“I don’t understand; what’s one year?”
I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to say the words out loud. I don’t want to make it real. I want it all to just go away. I want it to fuck off and not be my life. It can be anyone’s, I don’t care whose, just not mine. But then who would I choose? Is there anyone in this world I would wish this pain on? I don’t think there is. I think I would rather just kill them, kill them so they didn’t have to feel like this. I was doing okay, tucked away in Byron, away from any reminders of my past life. I was getting my shit together, but now, with a few drinks in my belly and this man standing in front of me, the man who for some reason, I can’t get out of my head—or my heart, if I’m being really honest—now, I’m back to being a mess. I don’t know what I want. Nights like tonight make me think that I do want to live. I do want to move on. But I don’t want this pain, this ache in my chest, and it’s not just caused by the loss of Sean and Beau. It’s guilt, as well; guilt for my past indiscretions and guilt because I’m even thinking about moving on. Guilt, because on the one-year anniversary of my husband’s death, I’m in a hotel room with another man. And not just any other man. This man, Cameron fucking King, is the only other man outside of Sean and my family who I’ve ever loved, and that realisation is crushing me right now, suffocating me. Not tonight, I shouldn’t be thinking this, feeling any of this. Any other night, on any other date, I might be able to wrap my head around it all, but to finally accept this as absolute fact on December the first just goes to show what a bad person I am.
“What’s one year, Kitten?” I raise my eyes to his and study his face for a few seconds. He’s not perfect, not beautiful like Sean. His nose is probably too big, his eyes a little too small, he has flecks of grey in the stubble on his chin; so, why the draw, why the pull? Whenever we’re together, it’s like there’s a charge, a current that runs between us; it feels right but I know it’s wrong. It feels bad, but it feels so fucking good at the same time. He shrugs, letting me know he’s waiting on a reply.
“Sean died one year ago today. My baby died one year ago today, and here I am, one year on, alive and being the adulterous whore of a wife that I am. I’m here, in a hotel room with you, of all people. I’m with you.”
He steps towards me. “Oh, Georgia, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Baby, I’m so sorry, so, so sorry.” He picks me up with no effort whatsoever and walks us over to the bedroom. He goes to the bed and sits me down on it, takes off his jacket, loosens his tie and toes off his shoes then removes mine. He sits on the bed with his back against the headboard and the pillows, then pulls me into his lap. I rest my head against his chest and just enjoy his presence. I don’t cry, I just sit quietly with my thoughts and my guilt, trying to sober up my drunk-again brain.
“Why are you here?” I ask after a while. “Why are you here in Australia?” His thumb is brushing up and down over the ridges of my spine, and I’m acutely aware of it. His other hand is splayed over my belly, and as usual when I’m with him, I feel protected. Funny how nothing’s changed. It would be around twelve years now since I first met him, and he has always made me feel safe, despite what I know about him and his ‘business’ dealings.
“I’m an investor in the club. I’m the biggest shareholder, as it happens.”
I’d only found out tonight that the club was called KLUB, and I now wonder if the K had anything to do with him.
“Is that why it starts with a K? Is that why they spelt it KLUB?”
“Yep, it’s made up of an initial from each investor, the K coming from King.”
I look up at him and smile. Doing my best Humphrey Boggart impersonation say, “In all the bars, in all the world.” He smiles and his eyes shine.
“You walk into mine… again.” I give a small laugh.
“That’s mad, you know? What are the chances of us both being in Australia at the same time?” He rubs his nose in my hair.
“We weren’t. I flew home from here last weekend; I was just getting into a car at Heathrow when I got your text. I was frantic. I was jet-lagged and thinking all sorts. Your brother was behaving like a complete prick and giving me nothing, and I didn’t know what to do.” I curl into him, getting closer, remembering my stupidity of last weekend. “I wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. I said I’d seen enough, wished everyone good luck and said I would be back after Christmas. Then when I found out you were here, I got off the phone, rearranged a few things and booked a flight back. I came to the opening tonight, and I was coming to Byron Bay tomorrow to find you.”
Oh, he was coming to find me.