“Roman didn’t smoke the weed; he did a line but he didn’t smoke the weed. He stayed straight and he told me just to go with whatever felt right, that I could trust him. If there was anything I didn’t want to do, I just had to say.” I go to the fridge and get the milk out, adding a dash to my tea.

“He shouldn’t have—”

“Shut up, Jax. Let her speak,” Brooke says to her brother.

“He was just trying to show me that I can trust people. He just wanted me to have one night where I could forget everything: forget the pain, the hurt, the fuckin’ big hole I live with inside me, all day, every day. He just wanted to help me forget it all.” I’m crying now and I so didn’t want to cry. I continue anyway as I need them to understand what Roman was trying to do for me. “When it all got too much, when Skye got too heavy and I told her to stop, he made sure she did. When I asked to come home, he brought me home, and when I told him I wanted to be on my own, he left me on my own.”

“And that’s where he went wrong,” Jackson says.

“He shouldn’t have given you all that shit then left you, George; I’ve gotta say, I do agree with Jax on that one. But the rest of it, I understand what he was trying to do.” Brooke comes around the bench top and gives me a cuddle. “I’m glad you’re okay. I have to go to work, but we seriously need to get away from here next weekend. You’re coming to Sydney with me, no arguments.” I nod. Perhaps Sydney isn’t such a bad idea after all. Perhaps I should pack up everything and fly straight home to England from there; it would make sense, if I’m planning on leaving anyway.

“Sounds like a plan,” I say to Brooke as I give her a hug.

“Go shower. You look like shit and smell like vomit. I love ya, darl, but you stink.”

* * *

I finally convince Jackson to leave around seven. I clear up the mess in my bedroom, clean the vomit from my shower, jump in and scrub myself clean. Finally, washing the smell of the hospital from my skin, the smell of death, and the smell of loss. I just wish I could wash it away from my life as easily but I can’t. I just have to live with it, so instead, I slide down the tiled wall of the shower and have a good cry. It’s moments like these that I miss Sean so much. He was more than just my husband; he was my other half, my conscience, my best friend. It’s times like these, when I fuck up, that the ache in my heart, in my gut and my bones is just that little harder to bear.

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.”

“Bet that pleased him.”

“Na, George, it fuckin’ never.” I close my eyes. Thinking about how pissed off that would have made control-freak Cam, causes a little tug at my heart. “He got right on the turn and started having a go, saying we should be looking after you better, you shouldn’t be on your own, et cetera. And course, he doesn’t know you’re in fucking Australia, does he, so he’s wanting to know why you’re off your tits at five on a Saturday afternoon, and why ain’t none of us doing anything about it.” I shouldn’t laugh, but after hearing my brother’s strong cockney accent and imagining the conversational standoff that would have gone on between the two of them, I just can’t help it.