I take in a deep breath, wipe my eyes and lean across for a tissue to blow my nose. My phone is flashing to alert me of a text message; in fact, there are several. I blow my nose, place the spare pillow in my lap and sit cross-legged on the bed as I read my messages. My brothers, my sisters-in-law, even my older nieces and nephews, who now all own mobile phones, have all messaged to wish me a happy birthday. However, there is one number marked as unknown and I stare at it for a while, debating whether I should open it.
I had received some beautiful letters from people all over the world after the accident, but I had also received hate mail wishing me dead and telling me it should have been me and not Sean who died. I had always received messages from the usual bunch of weirdos spouting filth or God to me, and somehow, a few people had managed to get hold of my parents’ phone number. They had called me here to scream abuse down the phone, but no one had ever gotten hold of my mobile number. I chew on the skin on the inside of my lip for a few moments, debating what to do; I shrug. “Let’s do this; love me, hate me, reading your message won’t change that,” I say out loud as I press open on the message.
Georgia, I know today will be a tough one for you, but I just wanted you to know I am thinking of you. I’ve checked in with your parents and Bailey every couple of weeks, and they tell me you’re doing as well as can be expected. I’ve wanted to talk to you for ages, but felt it was too soon; that you wouldn’t be ready. But I couldn’t let today pass without wishing you the happiest birthday you can possibly manage, and remember, I’m always here for you, if ever you need to talk, or just to get away.
Cam x
Wow. I stare at the message and read it at least five more times. He’s been checking on me with my brother and parents? My mum told me he called in the early days and I had felt grateful, but it had all been such a blur. He had always been so good to me, and I had treated him appallingly. I’d treated a lot of people appallingly at some stage or another in my life, but Cam especially.
I hadn’t really thought too much about Cam since Sean’s death. Then again, I hadn’t really thought too much about anything since Sean’s death; I had just focused on getting through each day. But before that, after the whole house-buying incident and Sean finding out about him being the previous owner of our old home, I had, in fact, gone out of my way not to think of Cam.
In the months since I lost Sean and Beau, I rarely left my parents’ house. My dad had set me up with a home office in the soundproofed room on the grounds, and from there, I re-immersed myself in the running of Posh Frocks, mine and my mum’s business, and I also became involved in a fair bit of charity work.
Sean was wealthy, very wealthy, and all he owned and all the future royalties from his music came to me; it was more money than I could spend in my lifetime. I had taken care of my brother Bailey’s mortgage and set up a trust fund for each of my nieces and nephews. I had given money to Sean’s family, despite the fact that he hadn’t included them in his will. I gave money to his mum, his dad and the half-brother and sister he had never met; the children his mum had gone on to produce after leaving Sean’s dad. They were now all set for life. My family didn’t need any help; they all had money in their own right. Bails was the only one with a mortgage and a loan, so I dealt with that and decided there were still far too many zeroes at the end of my bank balance. I didn’t want anything, nothing money could buy anyway, so I gave some to charity. I donated to the drug rehabilitation charity Sean had supported for so many years and I started a few new ones, mainly involving young people, music and fashion, and I ran my little empire from the studio in my parents’ backyard.
I had never once been back to the farmhouse that Sean and I owned. The contents were packed up and stored, all my personal stuff was brought over to my mum’s, and I had moved back into my old bedroom permanently, but I spent a lot of nights in my office, sleeping on the old Chesterfield that had been around for years. I still have nightmares about the accident, and I hate waking my parents up with them, so if I sleep in there, they’ll never know. Well, of course, they knew; they weren’t stupid, but at least they didn’t have to hear me scream and cry, and they could get a sound night’s sleep. In return, I usually got Sean in my dreams.
I stare down at my phone and wonder whether I should reply. I smile as I think about how formal the text sounds; no abbreviations, none of the text talk my other messages contained. He would be about fortyish by now, so I bet texting wasn’t something he usually did, and for some reason, the thought of Cam’s big fingers trying to type out a message makes me smile; a real, genuine smile that feels a little alien to me, since it has been so long. Before I think about it any longer, I reply.
How many attempts did that take with those huge sausage fingers of yours?
I stare at my phone for a few seconds, waiting on a reply; when none comes, I reply to all my other messages and then go into my bathroom for a wee. When I return, there is a message flashing.
NINETEEN