“G’Day, Georgia’s phone, Roman Peterson speaking, can I help you?” He puts the phone on loudspeaker so I can listen, and I hear Jimmie’s shriek from where Roman has the phone held out in front of him. He pulls a face and moves it further away quickly. I snatch the phone from him.
“Jim?” I can hear what sounds like Jimmie and Ashley both cackling down the line.
“Oh, my God, George, that accent!”
“Go you, George! Did ya blow on his didgeridoo?” I turn to Roman and shake my head; the girls are so loud, but he’s just grinning, his eyes sparkling as he does.
“Are we gonna have a sensible conversation, or shall we just speak tomorrow?” I ask. My heart aches a little at the thought of them together on a Friday night. I wonder if the boys are there, too; if they’ve had a cosy night in, all together, a couples night, with all the kids running around like crazy and me, not a part of it. I have no one to be a couple with; I have no crazy kids to run around, no husband—not a living, breathing one anyway. The good mood I woke with vanishes in an instant. I hate feeling jealous and bitter, but sometimes, it just sneaks up and takes over my head and my heart. I end the call, turn my phone to silent, put it down on the chest of drawers and drink my coffee.
I can feel Roman’s eyes on me but I don’t look at him; I can’t right now. I’m too busy hating myself for being jealous of my two best friends.
“You okay?’ he asks from beside me, and I nod as I finally turn towards him.
“They’re drunk. It’s pointless trying to talk to them when they’re like that.”
He nods his head slowly. “And you’re jealous and wish you were there, drunk, with them.” It’s not a question; it’s a statement and I nod as big, fat tears plop onto my cheeks.
“They’re my best friends; I don’t want to be jealous of them. I love them, but they can laugh and get fucked up. I want that. I want to be able to do that, but I’m not ready to go back and do it with them, and if I go back…” I wipe my nose on the back of my hand and look at him, while trying to catch my breath. “If I go back, it’s all fucking real again; it’ll all be in my face and I just… I’m not ready yet. I need more time away from it.” I don’t know if he understands a word I’m saying, as I’m sobbing and choking and coughing as I speak. I put my coffee cup down and can see my phone is lighting up again and again as Jimmie tries to call me back.
Roman reaches around me and answers my phone once more, “She’ll talk to you tomorrow. We’re fuckin’, stop ringing.” He throws my phone on the bed, and I can’t help but smile at him. “You know, George, you can’t run away forever. You’ve got family back in England who love and miss you, and you being jealous and all that...” He pulls his head back as he looks at me. “None of that makes you a bad person; it just makes you human, darl.” He gets off the bed, heads in to the bathroom and throws me a toilet roll. “Blow your nose,” he orders as he lies back down. I do as he says and then turn and curl into him on the bed, grateful for his company.
“I don’t want to stay here forever, but I don’t want to go home before next weekend. I promised Jodie I would go to the opening of the new club she’s been working on, but I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do. It’s the anniversary, the first anniversary and I shouldn’t be out clubbing, dancing and enjoying myself. I shouldn’t be alive. I should have died with them, or instead of them.”
Every guilty thought that’s been running through my head seems to spurt from my mouth like projectile vomit. I’m lying in the crook of his arm, my head on his chest, while his fingertips make circular patterns on my bare back. He says nothing and just lets me vent. His actions and his presence soothe and calm me.
After letting out a long sigh, he says, “Tonight, I’m taking you to meet some friends of mine. They’re a little different, but I think it will do you good. I think it will take you out of your comfort zone and help you forget. We will get totally fucked-up and have a much better night than you ever could’ve had with your mates.” He pulls on his bottom lip with his index finger and thumb. “Okay, so maybe not better, but different; you up for that?”
I nod.
“Okay, I’m up for some fucked-up-ness.”
“Then it’s fucked-up-ness you shall have.”
We talk a little about my plans and he asks me if I would consider staying until February. I really don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. If I do decide to stay, I don’t want him thinking I’m staying just for him, because I’m not. If going home in February suits me, him being here until then is just an added bonus. I like him; he’s good company and the sex is great, but that’s all there is to our relationship. I’m under no illusion that this is a long-term commitment for either of us. He’s my stepping stone; he’s helping me heal and move forward, and for that, I will always be eternally grateful. As fucked-up as it sounds, I can’t help but keep thinking how much Sean would like and approve of Roman, too. If it had been at all possible for the pair to have met, I think they would’ve gotten along well.
*