I have tears running from my eyes now; they’re running into my ears and around the back of my neck. “But it’s not even been a year. It’s too soon.”
“And what, after next Saturday, it’ll be all right? You’re talking bollocks, George, and you know it.” My heart leaps at the mention of next Saturday; all my thoughts, all my memories have started with ‘This time last year…’ but after Saturday that would be gone. All the time it was ‘just’ a year ago, I could justify that moving on was wrong, too soon, but when my thoughts start with ‘This time the year before last’, it sounds like it’s a long time ago. It sounds long enough ago for me to be moving on, to be letting go. A sob comes from within me that I have no control over, then another.
“I want them back, Jim. I just want them back.” My chest and my throat burn. I roll onto my side and curl up into the foetal position, still holding the phone to my ear.
“Don’t do this, George. Please don’t do this. Fuck, I wish I was there.”
I choke on my words as I almost tell her I wish she was here, too, but I disguise it as another sob. If I ask her, I know she’ll come, and as much as I would like that, I need to get through this on my own. I need to prove to everyone, especially myself, that I can get through these next few weeks. Sometime in the very near future, I want to become a mother, and if I can’t get through this, then how am I ever going to raise a child on my own? That thought is all I’m living for right now; it’s all that’s keeping me going. My family and the hope I have for one day having a baby are what make me get out of bed each day, if I’m totally honest with myself.
“I’m sorry, Jim. I’m just having a moment.” I cover my mouth with my free hand so she can’t hear my sobs or my gasps for air.
“I know, babe, and you’re quite entitled to; it’s just hard hearing you so upset when you’re so far away.” She’s quiet for a few moments, and I hear her sniff. “Look, George, Len’s saying that the music channels are going to be playing wall-to-wall Carnage music, interviews and documentaries all weekend. I don’t know if they have Sky over there, but I just wanted you to know that the coverage is going to be intense, and there’s been a lot of requests at the label for info as to when the memorial service will be.”
I let out a long sigh; I don’t want to talk about this anymore. “I don’t know, Jim. Next year sometime, June maybe, on Sean’s birthday.”
Sean and Beau’s funeral had been private. The streets had been absolutely rammed with his fans and just general members of the public showing their respect, but the church service and burial had been family and very close friends. I had agreed to a more-public memorial service at a later date, and I probably would’ve let it be arranged for the first anniversary if I had still been in England. Since that wasn’t the case, it would have to be next year now.
“There’s no pressure, George; whenever you’re ready. There’s just a lot of people who want to show their respects.”
My head’s pounding and my throat aches from the sobs I’m suppressing. Some days, only a good cry will do. I just want to end this conversation and have that good cry right now.
“I know they do, Jim, and it will happen; I just need to get through this next week, and then perhaps I can think about it. I love you, Jim; kiss them babies and my car-wanker brother for me. I need to go.” I don’t wait for her goodbye; I end the call before she can hear me cry. I just can’t hold it in any longer. I grab the pillow and hold on to it, squeeze it to me, wishing everything about my life was different.
I think I’m imagining things a little while later when I feel the bed dip beside me and someone strokes their hand over my hair. I open my eyes to see Roman standing up from the bed; he pulls off his jeans and T-shirt and lies back down next to me. He rolls me on my side and spoons into my back, pulling me into him tightly; he kisses the top of my head continuously while I cry.
“Let it out, George; let it all out, baby.” I have this sudden urge to talk, to tell him everything.
“I want it to stop, Rome. I’m so sick of the pain, all day, every day; it hurts so fucking much.” I turn around and face him. “Help me, Rome. Help me make it go away; help me to forget, just for a little while.” He kisses away the tears on my cheeks; my mouth finds his and I kiss him, hungrily; my tongue invades his mouth.