Page 30 of The Story of Me
“I’m so sorry, I got drunk and then I just fell asleep. My phone was on silent, and I just slept through it ringing.”
“Do you know how worried I was? Do you have any idea? Fuck, George, do you know what was going through my head, what I thought was happening?” He sounds just like my dad when he’s pissed off and I start to cry; not because I don’t like being told off—well, I don’t like it but I deserve it—but it’s because the sound of Bailey’s voice is just making me so homesick. I really want to go home; I want to be around my family, but I’m scared, so scared of going back to England. I’m scared of being back around people and places, around anything that’s going to remind me of Sean. I want to go back, I’m just not sure if I’m ready to. Up until last night’s disaster, my reclusive little life in Australia had worked out well for me. I could be normal, just a normal person with no past of any importance. I know it’s running away from the truth, and I know I’m just hiding from things that need to be faced, but I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to face it all yet: people, the press, the public. I know it’s been a year now, but the ache’s still there and it hurts as much as ever.
“I’m sorry, Bailey. Iamreally sorry for making you think that. I’m sorry for the things I’ve done in the past that would make you think I would do something like that.” I wipe my nose on the back of my hand as I speak into the phone. I can hear my brother crying. “I love you, Bails. I’m so sorry you got me for a sister.”
“George, I wouldn’t swap ya for the world, babe. I might sell ya for a few quid, but I wouldn’t swap ya.” I laugh a little at what he says. My dad used to threaten to sell us to an Arab in the desert when we were little; it’s a saying I haven’t heard in a while.
“Well, you wouldn’t get a lot for me; I’m damaged goods.” I meant it jokingly, but in all honesty, that’s exactly what I am.
“George, you’re not damaged, babe; you’re just…” I can hear his brain tick down the line as he tries to think of a polite way of saying I’m a bit touched in the head. “You’re a beautiful young woman, trying to find her way in life after having the most devastatingly, fucked-up thing happen to her.” I’ve never heard my brother speak so eloquently. Lennon yeah, Marley, occasionally during interviews, but Bailey, never. Because of our age difference and the fact that he wasn’t involved with the band, he is the brother I am least close to. It doesn’t mean I love him any less; I just haven’t shared as many experiences with him.
“I love you, Bails.” I can’t think of what else to say to him.
We chat for a good half hour, about Sam and the kids, my parents, my other two brothers, and then I ask him the question that’s been on my mind since I first called his number.
“What exactly did Cam say when he called you last night?” He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, then I hear him let out a long breath.
“The first time he called, he said he had just spoken to you and you sounded a little off. He just wanted to know where you were living so he could go around and make sure you were all right.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him not to worry. I’d deal with it.”
“Bet that pleased him.”
“Na, George, it fuckin’ never.” I close my eyes. Thinking about how pissed off that would have made control-freak Cam, causes a little tug at my heart. “He got right on the turn and started having a go, saying we should be looking after you better, you shouldn’t be on your own, et cetera. And course, he doesn’t know you’re in fucking Australia, does he, so he’s wanting to know why you’re off your tits at five on a Saturday afternoon, and why ain’t none of us doing anything about it.” I shouldn’t laugh, but after hearing my brother’s strong cockney accent and imagining the conversational standoff that would have gone on between the two of them, I just can’t help it.
“So, how was it left?”
“Well, first he threatened to blow my legs off if I didn’t tell him where you were.”
“What?”
“George, this is Cameron King we’re talking about; he has been known to get a bit nasty.” I’m only too aware of how ‘nasty’ Cam can get. I witnessed him blowing off a bloke’s kneecaps in a pub car park many years ago, but I’m not about to confess that to my brother.
“So then what?”
“I told him if he blew my legs off then he would have no chance of ever getting back with you, and that the ol’ man would hunt him down and blow his fuckin’ head off.”
“Bails!” I shriek at him. I don’t know what bit of his last sentence I’m more pissed off about.
“Look, George, the bloke’s bang in love with ya, babe; he always has been. He was devastated when you got back with Sean, then after the accident, he called constantly.” He goes quiet for a few seconds. “He was actually really good to me. We had a few beers and chatted a few times, ya know, when you weren’t doing so good.” I feel a sharp stab of guilt in my heart at the negative effect my suicide attempts have had on my family. “He’s had his own shit to deal with in the past, George, what with what went on with his misses and kid and everything.”
“Chantelle, yeah, he told me about it.”
“Did he? Strange, really, that you two have both been through something similar, both lost your other half and your babies.” We both remain silent for a few seconds as we get lost in our own thoughts and digest that coincidence. I had in fact thought about that a few times since my birthday; how many people in this world lost a partner and child at the same awful moment? Thankfully, very few but it had happened to both Cam and me.
“He was one of the first people to call me after the accident, like within a couple of hours, George.” I wasn’t aware of this fact; I’d only found out months later, on my birthday, that he had asked about me at all. “He called a couple of times a week in the beginning, just to see how you were doing, asking if there was anything he could do.” He pauses then takes a deep breath. “Why were you talking to him last night, George? How come you were on the blower to him?” I knew this question would come, and I’d already decided I’d be honest with my brother; it was the least I could do.
“When I was out last night, somebody laughed; you know, that big loud laugh Cam has?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, somebody laughed like that, and I just started thinking about him and then when I got home, I was drunk and a little bit stoned and I, erm… I texted him.”
“Georgia!” I felt like I was seven with the way he said my name.
“I know, I know, Bails, but I did it. Don’t judge me, okay. We’ve all sent a drunk text before.”
