“Yeah, it’s time, Jim; I’m homesick and missing you all. I’ll probably leave sometime next week.”
“Not before the weekend then?”
“No, not before the weekend; I’m not ready to be facing that. I just… I want to be as far away from all of that madness as possible.”
“I understand. How d’ya plan on spending the day?”
“To be honest, I don’t know. The club Jodie’s been working on has its opening night Saturday and we’ve all been invited down to Sydney for that, but it just seems wrong.”
“Why’s it wrong, George?”
“You don’t think going out clubbing on the one-year anniversary of my husband and child’s death is wrong?” She’s quiet for a few seconds.
“I think you need to do whatever it takes to get you through the day. I think you staying in bed all day and crying is the wrong thing to do, George. You’ve spent almost a year locked away, hiding from life. I think this could be the perfect time for you to get back out in the land of the living, and I couldn’t think of anywhere better for you to do it.”
“What d’ya mean?”
“Well, who’s gonna be expecting you to turn up at a club in Sydney? All eyes are gonna be focused on England: they’ll be looking for you at your mum’s, at the cemetery, where the accident happened. I don’t know. But Australia will be the last place they’ll expect ya to make an appearance, mate.”
“What was that?”
“What?”
“That terrible accent you just put on, was that your attempt at sounding Aussie?”
“Good, weren’t it?”
“If you were trying to sound South African, it was fanfuckingtastic.”
“That’s harsh.”
“That’s honest.”
“So how does Roman sound then; what’s he say when you’re banging his brains out… Fair dinkum Sheila, that feels bonza?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“Are you still seeing him?” Hmmm, am I?
“I think Roman and I have run our course. He’s a really nice bloke. He’s helped me to no end and the sex has been good, but we both knew it was just a temporary thing or fling, or whatever.”
“But now it’s over?”
“Yeah, I think it is. I hope we can always be friends and I’ll always be grateful for the way he’s helped me, but I’m coming back to England now so it’s the perfect time to end things.”
“You know what, George? I’m so proud of ya. You sound really good, really together.”
I hold in the laugh at this statement. “I’m getting there, Jim; slowly but surely, I’m getting there. Roman’s been a big part of that. And Jackson.” I let out a big sigh as I think about how far I’ve come in the last couple of months; Saturday night’s mishap aside, of course.
“Mmmmm, Jackson; yum. Is he still as hot?” I hear Lennon say something in the background, and Jimmie say, “Only joking, babe; you’re way hotter than your cousin.”
“Yeah, he’s a good-looking bloke, but he’s also like a brother to me so I don’t even think of him that way. Talking of brothers, does mine wanna say hello?”
“He’s desperate to. Let me know as soon as you make plans. I’ll speak to ya before the…” She pauses for a few seconds, unsure of what to call it. “I’ll talk to ya before the weekend, George. Love ya, babe.” She’s gone and I swallow down the emotions bubbling to the surface as I think of this weekend. One year, one long and lonely year.
“Little sister Georgia, how the fuck are ya?”
“I’m good, big brother Lennon. How’s everyone there? What are the boys doing this weekend?” By the boys, I mean the band, but Len knows that. The boys had struggled since Sean’s death; they wanted to go on in his honour, but at the same time, I think they felt guilty, which was something I totally understood. When I left England, they were about to start auditions for a new guitarist and Marley was going to take over vocals. He had a great voice and would have no problem taking centre stage.
“Yeah, you know, they’re all struggling a little bit.” He sounds a bit evasive.
“What d’ya mean? What happened with the auditions? Did they find a new guitarist?”
He’s quiet for a few seconds. “No, to be honest with ya, George, I don’t think it’s gonna happen. Tommy and Bill have got their own agendas, and I don’t think they really include being part of the band… and Marley, I think Marls is wanting to do his own thing. He’s been writing a lot and I think perhaps he’s thinking of just going it alone.”
“You think or you know? He’s your brother, Len, and you’re his manager, so don’t tell me you don’t know what his plans are.”
“You need to speak to Marley.”
“But I’m speaking to you. What’s the big secret? If the boys wanna call it quits, then I totally understand; that’s their call, not mine. I won’t be pissed off with them. It’ll be sad but I won’t be pissed off.”
“I think that’s the way it’s looking, George. I think they wanna announce something over the weekend, but they’ve all been too scared to approach ya.”
“So why didn’t you? You’re their manager and my brother.” I hear him sigh, but I’m pissed off now; I’ve worked out why nothing’s been said and I’m a little hurt. “You all think I’ll fall apart, don’t you? You all think that if anything is said about the band splitting up, I’ll end up back in the nut house?”
“George…”
“No, Len, I’m disappointed. I was okay; I was doing okay until those bitches started touting their lies around the papers. I’m doing okay now. This weekend’s gonna be hard, of course it is, but I’m doing as well as anyone can expect. You only had to ask me, Len.”
“I’m sorry, George. It’s just... well before, ya know, when you split up, you wouldn’t talk about him or the band. This time, I just thought it would be the same… Or even harder for ya.” I pause to think about that for a few seconds. When Sean and I split up, I couldn’t listen to his songs. I couldn’t hear his name mentioned. I was terrified of accidentally coming across any mention, any link to him, constantly. But now? Now he’s dead; I listen to his music all the time. I have his music as my ring tone. I have pictures everywhere. I even have a picture of Sean, myself and Beau, in those last few moments before Sean died. No tubes, no machine, just us and our little boy, curled up together on a bed, all looking like we were sleeping, and I love that picture. Some may find it weird or warped, but I look at that photo as soon as I wake up in the morning and last thing before I go to bed at night. It brings me peace. It calms me. It helps me cope.
“It hurt differently then. The pain I felt then was different.”
“How? How was it different, George?”
“I was hurt and angry; I was humiliated. He was out there, living his life, and I wanted him back so badly.”
“But ain’t it worse, George? Ain’t the pain worse now?” Lennon’s voice is almost a whisper. My brother wants the answers to these questions, but he’s also terrified of them. He’s probably scared shitless of finding out just how broken I am. And I am. I am so very broken, probably beyond repair, but I’ll hold myself together enough. Coming here has fixed me enough to be able to hold it together for my family, to keep going for them, because what I’ve finally come to realise is that they, too, are broken. Jimmie and Ash tried to tell me how badly my family were coping at the very beginning, but I couldn’t see beyond my own grief back then. I just wanted the pain to be gone. I didn’t particularly want to die, but I just couldn’t bear to go on living. Now, now after a few months away and some time for reflection, I’ve realised my family need to get me through this. We are already, irrevocably, broken and shattered, but we have each other. We heal each other and if I don’t make it, then I feel that my whole family will implode. Not just my parents and brothers but my sisters-in-law and my nieces and nephews; for them, for each and every one of them, I will live with this hole that life has punched through my chest. I will get through one day at a time, and I will do my best to live some semblance of a life.