Page 52 of Marley
We had Jimmie and Lens wedding to look forward to and time to spend with my family. I didn’t know how I was gonna do it, but I knew I had to fix things with Georgia. I know that I’ve said this repeatedly, but now with the wedding looming, I knew it had to be faced. I’m Marley Layton, Rock God for fuck’s sake. Georgia’s my skinny little sister, so what was the problem?
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The tour combined with television appearances, the filming of commercials and magazine shoots, meant that it was August before we were back in England with time on our hands.
Len and Jimmie had bought their first house earlier in the year, but because of our schedule, Maca and I had yet to see it, so a few days after arriving home we were at Len’s door with a couple of bottles of ‘Rare Breed’ and a bottle of Bollinger to celebrate their purchase.
They had decided to remain in the Brentwood area and were fairly close to my parent’s and just up the road from where my sister lived, above her shop.
“Jimmie not home?” I questioned as I put the bottles down on the open plan kitchens work top.
Len shot me a look I didn’t quite understand before saying, “No, she’s out with George, actually.”
Maca turns around from where he was standing and admiring the view of the grounds from the back patio doors.
“Georgia’s gone out?” I asked, “or d’ya mean that Jim’s just gone to G’s for a drink?”
“No, G’s actually going out with Jim and Ash, the girl that works at the shop for her.”
He looked from me to Maca, who I was already studying to try and gauge his reaction.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s been three and a half years. I can’t fucking stop her from going out.” Maca stated.
“Pour him a drink,” I told Len. “Your house is cool, by the way. I love it—well done.”
“Thanks. All Jimmie’s hard work.” He said with a smile. My brother had it so fucking bad for that girl. As much as I one day hoped to find what they had, I sometimes looked at Maca and thought, ‘No thank you, very fucking much.’ I didn’t ever want a woman to have the ability to leave me in the state my sister had left him in for the past three and a half years. I was sure when, or if it ever happened, it would be out of my control, but at that moment, I most certainly wasn’t looking for anything beyond a one night stand.
Len poured us each a bourbon and we went and sat outside to enjoy the sunny summer’s evening.
“What’s up, Len? You look like you’ve got something on your mind, mate?” Maca asked.
My skin prickled when I looked at Len. Maca could read his tells as well as I could. He’d been as close as a brother to the pair of us for almost ten years, and he’d gotten it spot on that night. Len definitely had something bothering him.
“The four-city tour you’re supposed to be doing in the States next year—” Len started.
“The one we asked you to get us out of.” I interrupted. I wasn’t asking him, just reminding him in case he’d forgotten that the label had promised us a year off from touring and recording.
“Yes, fuck face, I’m aware that you did. Just hold your horses and listen to what I’m about to say, would ya?” I flipped Len my middle finger as he spoke. “The plan by the label was to bill this as a double headlining tour, featuring you and Kombat Rock.”
“No way.”
“No fucking way,” Maca and I say over each other.
“Calm the fuck down, the pair of ya. Just listen to what I’m saying. It’s like dealing with four-year-olds sometimes with you two, I swear.”
Len got up and went back inside, leaving us sitting there.
“Shit! I thought he was gonna tell me G was getting married or having a baby or something. I thought I was gonna throw up there for a minute.” Maca said, raking his hand through his hair as he spoke.
I was shocked by what he’d just admitted to me, especially after being so closed off for this past year. All the colour had drained from his face and he had sweat beading on his newly shaved top lip.
“You really worry about shit like that?” I asked him.
“Only every fucking day. Sometimes all day.” I finished my drink, not really knowing what to say.
Len returned, carrying the bottle of Wild Turkey, a bottle of coke, and an ice bucket. He sat them all down on the table. “You might need refills by the time I finish telling you what Jim found out this week,” he said, topping up our drinks.
“Spit it out then, Len, you’re killing us here.” I nagged.
