“Does this look all right?” George asks us.
He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt, which is buttoned up to the neck, and a pair of skinny jeans that have an extra low crotch so they don’t split when he tries to walk in them. Cam hates the things and is constantly telling the boys to pull their trousers up when they slide down and expose their boxers underneath.
“Yeah, you look nice. You both do.”
Harry is wearing a similar outfit, except with shorts in the same style as George’s jeans.
They are handsome boys, and I am noticing more and more that girl’s heads turn when we are all out together.
I sort of got used to it with Sean. He was public property and it went with the job. I didn’t like it, but I got used to it, to a degree. I don’t like it when it happens with Cam, and it does, often. When it does, I politely explain to women in bars and restaurants that it’s highly disrespectful to look at my husband like they want to ride home, on his face. But when it happens with my boys, whoa. I will glare back at the little slutetts that stare like they want to eat them with a look that says, “You’re fourteen, sweetheart. Fuck off home and do some colouring, play with Barbie, put on your My Little Pony jarmies, wipe those big black scary eyebrows off your face, and go to bed.”
Then Cam reminds me what I was doing at fourteen.
I tell him to shut up and mind his own business.
He laughs.
I don’t.
“You got money?” I ask them.
“Yeah, Dad transferred my allowance a week early. I saw a pair of football boots I wanna get, and he said he’d go half with me,” George replies.
“Dad transferred you money? How?”
“Online,” they reply in unison.
“How? Dad don’t know how to do online banking.”
“Yeah he does. H put the app on his phone, and we showed him how to use it yesterday. His practice go was sending me my allowance.”
Well, wonders would never cease. My husband is finally getting with it.
“I showed him how to send photos in a text as well. I told him he should get Facey coz it’s cheaper, but he just said fu— No. He said no, he didn’t need it.”
Yeah, I could well imagine what Cam would have to say about getting a Facebook account. It would’ve been far more than no.
George looks at his phone. “Ollie’s outside,” he announces.
“You gonna be all right here on your own tonight?” Harry asks.
“I won’t be on my own. I can call the dogs inside and Jimmie and Ash are coming over to stay. Paige might come over too if she’s not too jet-lagged.”
“Paige?” they both enquire at once.
“Is she bringing any of her mates?”
Like father like sons. Paige had come over for a family BBQ when she was home one time last year and she’d brought a friend. A very pretty friend. As young as my boys were, they knew what they liked, and that day, it was Kitty Calder, the young Australian model that Paige had with her. Unfortunately for them, Kitty was twenty-three and didn’t even know they existed.
“Unlucky boys, she’s on her own.”
They shake their heads and slouch their shoulders in mock disappointment before kissing me goodbye and heading out the door.
Harry was right, I was lucky, in so many ways.
A few minutes later, I receive a text from Cam.
TIGER: Wanna see a dick pic?
ME: Depends whose dick the pic’s of?
TIGER: My fuckin dick. Why, who the fuck else sends you dick pics?
I don’t reply, and my phone rings thirty seconds later, and just for fun, I silence it, sending the call to my message bank.
I laugh as I think about how much trouble I’m gonna be in later.
Last night was the scariest of my life. Even now, knowing that you’re safe, my hands still shake and my throat and chest still ache.
Our baby’s gone, G. I only knew about him for a few short hours and then he was gone.
I'll never forgive myself for staying down at the bar, G. I should've gone up to bed with you. You're my wife, you were carrying our child, and I stayed at the bar drinking and celebrating while you was alone and in pain in our room.
I was so hungover yesterday morning, I didn't even realise how quiet and pale you were.
As soon as Jimmie mentioned it, as soon as finally paid you some attention, I knew in an instant something was wrong.
And then everything happened so fast. You were sick, and then when I held you in my arms you were so cold and clammy. You just laid there, limp like a rag doll. I can’t begin to put into words the level of fear I felt during the few minutes it took us to get to the hospital.