was like a switch had been flipped inside of Georgia, and she finally found it within herself to leave her guilt behind and see past the grief.
I know there will forever be a part of her that isn’t just mine. A part that I will always share with Sean McCarthy and their babies. I can mostly deal with that. I have the odd moment of self-doubt, but I know that she loves me. I know that what we share is pretty fucking amazing and that we lucked out when we found each other again and then went on to have our kids.
She’s the other part of me. I don’t go in for all the mushy bullshit, but I am seriously not complete if I’m not around her.
Despite sometimes being a mouthy, stubborn, selfish pain in the arse, she has always loved me fiercely and with so much passion that it blows me away. To have gone through all that she has and still have that capacity to love our kids and me the way she does astounds me.
I watch Georgia now as she messes with the laptop connected to the Karaoke machine. We bought that thing as a joint present for the twins a few years back, but it’s the triplets, the terrible trio of Georgia, Jimmie, and Ash who put it to most use. Tonight, they’re joined by Nina.
The girls have just finished murdering “Santa Baby” and are now debating which song should be up for slaughter next.
That’s a lie, actually. Georgia has a great fucking voice, the other three, not so much.
I watch my wife as she smiles towards the laptop, knocks back the champagne that’s in her glass, and turns towards Marley.
“Big brother Marley, come sing with me?” The other girls boo and hiss at being outed, but Georgia just turns her beautiful smile and her glassy eyes towards me. My heart rate accelerates, the way it has done for over thirty years now. The way it always will.
She’s my world.
I have a life I once never dared to hope for, but I got it, and it’s all because of her.
“Top me up, Tiger!” she shouts over the microphone, and because I’m more of a pussy than a Tiger where she’s concerned, I pull a bottle of the bubbly from the ice bucket on the coffee table and head towards her.
I hear a kercha sound from behind me as someone tries to mimic the sound of a whip cracking and turn to give Marley and Reed my middle finger before giving my wife my undivided attention.
I quickly move the bottle of Krug out of the way as Georgia wraps her arms around my neck and slams herself into me.
“Merry Christmas, T. I love you so fucking much.”
“You’re drunk,” I reply.
“Drunk, sober, or somewhere between, I still fucking love ya.”
“Yeah?”
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely, baby.”
“Does that mean I get anal tonight?”
She throws her head back and laughs. My dick twitches, and I can’t help but grind my hips against her.
“Easy, Tiger.” She licks her lips while still grinning at me. “Nice try, but no. That thing is never going to be banging my back doors in, not ever. I can think of somewhere else you can put it, though.”
She’s swaying us from side to side as she speaks, and I can’t help but smile at her drunken attempts to stay upright and focused.
“Yeah, you may be wanna put my baby sister down, King. She might be your wife, but she’s also my singing partner.”
I turn to see Marley heading towards us.
“You tell him, Rock Star!” Ash shouts from somewhere, probably two streets away with her big mouth.
I kiss Georgia’s lips and then her nose. “Sing with your brother, Kitten. Your audience is getting restless.”
“I’m not done with you yet, so don’t go far.”
She attempts to wink at me as I step away, but instead, it turns into a sort of long, drawn-out blink, and I can’t help but chuckle. I love seeing her relaxed amongst her family and friends like this, but I’ve learned from years of loving this amazing woman, that when she’s been drinking, one wrong word said, a song played, an event mentioned, anything that stirs up past painful memories and it’ll be instant tears.
I retreat far enough away to be able to take in the show and stand next to Jimmie. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pull her into my side, and kiss the top of her head.
“You all right?” I question.
Jimmie and Len have had a tough couple of weeks with their eldest daughter, and I know they’ve both been worried sick about her.
“Not bad, it’s not been the easiest of days. We’ve not heard a word from her.” I nod, but really, I have no clue how she must be feeling.
“Queenie doing all right?” Jim asks, obviously wanting to change the subject.
“For now.” I smile down at her as I speak and notice that she too can barely focus.
“What exactly the fuck did they put in that champagne?” I ask her.
She laughs and shrugs. “Dunno, but it’s fucking great.”
We both fall silent for a moment as we watch Georgia and Marley break into song. It’s Elton John and Kiki Dee’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.” It’s been their party piece since they were kids and the reason my daughter is called Kiki.
“She’s so lucky to have you, you know that, right?”
My chest feels strange, and my throat constricts. I give a small laugh.
“I think it’s the other way around, Jim.”
“There’s no one else out there that could have saved her. No one else that could’ve put her back together the way you have. No one else that would put up with her shit the way you do.”
“You’ve been her best mate almost her entire life. You never seem to have a problem putting up with her.”
Jimmie gives me another unfocused, wonky grin and a shrug. “What can I say, I love the skinny bitch.”
I laugh. These girls love each other to the point that I’m actually jealous of how close they are, but they insult each other like they are each other’s worst enemies. Even so, God help anyone else that throws an insult in the direction of any of them, because they’ll soon unite. Georgia, Jimmie, and Ash are a force to be reckoned with individually, but when they join forces, you better get your running shoes on.
“Ditto. Although, I’ve gotta say that my wife ain’t skinny, she’s fucking perfect.”
“You’ve got your beer goggles on, Cam. I’ve seen more fat on a chip.”
I look up as I hear Georgia call into the mic, “Tiger. This way. Now!”
She hands the mic to her brother, grabs my hand, and marches me out of the room to the sound of wolf whistles, clapping and oi oi-ing.
“Dare I ask where the fuck we’re going?” I follow her swaying form out to our laundry. She pulls me into the room, slams the door behind us, and launches herself at me.
Her mouth slams down on mine, and her legs wrap around my waist, her arms around my neck.
I step forward a few paces and lift her up, sitting her back down on the edge of the worktop.
“I need you,” she pleads. Her hot breath hits my ear and the side of my neck. It’s all the encouragement I need.
“Lift your arms baby.” Her top has buttons down the middle, but I can’t be fucked wasting time with that shit and just pull it off over her head.
“Bra,” I order.
“Love it when you’re bossy.”
“No you don’t. You cop the hump when I tell you what to do.”
The room is almost pitch dark, but I can jus
t make out her beautiful smile.
“Not when we’re having sex I don’t. I love it when you take charge.”
I know this, and even if I didn’t, it wouldn’t change anything. Georgia gets away with most things where I’m concerned, but in the bedroom, I’m the fucking boss.
“You gonna let me have your arse then?”
“Answers still no, and unless you have about four inches cut off that thing and lose some girth, it always will be.”
Yeah, I’m the boss in the bedroom—except when it comes to that.
I help Georgia in her fumbling attempts to get my T-shirt over my head, then lean forward and draw one of her nipples into my mouth while brushing my thumb back and forth over the over.
“I fucking love your tits.”
“I love your dick. Help me get my jeans off.”
She undoes her belt, button, and zipper.
“Lift your arse.”
I pull her jeans over her hips and then take off my own as she toes them down her legs and off. Without even checking that she’s wet—I know that she will be—I pull her to the very edge of the worktop and slide inside her.
“Fuck,” we both say at once.
“Feel good, baby?”
“The best.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“Kiss me.”
I slam my mouth against hers and oblige. Our tongues tangle, dual, and taste. I pull away and bite, lick, and suck along her jaw to her ear and down her neck before heading back to her mouth.
I slide my hands under her arse cheeks and lift her slightly, which earns me a groan as I hit her at a different angle.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I tell her.
She leans back on her elbows, allowing me to watch myself slip in and out of her. Sliding one hand out from under her arse cheek, I brush over her clit with my thumb. Her legs tighten around me, her back arches, and I know she’s almost there.
I feel her internal muscles squeeze my cock as she pants, “Coming, Cam, coming.”
“I know, baby, I know. Let it go, Kitten. Give it to me.”
She moans loudly, and that’s all it takes. Two more thrusts of my hips, and I’m letting go inside her while she continues to squeeze and milk my cock.
She lifts herself up and wraps her arms around my neck. The sensation of her tits brushing against my chest makes my dick give a final twitch inside her, and she gives a little giggle.
“Love to hear that laugh, baby.”
“And I love you. Merry Christmas. Thanks for another perfect one.”
LENNON
I watch my wife flop down onto the sofa and tuck herself in between my brother and Reed. She’s smashed, but just at that perfect level of smashed that she won’t suffer too badly in the morning if she has a glass of water, lemonade, or anything non-alcoholic right about now.
I don’t wanna kill her buzz, but I don’t want her suffering tomorrow, either. With all the singing she’s been doing, her throat must be dry anyway. My cock stirs as I think about the perfect cure I have for her parched throat.
I’ve had a semi for her all night anyway. Watching her sing, dance, and move those hips of hers has me adjusting myself constantly.
She woke me up with a blow job early this morning—it’s a Christmas tradition in our house and has been ever since we moved in together, which was a lot of years ago.
I top up my glass with more of Cam’s best bourbon and watch her throw her head back and laugh at something my brother says to her.
I still get a little twinge of jealousy in my gut when I watch them together. Even after all these years, they still flirt exactly the same way that they did when we were all kids. I trust them both implicitly, but … I’m a bloke, and protective of what’s mine. I just can’t help it.
When we were younger, a lot of people thought that Marls and Jimmie were together, and that wasn’t a bad thing. My wife was fourteen when I fell in love with her, which might sound like the stuff of fairy tales, but I was eighteen—so, not so much. Kissing and holding hands was as far as it went, and all of that had to be done in secret. We got away with it until Christmas of 1983, and then Georgia caught us.
I thought it was gonna be the end of my involvement with the band when it all blew up, but we made the best of a bad situation and got on with things. Jimmie and I still kept our relationship secret from her parents until she turned sixteen.
If one of my girls had brought a twenty-one-year-old bloke home when they were just sixteen, I would’ve hit the fucking roof, but Jimmie’s mum and dad were surprisingly cool about it.
Jim’s always had a wise head on her shoulders, and I think her parents trusted her choices.
Right now, I wish my eldest daughter was more like her mum and less like her aunt. I love my sister, but when she was younger, I sometimes worried myself sick with her behaviour, much like I am Paige.
I’m tugged from my thoughts as Cam walks back into the room, my sister trailing behind him. Her hair is freshly brushed, Cam’s isn’t. Both of them have flushed cheeks.
Ash interrupts her rendition of The Waitresses’ “Christmas Wrapping” and asks over the mic, “Is that fresh fuck I smell, Georgia Rae?”
Georgia launches the bottle of water she was carrying at Ash, who catches it like a pro.
Cam heads towards me, obviously in need of a drink, while my sister squeezes herself between Marley and Jimmie on the sofa.
She leans in and kisses Marls on the cheek. “I love you dearly, big brother Marley, but your taste in women is shit. Your wife has a fat mouth.”
“I know, she has no gag reflex, either. They’re two of the reasons I married her.”
“You know it, Rock Star,” Ash states before pretending to deep throat the microphone.
“That woman seriously has no filter,” Cam says from beside me.
“Nope,” I agree. “Never has, never will.”
We both observe our wives in silence. They’re side by side, heads together, deep in animated conversation.
“Looks like Jim is getting a blow-by-blow account of whatever you two have been up to for the past twenty minutes.”
Cam turns his head towards me with his dark eyebrows raised, but before he can say a word, I point my finger at him. “Don’t. I do not want to know. She might be turning fifty, but she’s still my baby sister.”
He throws his head back and gives one of his big booming laughs.
“As if I was gonna tell you I’ve just fucked your sister in our laundry anyway.”
I shake my head and walk away.
“Where’d you get the water from, Porge?” I ask my sister, using her old childhood nickname.
“Don’t call me that. In the fridge in the laundry.”
“Is it safe to go in there? Do I need to watch out for sticky tissues?” I joke.
“Nah, you’re good. I used a tea towel out the drawer and did a thorough clean up.”
“Classy, Porge, classy.” I once again shake my head and walk away. My family seriously have no issues with sharing. Everything.
“Get us a bottle for Meebs please, Len?” Reed calls after me. No clue why he calls his wife Meebs, her name’s Nina.
“I don’t need water, there’s more champagne in the fridge,” Nina protests as I head off to fetch water. When I return, Jimmie’s not where I left her.
George and Marley are belting out a stellar version of The Pogues’ “Fairy Tale Of New York.”
Cam and Reed are sitting on the edge of the sofa, watching them, and Ash and Nina have moved the coffee table out of the centre of the room and look like they’re attempting to waltz around together in the space.
“Where’s Jim?” I ask Cam.
“Went looking for you.” He gestures towards the hallway I just came from.
I retrace my steps and notice a glow coming from under the door of Georgia’s office and open it.
Jimmie’s inside, standing by a shelf with a photo frame in her hand. She turns her head and looks at me. Te
ars fill her eyes and spill down her cheeks.
“Babe?” But I already know what it is she’s looking at. She holds out the frame so that I can see it. It’s a picture of Maca and Marley together. They look so young, but then, it was a long time ago. They’re both wearing tuxedos, their shirts and ties both undone. Maca is swigging a champagne bottle, his eyes laughing into the camera. Marley has a big grin on his face and a cigarette hanging from his lips as he holds on to his bottle.
“I took this photo,” I say quietly, placing it carefully back in its place on my sister’s bookshelf.
“I know. I remember the night. They won best everything, didn’t they? Song, album, video?”
“Yeah,” I say, letting out a long sigh.
“Happy days.”
“They were.”
“We’re so lucky, Len,” Jimmie throws her arms around my neck, and I pull her in close to me.
“They were lucky, babe. For as little time it was, they had each other, and they were in love. When he died, Maca was the happiest I’d ever known him.”
I don’t wanna stand here getting choked up right now, and if we keep reminiscing about the past, it’ll end with the both of us crying.
Things have been tense at home. Our eldest daughter, Paige, has barely spoken to either of us in weeks, and because Georgia refused to extend the invitation to Paige’s boyfriend and his mum, she’d refused to spend Christmas here with us.
I can’t even believe Paige would ask that of my sister. She knows the story, we’ve explained the connection between Georgia, Sean, Marley, and her boyfriend’s parents. Yet, she still asked my sister to extend the invitation to include RJ’s mum, the woman that tried to frame my brother for rape.
I don’t know the person my daughter has turned into since she’s been with RJ, but what I do know, I don’t fucking like, and that’s really horrible thing to feel about your own kid.
Jimmie has been really down about it. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no blame on Georgia’s part. I totally understand why she doesn’t want the bloke or his mother in her house.
Despite the history between his family and ours, in the beginning, we set our differences aside and gave him the benefit of the doubt. Over the past year, I’ve seen changes in my daughter that I don’t like.
