Page 50 of The Story of Me
“So she wanted a dead husband and baby, did she? Grow the fuck up. That poor girl has been through enough, and if you three are her family, then you should know that.” She looks away from me and down again at who I assume is her brother. I can hear sirens approaching so I take my foot off his throat and hold my hand out to help him up. He takes it and I help him stand, at the same time. I let go of the younger girl, who then smacks me hard around the face.
“That’s for hurting my family, but especially for hurting my cousin. You’re a cunt, now fuck off and find her and put what she said right.” She gestures with her defiant little chin at her sister. “If I find out you’ve broken what we’ve fixed while she’s been here, I’ll hunt you the fuck down and kill you in your sleep.”
I want to laugh, but she reminds me so much of George that I can’t. Instead, I jump into the taxi that’s still sitting at the side of the road and give the driver the name of my hotel. I pull out my phone and call Georgia; it goes to answer phone. I knew she wouldn’t answer. Fucking woman drives me mental.
“Georgia, I know you’re pissed off, but we need to talk. Nothing you heard tonight is how it seems. Please call me back.” I know she won’t call me.Fuck.I can’t believe how this has turned out. How the fuck did I not join the dots and work out that Georgia and Jodie were related? Jodie told me she had a cousin over from England who had recently lost her husband. Georgia told me she was staying with her family in Byron Bay. I remember Jodie saying she was from Byron. Why the fuck didn’t I work it out?
I pay the taxi driver, head straight to the hotel reception and ask them to call British Airways. I need to see if I can get on an earlier flight. I need to get back to England and sort this shit out. Fuck it, everything I said to George earlier has gone out the window. I wanted her to prove she wants to be with me. I wanted her to want me like I want her, but fuck all of that shit now. Now I just need her to know the truth. I hate the thought that she thinks I lied to her. I hate that I’ve caused her more fucking pain. Despite everything she’s been through, she’s not as fragile as she was when I first met her, but I’m still worried that what went on this morning could all have been too much for her. I know she likes me. I think she loves me, but my fucking ego got in the way and I wanted her to prove it, but now I’m worried that I might have pushed her over the edge.
I change sharpish, throw my clothes into my suitcase as quickly as I can and head back down to jump into a taxi for the airport. I’ve managed to get on a nine-thirty flight. I should be back in England by about lunchtime Monday, not too much after Georgia hopefully. I call her again from the back of the taxi as we drive to the airport and again the call goes straight to her answer phone, voicemail, message bank, whatever the fuck they call it nowadays. “Kitten, please, you know I’m gonna come find you. We need to talk and talk we will, so you either get in touch or I turn up at your door. You choose, but I will talk and you will listen. I… I miss you already. Have a safe flight.”
* * *
Because of the last minute change to my flight, I can check straight in and head immediately through to the bar in the first class lounge of the airline. It’s only seven thirty but I need a drink. This is what she does to me. It’s what she’s always done to me. Georgia fucking Layton, the only woman I’ve ever loved. I order a double and knock it back, enjoying the burn as it slides down my throat. I take a look around the lounge, feeling a little disappointed she’s not on this flight. My phone rings and I pull it out of the pocket of the jeans I changed into back at the hotel. I had no choice. I had the Aussie wanker’s blood on my suit trousers and shirt. He bled on my two grand suit trousers, cheeky bastard. I hope the call’s from Kitten, but I can see from the screen that it’s Tamara and I want to break something. I’ve learnt that ignoring her calls doesn’t work, and right now, until I work out if the baby she’s carrying is mine, I need to treat her with kid gloves.
“Good morning, Tamara, what can I do for you?”
“I felt the baby move.” My heart rate accelerates. As much as I hate the circumstances, I’m gonna be devastated if this baby turns out not to be mine.
“That’s fantastic. How are you feeling?” I nod to the barman to pour me the same again and take a seat on one of the stools. There’s a woman with jet black hair and bright red lips sitting further along the bar staring at me. I turn my back. I don’t need her ‘come fuck me’ look right now. She ain’t bad looking, but she’s not on Georgia’s level. Nobody’s as beautiful as her. I run my hands over my unshaven chin and think about how she felt in my arms last night.
“Are you listening to me, Cam?” God, this woman has a whiney voice.Fuck, what if it’s a girl and sounds like her? Why can’t it be Georgia who’s carrying my baby, if that is, this is my baby, because I seriously have no idea how this happened. I’ve only ever had sex without a condom with two women in my entire life; my wife, and once with Georgia in my office. The last time I’d ever had my hands and mouth on her, it was fanfuckingtastic. I shift on the bar stool as I feel myself grow hard thinking about that night. It was wrong. She was married and I never get involved with married women, but fuck, no matter how much time passes, I’m hard whenever I’m around that girl. She just has something that calls to me and I can’t resist her and I know she feels it too.
“So will you?”
“Will I what?” Fuck off, woman.
“Will you be home by Thursday, so you can come to see the consultant with me?”
“No,” I lie “Take the nurse with you. I want to know everything they say.” We still don’t know if everything is going okay with the baby’s development. Tamara was hitting the Columbian marching powder to the tune of fifty quid a day for the first three months of her pregnancy. I’d sent her to a specialised rehab clinic where both her and the baby were weaned off the shit over an eight week period. And I’m now paying for a nurse to be at her side twenty four seven, just to make sure she doesn’t slip off the wagon, which is what she keeps threatening to do whenever I try and get through to her that we’re not and never will be a couple.
“When will you be home then, Cam? We’re missing you.”
“You and the nurse?” I’m such a comedian.
“No, Cameron, me and the baby.”
I take another gulp of my drink. “Tamara, the baby has no concept of who I am, now. Do what the nurse tells ya. Take your vitamins and attend your appointments. I’ll talk to ya later in the week when you’ve seen the doctor.” I end the call, finish my drink and try Georgia again. Fucking woman is so stubborn. “Pick up, Kitten. For fuck’s sake, you’ve made your point. I know you’re pissed off. She ain’t my girlfriend and I don’t even know if it’s my baby. Let me explain for fuck’s sake. I’m gonna tie you to my bed and make you listen when I get home. Just you fucking wait.”
As I end the call, I notice Dracula’s sister is now sitting next to me. Her lips are far too big for her face, obviously pumped full of whatever women have their faces pumped full of to make themselves look ridiculous and about twenty years older than they really are these days. I don’t think that’s the way it’s supposed to work, but that’s the effect they always seem to achieve.
“What d’ya want?” I ask her, annoyed at her invasion of my space. Although if she’s up for it, I could actually put those lips to good use. I’ve got a massive hard on thinking about Kitten and I really don’t fancy having it squashed in my jeans for the next twenty four hours. My phone bleeps with a text message. When I open it, I see it’s from Jodie.
‘Revenge… What a great feeling’
For fuck’s sake, what does that mean? Fucking women.
Morticia’s hand is squeezing the top of my leg as she leans in and says, “My, aren’t you popular.” I look from her hand to her mouth.
“Darlin’, you have no fuckin’ idea. Now, either get yourself in the bogs and give me a blow job or fuck right off to where you came from.”
She pouts her already pouty lips. I look over her face. Her makeup looks like it’s been laid on with a trowel. I fucking hate too much make-up on a woman; swearing and too much make-up are two things I can’t stand. Kitten was wearing too much makeup on Saturday night. Don’t get me wrong. She still looked fucking gorgeous; she always looks gorgeous, but when she showered and took it all off, she looked stunning. She takes my breath away. Even just thinking about her, I can feel my chest, and my balls for that matter tighten. Fuck, fucking woman.
“And what’s in it for me?”
Shit, I’d forgotten about Morticia Adams next to me. Her hand is now rubbing my cock through my jeans, which is now like a battering ram, thanks to thoughts of Georgia showering, taking off her makeup, her clothes. I finish my drink. “What’s in it for you, love, is a mouthful of my spunk; spit it, swallow it, rub it in your wrinkles, I don’t really give a fuck, now make up your mind, or fuck off.”
She gets up from her stool and says, “Meet me in the disabled toilets in a couple of minutes.” Fuck that. I ain’t waiting. Two of us in the one carzey, everyone’s gonna know what’s happening anyway.
