Текст книги "The Story of Me "
Автор книги: Lesley Jones
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Book 2 – The Story of Me
Lesley Jones
Carnage
Book 2 – The Story of Me
Lesley Jones
Copyright 2014 Lesley Jones
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organisations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the Author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Cover design by Rebel Edit & Design
Formatting by Swish Design & Editing
Editing by Hot Tree Editing
Cover image Copyright 2014
Dedication
Whether side by side
or miles apart
we are sisters.
We may not be connected by hand
but we are always connected by heart.
Glossary of Terms
The following is a glossary of terms which have been used throughout this book. These euphemisms and slang words form part of the United Kingdom’s spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.
Please remember, that the words are not misspelled, they are slang terms and are part of the everyday, United Kingdom and Australian lifestyle. This book has been written using UK English.
If you would like further explanation, or to discuss the translation or meaning of a particular word, please do not hesitate to contact the author – contact details have been provided, for your convenience, at the end of this book.
I hope you enjoy a look into the United Kingdom/Australian way of life.
Arsed
Can’t be bothered doing something.
Bespoke
Created especially for someone, in the same way that you say custom.
Bird
A young woman.
Bloody
Swearword originating in England, used in the middle of words/phrases to emphasize meaning – be it good, sarcastic or bad.
Bog
Toilet.
Bogies
A piece of dried mucus discharged from the nose.
Bollocking
When one is lectured, criticised or reprimanded.
Bollocks
Generally indicates contempt for a certain task, subject or opinion.
Brass
Prostitute.
Charlie
Cocaine.
Divvy
A fool or idiot.
Faffing
To spend time on a non-productive activity; "to waste time".
Fuckeration
The meaning is that whatever you have gotten yourself into, it is one holy fucked up, fuckeration of a mess.
Gaff
House or place.
Gissit
'Give Us It' or just 'Give It'.
Gobby
Talkative.
Hark
Look at you, or listen to you.
Gregory
Cockney rhyming slang: Gregory Peck – neck.
Krypton Factor
A British game show that tested physical stamina and mental attributes.
Mate
Buddy or a friend.
Narna
To get very angry or to lose it.
Mildred
Vagina.
Off My Tits
To be VERY much under the influence of a substance. Most commonly used as either an excuse or a conversation starter.
Off License
A shop licensed to sell alcoholic beverages for consumption off the premises.
Plonked
Meaning to put something down, unceremoniously.
Scooby
Clue.
Shag
To have sex, or get your fuck on, to score, get some, hit it, tap it, do it.
Shitfaced
Under the influence of drugs or alcohol.
Skin Up
To make a cannabis cigarette.
Soundo
This is London slang for asleep. It derives from the phrase "sound asleep" thus "soundo".
Stellar
A word used when something is outstanding or immense.
Swanning
Posing or posturing around.
Take/ing the Piss
To take liberties at the expense of others, or to be unreasonable.
Tarted Up
To improve the appearance of something.
Telly
Television.
Tits Up
Something that is no longer functioning or working.
Tuppence Worth
Phrase used when someone has brought all the evidences to support his point of view.
Whaz
Urinate.
Whizz
Speed.
Acknowledgments
So, where do I begin with the thank yous for this one?
When I wrote Carnage, I really did intend for it to be a standalone and I honestly prepared myself for some major backlash because of the non HEA, and although I have had that to some degree, the general reaction to Carnage has knocked me sideways. I truly never imagined it would get the response that it has. I really hope I’ve given Georgia the ending she deserved, and regardless of what team you are on, you have enjoyed reading the conclusion of her story.
So, the thank yous, the list this time, really is endless.
As always, I’d like to thank my family, especially my husband, my rock, my Tiger. Without him, this book and possibly the last may never have happened.
To my SC ladies, Vix, Kaz, Wendy, Chell, Tash and Nic, thank you for the chats and for keeping me grounded.
To my publicist, Jen Freligh, thank you, thank you, thank you for all that you do and for always having my back and for having the best HC pics, that somehow, just keep me inspired to write another chapter.
To the admin team and all of the members of the Carnage Support Page, you ladies really do rock. I mean, seriously, ROCK, YES, SHOUTY CAPS!
My betas and my Angels, again a massive thank you for your tireless pimping and getting the word out there.
To every blogger out there who has allowed my book to be mentioned on their page or who has gone all the way and reviewed my work. I thank you for all of your support and just want you to know how much you are truly appreciated.
Thank you to Margreet Asselberg for my amazing cover and to Mandy and Becky from Hot Tree Editing. It’s been an absolute pleasure to work with you.
To each and every one of my readers, I thank you for your support and your dedication. You’re a fearsome bunch and I love the passion that you show for my books. Hopefully, over the next year or so, I will get to meet a whole lot more of you.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Glossary of Terms
Acknowledgments
Prologue – Cam
Prologue – Georgia
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Play List
Connect with Me Online
Lesley Jones
Prologue – Cam
“No, Tamara, not tonight, not this weekend at all. I’m busy.” Fuck, this woman was getting on my nerves.
“What about lunch on Sunday? We could eat out or I could cook. Then you could have me for dessert. Please, Cami, I didn’t see you last weekend.” Seriously, this bird could not take the hint. I got up from my desk and walked over to the window of my office; it was snowing heavily again as I looked out onto the street below. It was only just after six in the evening, but there was hardly anyone about. The pavements and roads looked white and pretty, hiding the fact that they were in fact slippery and dangerous. I wondered if this would have an impact on the numbers we’d get through the doors of the club tonight. I doubted it. Most people didn’t drive to us anyway, most coming by cab and so Charlied up they think they’re invincible; a bit of snow was not gonna stop them. They loved the white stuff, any way it comes.
“Is that a yes?” Tamara’s voice whined down the phone. If it wasn’t for the fact she gave such good blow jobs and took it up the arse like a retired rent boy, I would’ve kicked her into touch years ago. I have a big dick; what can I say? I’m a big bloke. At six-feet-five inches, I would’ve been laughed at with your average six inches. It would’ve looked lost on my big frame and so the Cock Gods blessed me with about nine, I think. I’d never actually measured it. Well, not since I was thirteen, anyway, or was it twenty? Anyway, the down side of having a big dick was that women gagged when you face-fucked them with any enthusiasm, and they didn’t like the idea of anal and I did, a lot. I could usually talk them round with a few drinks, but Tamara, she was just always up for it, which is why I kept her around.
“So, shall we say one o’clock?”
“What?”
“Lunch, Cameron, Sunday at one. Does that suit?” I blew my hot breath onto the cold window and drew a cock and balls on it, and just to show my maturity, I added spunk spraying from the end.
“No, Tamara. As far as I’m aware, Sunday is still a part of the weekend and like I said, I’m busy all weekend.” I wasn’t; I was going to watch football tomorrow with my brothers and going clay shooting on Sunday. I could’ve made it, but I didn’t want to. If I needed a fuck for the weekend, I would just pull a bird at the club and bang her on a sofa downstairs once we closed, or in my car or hers; never up here in my office, though, never. There’s only one woman I’d ever fucked in this office and that’s the way it would stay, always.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass as my heart felt like it was being squeezed. My balls tightened and my cock twitched as I thought of her, her long legs wrapped around me as I fucked her hard against my office door, well over a year ago now. I turned my head so I could see my chair; the same chair I had at the wine bar, the ‘twirling’ chair as she had called it. Despite the fact it was old and cracked, I’d kept it and had it moved to my office at the new club, all because it reminded me of her. I swallowed down the all-too-familiar ache I felt inside whenever I thought of her.
My office door flew open and Benny filled my doorway.
“Boss, you need to put the telly on now.” He was sweating, more than usual, and looked panicked. Tamara was still waffling on in my earhole. “Gotta go.” I ended the call and threw the phone on my desk as I picked up the remote to the huge flat-screen telly I’d had put on the wall.
“Ben?” I had no idea what I was looking for, but I assumed it was something bad.
“Sky News, boss, or any channel. It’s on all of them.” I let out a long sigh. I wasn’t really known for my patience, and Benny’s cryptic clues were beginning to piss me off. I folded my arms and leaned back against my desk, my legs stretched out and crossed in front of me. As I listened to Ben’s heavy breathing next to me, a reporter appeared on the screen. She was on a snow-covered street, with a section of pavement taped off and what looked like an old Mercedes on the path, rather than on the road; the reporter looked freezing as the snow fell around her.
“Lisa Mitchell, Sky News, Brentwood in Essex,” she said into the camera. I looked up at Benny and opened my mouth to say something, as a horrible, indescribable wave of fear, terror even, washed over me as the anchor in the newsroom began to speak. At first, I didn’t hear her words. I just looked at the images behind her head; it was her and him, Kitten, my Kitten, but why was her picture on the news? Then I realised, her baby was due any day. She’d probably had her baby, and because it was his baby, it’d made the news. I didn’t want to know this. I didn’t want to hear about her happy little family. I turned to pick up the remote, about to bollock Benny, because why the fuck would he think I would want to hear this shit? But as I turned back to the telly, there was another reporter outside a hospital.
“Andrew, there is still no official news from the hospital, but from what we are being told, unofficially, is that the lead singer of Carnage, Sean McCarthy, and his heavily-pregnant wife, Georgia, were air-lifted here just before five this afternoon after being hit by an out of control car on Brentwood High Street. The young couple are both said to be in critical condition and are both believed to now be undergoing surgery.” The camera panned around to show a large crowd of reporters, a number of police and what were obviously fans, crying, sobbing and looking stunned.
I knew my mouth was open. I knew I was standing awkwardly, half-twisted between my desk and the telly on the wall, but I couldn’t move. My legs were locked. If I unlocked them, I knew they would give way and I’d hit the floor. Benny passed me a tumbler filled with what looked like whiskey. I drank it down.
“Get me Bailey Layton on the phone. If you can’t get Bailey, try Frank or Finn. Find out what hospital they’re in.” Benny started making calls from two phones at the same time. I held onto my desk as I walked around it and sat down in my chair, our chair. Benny topped up my glass as he passed me a phone. “Bailey,” is all he said.
“Layton, it’s Cameron King. I’m… I just…”
Fuck
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t form words.
Fuck
A strange, strangled sort of sound escaped from my chest and made its way out of my mouth.
Fuck
I needed to know; good or bad, dead or alive. I needed to know.
“How bad?”
“As bad as it gets.” I wanted to throw up; the glass I had in my hand shattered as I held it.
“Is she… Fuck, what does that mean?”
“She’s in surgery. They’re trying to save her. The baby…” I heard a sob. This big, hard man, who I dealt with on many occasions, who was scared of no one and nothing, was sobbing down the phone to me right now.
“The baby’s dead, Cam. She’s lost her baby. Now they’re trying to save her, but they can’t stop the bleeding. She keeps bleeding out and they can’t stop it.” He takes a few deep breaths. “Maca’s gone, it was instant. They’ve got him hooked to a machine, but it’s just so George can say goodbye. There’s nothing they can do… Fuck. I don’t know, Cam. Perhaps it’s best if she goes, too. She won’t survive this. She’ll never get through it. I just, I don’t know if we’ll get her back from this.” His sobs were louder and I shouted to make myself heard. They had to get her through. I couldn’t… I wouldn’t live in a world without her in it, but he was right. I didn’t know how she would get through this. Fuck, I would’ve gladly taken Sean’s place if it meant my Kitten living a happy life. I would’ve given my life for his and the baby. I would’ve given anything to make her happy, to keep her safe.
“She will. She fuckin’ has to.” She couldn’t die; I wouldn’t let her. I’d do whatever was needed. I’d be there. I’d stay away; whatever it took. I would do whatever was needed, but I would get her through this. I had put her back together once, and I’d do it again when the time was right. When she finally realised she needed me, I would be there and I’d put her back together again.
Prologue – Georgia
“So, Georgia, it’s good news.” My mum’s hand squeezed my right hand just a little bit tighter; Jimmie couldn’t have squeezed my left any tighter if she tried. I was pretty sure I was going to have nerve damage, or at least some broken fingers, if she didn’t ease up on her grip soon, but my mouth was so dry, I couldn’t say a word. I blinked a few times and watched Doctor Patrick Shepherd, the man who held my future in his hands, or in a test tube, if you wanted to get technical, or would it be biological? Anyway, the direction in which my life was about to go was all dependent on what he told me now. I felt sick. I felt hot. I felt cold… But at least I was feeling; that was something.
“We managed to harvest eight eggs and they have been successfully frozen; now all you need to do is decide on a donor. There’s no rush; take your time and let us know when you’re ready to proceed.”
Eight.
Eight eggs.
Eight chances.
A sob escaped my throat and a tear plopped into my lap as I hung my head. I didn’t want a donor; I wanted Sean. I wanted Sean’s babies. I wanted Sean and I wanted Beau. I wanted my boys back… But I knew that was impossible. I knew they were gone, and I would be so eternally grateful at this chance I had been given.
It had been by absolute pure chance that I’d found out there was a possibility of me having a baby of my own, and it was that hope that had kept me going these past nine months since I’d lost my husband and child.
Jimmie and my mum had come with me for a routine check-up with my gynaecologist, just over three months after the accident that ended my world, and it was there that we discovered something no one had been aware of at the time of my emergency surgery…The one remaining ovary I had left with after my ectopic pregnancy had been saved, and my eggs were probably still viable.
Jimmie didn’t hesitate; the instant the news registered with the three of us, she instantly offered her womb to carry my child in. She had offered once before, when she thought Sean and I were having trouble conceiving, but I didn’t think she actually meant it; she did. She called Lennon from my doctor’s office and simply told him what she had offered to do. She didn’t ask his permission. She told him and he simply agreed; as long as she was sure, he had no issue with it.
And so began a six-month course of fertility drugs for me, a cocktail of drugs to stimulate my one ovary and lo and behold, we had eight eggs, frozen until I decided on my next step. All Jimmie had requested was I make my choice by the time she was thirty-five; she had four children of her own to look after and really didn’t want to be over thirty-five, pregnant and running around after four kids.
Once again, the love, support and selflessness of my beautiful family had pulled me from the dark, and this time, this time, I was determined to never go back there.
Chapter One
My eyes flutter open, take in the early autumn sun and then close again. I take a deep breath in; I can smell him. He has been with me in my dream and now I can smell him, all around me, on me; I pull my knees to my chest and let out a sob.
Today is my birthday. The first birthday I have ever had without Sean being on the planet, without Sean existing. Okay, so I didn’t always know him, didn’t even know he existed for my first eleven birthdays, but he was still around, still alive and breathing, living his life. A month before my twelfth birthday, he was there in my back garden, looking at my knickers and asking me to show him my tits. And from that moment, from that day onwards, he had remained in my heart and he will always be there, owning it till the day I died.
I am thirty-two years old today. I sit up and press my back into the headboard of my bed, still holding onto my knees as I contemplate that thought. For twenty of those years, Sean had been a part of my life in some way or another; for almost three of them, he had been my husband. Now he was gone, and somehow, I had to get through today.
The fact that I had been given the news about the successful harvesting of my eggs less than a week ago is going to make this day more bearable. I know my family are here to hold my hand, to love and support me in whatever way they can. I know Sean will be around, too; he’d just told me in my dream. He’d kissed me senseless and wished me a happy birthday. He’d told me he loved me; that he was sorry he couldn’t be with me, but he needed to be with Beau, and they both wanted me to enjoy my day. Then he said the strangest thing; he told me not to forget to light the candles twice and he hoped I liked my flowers. Then he was gone, and all that was left was the smell of him on my skin when I woke.
I dream of him a lot, and my dreams are always so vivid; his touch, his taste but mostly his smell. I am always so sure he was really here. I could feel the silkiness of his hair as I ran my hands through it, when I pulled on it as his mouth sucked hard on my nipple, as he kissed his way down my belly; it was all so real.
I take in a deep breath, wipe my eyes and lean across for a tissue to blow my nose. My phone is flashing to alert me of a text message; in fact, there are several. I blow my nose, place the spare pillow in my lap and sit cross-legged on the bed as I read my messages. My brothers, my sisters-in-law, even my older nieces and nephews, who now all own mobile phones, have all messaged to wish me a happy birthday. However, there is one number marked as unknown and I stare at it for a while, debating whether I should open it.
I had received some beautiful letters from people all over the world after the accident, but I had also received hate mail wishing me dead and telling me it should have been me and not Sean who died. I had always received messages from the usual bunch of weirdos spouting filth or God to me, and somehow, a few people had managed to get hold of my parents’ phone number. They had called me here to scream abuse down the phone, but no one had ever gotten hold of my mobile number. I chew on the skin on the inside of my lip for a few moments, debating what to do; I shrug. “Let’s do this; love me, hate me, reading your message won’t change that,” I say out loud as I press open on the message.
Georgia, I know today will be a tough one for you, but I just wanted you to know I am thinking of you. I’ve checked in with your parents and Bailey every couple of weeks, and they tell me you’re doing as well as can be expected. I’ve wanted to talk to you for ages, but felt it was too soon; that you wouldn’t be ready. But I couldn’t let today pass without wishing you the happiest birthday you can possibly manage, and remember, I’m always here for you, if ever you need to talk, or just to get away.
Cam x
Wow. I stare at the message and read it at least five more times. He’s been checking on me with my brother and parents? My mum told me he called in the early days and I had felt grateful, but it had all been such a blur. He had always been so good to me, and I had treated him appallingly. I’d treated a lot of people appallingly at some stage or another in my life, but Cam especially.
I hadn’t really thought too much about Cam since Sean’s death. Then again, I hadn’t really thought too much about anything since Sean’s death; I had just focused on getting through each day. But before that, after the whole house-buying incident and Sean finding out about him being the previous owner of our old home, I had, in fact, gone out of my way not to think of Cam.
In the months since I lost Sean and Beau, I rarely left my parents’ house. My dad had set me up with a home office in the soundproofed room on the grounds, and from there, I re-immersed myself in the running of Posh Frocks, mine and my mum’s business, and I also became involved in a fair bit of charity work.
Sean was wealthy, very wealthy, and all he owned and all the future royalties from his music came to me; it was more money than I could spend in my lifetime. I had taken care of my brother Bailey’s mortgage and set up a trust fund for each of my nieces and nephews. I had given money to Sean’s family, despite the fact that he hadn’t included them in his will. I gave money to his mum, his dad and the half-brother and sister he had never met; the children his mum had gone on to produce after leaving Sean’s dad. They were now all set for life. My family didn’t need any help; they all had money in their own right. Bails was the only one with a mortgage and a loan, so I dealt with that and decided there were still far too many zeroes at the end of my bank balance. I didn’t want anything, nothing money could buy anyway, so I gave some to charity. I donated to the drug rehabilitation charity Sean had supported for so many years and I started a few new ones, mainly involving young people, music and fashion, and I ran my little empire from the studio in my parents’ backyard.
I had never once been back to the farmhouse that Sean and I owned. The contents were packed up and stored, all my personal stuff was brought over to my mum’s, and I had moved back into my old bedroom permanently, but I spent a lot of nights in my office, sleeping on the old Chesterfield that had been around for years. I still have nightmares about the accident, and I hate waking my parents up with them, so if I sleep in there, they’ll never know. Well, of course, they knew; they weren’t stupid, but at least they didn’t have to hear me scream and cry, and they could get a sound night’s sleep. In return, I usually got Sean in my dreams.
I stare down at my phone and wonder whether I should reply. I smile as I think about how formal the text sounds; no abbreviations, none of the text talk my other messages contained. He would be about fortyish by now, so I bet texting wasn’t something he usually did, and for some reason, the thought of Cam’s big fingers trying to type out a message makes me smile; a real, genuine smile that feels a little alien to me, since it has been so long. Before I think about it any longer, I reply.
How many attempts did that take with those huge sausage fingers of yours?
I stare at my phone for a few seconds, waiting on a reply; when none comes, I reply to all my other messages and then go into my bathroom for a wee. When I return, there is a message flashing.
NINETEEN
This texting nonsense is a load of bollocks! Why don’t people just pick up the telephone and speak to each other in a civilised way?
And just so you know, this took me twelve attempts, but at least now I know how to write in capitals. I just can’t find the numbers yet.
Cam x
That strange thing happened to my face again; the muscles in my cheeks seem to have a mind of their own this morning and keep forcing my lips into a smile. It feels quite nice.
LOL, u r funny
I pull on an old pair of Sean’s joggers and an old hoodie of his; I am already wearing his T-shirt since I only ever sleep in his clothes. I put my hair up in a scrunchy, pick up my phone and stare at the door. I can do this. I am going to get through today and I am going to smile as I do. My family has been through so much alongside me, and much of it has been unnecessary and caused by my own selfishness. I am determined not to give them any cause for worry today. I turn my phone from silent to ring and head out the door in search of coffee.
* * *
The house is empty, which is unusual since my parents have been up my arse like a pair of knickers for the past ten months. I can’t blame them; I put everyone through Hell in the first few months after Sean died. I behaved selfishly and twice attempted to take my own life, without a single thought for the effect it would have on anyone else. As much as living hurt, it’s not something I plan on putting anyone through again.
There is a note on the table telling me my mum and dad have gone to the shops. The whole family are coming over tonight, and they have to buy food and alcohol.
I asked that we kept things low-key; I wasn’t ready to celebrate anything in my life yet, but my brothers insisted we all spend the evening together regardless. We would have to have a cake, though; they insisted, just for the sake of the children, who would want to blow out the candles at least nineteen times, and my mum would let them. And anyway, I always looked forward to spending time with my crazy-arsed family, so I am actually looking forward to it.
My phone pings, alerting me of another text. I flick on the coffee machine and sit at the bench while it percolates.
What language are you speaking, Kitten?
Oh, and I’ve found how to work the number thing
12345678910
Kitten. He calls me Kitten. God, I used to love it when he did that. My insides squirm a little bit for some reason, and I laugh to myself as I read the message and pour my coffee, wearing a stupid grin on my face. I’m thinking of a reply and about to sit down when the buzzer sounds for the electric gates at the front of my parents’ property. I stare at the intercom for a few seconds, not sure what I should do. I jump as they buzz again; then my mobile rings and I jump so badly this time, it causes me to spill coffee all down myself.
“Shit,” I say to no one in particular, my mum’s number flashing on the screen.
“Mum, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t worry about getting the gates; we’re coming through them now.”
“Okay,” I say and end the call. Well, that was a pointless conversation since I could actually hear Mum and Dad pulling up outside. My mum has only recently gotten her first mobile phone and the idea is still novel to her; she will even call me from the next room, just because she can. She is on a one-hundred-and-eighty-minute plan, and is determined to use every bloody one of them; she’s even called Marley while he was in the toilet and told him to make sure he washed his hands. Marley pretended he’d gotten crap on his phone by answering it and had chased her around the house, waving it while she screamed for ten minutes. Marley’s phone has since become known as the ‘shitty phone’ and no one will touch it.
I walk to the front door, wiping the coffee from the front of my hoodie onto the sleeve, where it would be less obvious. I open the door as Mum reaches it, carrying a massive bouquet of creamy-white arum lilies; my stomach lurches and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed. I think I pant or gasp for a few seconds trying to get my breath. I look at my mum, who’s as wide-eyed as me.
“There was a florist trying to deliver these at the gate; this was with them.”
She passes me the bouquet and a thick, cream-coloured envelope. My breath leaves my lungs, my legs start to go from under me and I think I see my mum’s front step come towards me as she screams my name. My dad rushes towards me and then nothing.
