Robbie was happy, we had strength in numbers and money coming in from all over the country. We kept our noses clean and our pockets lined. We didn’t step on anyone’s toes and didn’t encroach on anyone else’s manor. We didn’t need to. Life was sweet. But I was miserable. Chantelle had been around for most of my life. Our parents were friends, and so she was just there. Holidays, daytrips, family gatherings, she was there. She was pale and blonde and never wanted to join in any of our rough “boy” games when we were kids.
I didn’t like or dislike her as we were growing up. I just didn’t think much about her to have an opinion either way. As we got older and hormones started to play a part, things changed a little. She got boobs, so yeah, I noticed her more. She was still quiet and never wanted to sneak outside for a cigarette when we were together at parties and the grownups were drunk. She never wanted to get involved when we stuffed potatoes into the exhaust pipes of all the cars in her dad’s driveway during Sunday afternoon BBQs. She would never swim in the ocean when our families went to Spain together for holidays, opting to lie back on the beach alone and watch the rest of us from a distance instead.
She was a nice enough girl, but she just had nothing about her. No spark. No sense of adventure. Nothing. And yet, I still married her.
I regret that decision every single day of my life. If I had stood my ground and said no, she’d probably still be alive today. And this guilt I feel is exactly the reason why I understand the anguish in Georgia’s eyes when she cries over Sean. I totally get it.
I love my life. I love my wife and my kids and everything we’ve built together. I wouldn’t change it for the world. Does that mean I’m glad that Elle died? If she hadn’t, the life I have now wouldn’t exist. I couldn’t have this life without the death of another, and although I don’t wear my emotions on the outside like Georgia does, the guilt is still something I struggle with on a daily basis.
I didn’t love Chantelle, but I still think about her death and the death of my son every single day, so I can only imagine what Georgia goes through while battling her demons over losing Sean.
They died, we didn’t. It’s pointless beating ourselves up over it. It won’t change anything. I love her, and she loves me. We’ve been blessed with four amazing children, and since I’m not a religious person, I thank modern science, the wank bank, and my sisters-in-law for that.
While I’ve learned to accept all of this and move on, Georgia still struggles.
Georgia.
That first night I saw her at Kings, I’d watched and I’d watched, and then finally, she turned around. She’d moved to the other side of her friend that was sitting on a stool to let someone pass, and she hadn’t moved back.
She was stunning. Olive skin and the most amazing blue eyes.
The saddest eyes I’d ever seen.
I wanted to go to her and find out why she looked so sad so I could put it all right.
The two girls she was with were also both very pretty, but they had nothing on her …
“S’cuse me please, mate. Can I just squeeze in there so I can get served?” a voice asked from beside me in a strong Essex accent. When I turned my head, the blonde girl that was with Little Miss Sad Eyes was standing behind me.
“You can squeeze right in here if you wanna, sweetheart,” Gary told her. She looked at the space he’d made for her and then at his hands.
“You touch my arse, and I’ll knock you the fuck out, Grandad.” Robbie spat his beer, Tony threw his head back and laughed, and even I smiled. Gary just stared at her open-mouthed.
“Who the fuck you calling Grandad, you cheeky little cow?”
Gary was close to forty but told everyone he was thirty-two. He was a good-looking bloke and had no trouble whatsoever pulling the birds, so why he lied, I have no clue.
“You. You gonna move and let me get served or d’ya need your Zimmer frame first?”
“I’ll give you fucking Zimmer frame …”
“Gaz!” I interrupted him. “Give the lady some space,” I ordered.
“What lady? There’s no lady around here,” he said, probably thinking he was clever.
I never even saw her hand move, but I heard the crack as her palm made contact with his cheek. I stepped between them before he could react.
Great, just what I needed. For the first time since getting out of rehab, I finally see a bird that stirs my interest, and Gaz goes and insults her mate.
“You, fuck off with the insults,” I told him over my shoulder. “And you, blondie, keep your hands to yourself.” She opened her mouth to speak, but I kept going. “Now, what would you like to drink? It’s on me.” Her mouth closed and her face softened.
“Thanks, good to see one of you has got some manners. We’ll have a bottle of wine please. White, make it decent, none of that Liebfraumilch shit.” That comment left me standing there with my mouth hanging open. That girl had more front than Tesco and nothing had changed in all the years I’ve known Ash.
I gestured to Keith, my barman, and ordered a bottle of wine and a bottle of Mo?t. I placed the bottle of wine in blondies hand.
“You got an ice bucket on your table?” She narrowed her eyes and looked at me.
“I might be from Essex, mate, but I’ve got some class. I do not drink my white wine warm.”