I wrap my hair in a towel, dry off my skin and pull on my jarmies; it’s not cold by any means but I have a chilled feeling inside me, and I just can’t seem to warm up. I put my phone on charge and make myself a hot chocolate, take it back to the bedroom and get into bed. I have a plug socket next to the bed, so I can switch my phone on and use it while it charges.
I have dozens of missed calls, voice mails and texts from Jackson, Bailey and Cam and a text from Roman sent a couple of hours ago, asking how I was feeling. I delete all of Jackson’s; I’m too ashamed to listen to his worried voice. I don’t really want to listen to my big brother’s messages either, but at least I don’t have to face him any time soon.
“Little sister Georgia, how are ya, baby girl? Can you give me a call back please? I need to speak to ya, and it’s pretty urgent.”
The next message was left about seven minutes later.
“George, I ain’t fuckin’ about now, pick up the phone. I’ve had Cameron King on the phone. He reckons he spoke to ya and you sound pissed or stoned and weren’t making sense. Can ya ring me, please, George? Love ya.”
The time of his next message is just three minutes later.
“George, I swear to God, if you’ve done something stupid, I swear, I’ll knock seven kinds of shit out of you. Now pick up the fuckin’ phone now, George.”
My big, bad brother Bailey is sobbing his message into the phone, and I’m sobbing as I listen. I blow my nose and calm myself down before hitting call on his number. It only rings twice.
“Bails?”
“Don’t you ever, ever fuckin’ pull a stunt like that again.”
“I’m so sorry, I got drunk and then I just fell asleep. My phone was on silent, and I just slept through it ringing.”
“Do you know how worried I was? Do you have any idea? Fuck, George, do you know what was going through my head, what I thought was happening?” He sounds just like my dad when he’s pissed off and I start to cry; not because I don’t like being told off—well, I don’t like it but I deserve it—but it’s because the sound of Bailey’s voice is just making me so homesick. I really want to go home; I want to be around my family, but I’m scared, so scared of going back to England. I’m scared of being back around people and places, around anything that’s going to remind me of Sean. I want to go back, I’m just not sure if I’m ready to. Up until last night’s disaster, my reclusive little life in Australia had worked out well for me. I could be normal, just a normal person with no past of any importance. I know it’s running away from the truth, and I know I’m just hiding from things that need to be faced, but I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to face it all yet: people, the press, the public. I know it’s been a year now, but the ache’s still there and it hurts as much as ever.
“I’m sorry, Bailey. I am really sorry for making you think that. I’m sorry for the things I’ve done in the past that would make you think I would do something like that.” I wipe my nose on the back of my hand as I speak into the phone. I can hear my brother crying. “I love you, Bails. I’m so sorry you got me for a sister.”
“George, I wouldn’t swap ya for the world, babe. I might sell ya for a few quid, but I wouldn’t swap ya.” I laugh a little at what he says. My dad used to threaten to sell us to an Arab in the desert when we were little; it’s a saying I haven’t heard in a while.
“Well, you wouldn’t get a lot for me; I’m damaged goods.” I meant it jokingly, but in all honesty, that’s exactly what I am.
“George, you’re not damaged, babe; you’re just…” I can hear his brain tick down the line as he tries to think of a polite way of saying I’m a bit touched in the head. “You’re a beautiful young woman, trying to find her way in life after having the most devastatingly, fucked-up thing happen to her.” I’ve never heard my brother speak so eloquently. Lennon yeah, Marley, occasionally during interviews, but Bailey, never. Because of our age difference and the fact that he wasn’t involved with the band, he is the brother I am least close to. It doesn’t mean I love him any less; I just haven’t shared as many experiences with him.
“I love you, Bails.” I can’t think of what else to say to him.
We chat for a good half hour, about Sam and the kids, my parents, my other two brothers, and then I ask him the question that’s been on my mind since I first called his number.
“What exactly did Cam say when he called you last night?” He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, then I hear him let out a long breath.
“The first time he called, he said he had just spoken to you and you sounded a little off. He just wanted to know where you were living so he could go around and make sure you were all right.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him not to worry. I’d deal with it.”