Page 87 of Repluse

“Actually. . . My name’s Jamie and hers is Georgia, but everyone calls us Jimmie and George,” Jimmie stated confidently to the new kid/my future husband.

I folded my arms across my chest, which was entirely the wrong move as it just made my boobs look bigger and it drew Sean’s eyes straight back to them.

“Show us your tits.” He gestured with his chin towards me.

It’s a wonder I didn’t disappear in a puff of smoke.

Poof! Gone! I was so embarrassed. Even my hair felt like it was blushing.

“Fuck off, Maca. She’s my little sister, and she’s only eleven.”

I wanted to punch Marley at that moment. It might have been true, Iwasonly eleven, but as far as my naive, immature self was concerned, I knew it all. In my head, I was, in fact, already a woman. I had boobs and I had periods. I’d yet to develop curves or any kind of an arse, but that would come. So basically, yeah, as far as I was concerned, I had enough going on to qualify as ‘a woman’.

But the truth was, I was eleven, I knew nothing, and oh how little did I understand just how much growing up I still had to do.

“Well, you’re the best-looking Jimmie and George I’ve ever met.” He smiled a lazy lopsided grin as he spoke, not taking his eyes off my chest the whole time.

It rained that afternoon,so we all ended up in the summerhouse my dad had his blokes build us down at the end of our garden. I was never exactly sure what my dad did for a living when I was younger, and I’m even less sure of whatallof his business dealings entail now. He had a construction firm. It was bigger than an average small building firm, and he employed about a hundred people at any one time. On top of this, he had three car showrooms, selling high end, second-hand cars, Mercs, Beamers, Audis, and the like. He also owned some properties in East London and Essex that he rented out. Whenever I asked him, he would tell me he was an entrepreneur, but I had no idea what that meant. What I did know was that we had a beautiful house and I had nice clothes. My mum and dad drove new cars, and when Bailey passed his test, so did he. We went abroad for our holidays either to one of our own villas in Marbella in Spain or Albufeira in Portugal or, if we did stay in England, to our caravan in Clacton on Sea on the Essex coast. I didn’t think too much about any of this when I was younger, but as I got older it began to dawn on me that we had more than most.

My dad had the summerhouse built, so the boys had somewhere to practise their music. The place was constructed from bricks, soundproofed, and clad with timber so it looked like a traditional, timber summerhouse. Bailey didn’t play so much anymore. Lennon played guitar and had a pretty good voice, but Marley was the star. He played guitar as well as drums, and he had a great voice. I could play acoustic guitar, but I wasn’t great. My voice was okay, but it was very average compared to my brother’s voice. Marley had his own band and told me that afternoon that Sean was to be their new lead singer and guitarist. Ritchie, their old frontman, had moved to Wales with his family at the beginning of the summer holidays. My dad was a massive music fan and had paid to advertise locally for a new singer. They held auditions at the local church hall, and Sean had beentheir first choice. The fact he could sing, play guitar as well as piano was just a bonus.

Later, I sat curled in the corner of the big old Chesterfield sofa we had in the summerhouse. I’d spent a half hour trying to crack the Rubik’s cube I was playing with, but I wasn’t really known for my patience. So, I soon grew frustrated and tossed that on the floor and instead flicked through the latest copy ofMy Guymagazine, but even that wasn’t holding my interest. Sean came over, sat on the arm of the sofa, and asked about my name.

“So, how come after having three boys and giving them really weird names, your mum and dad finally have a girl and give her a boy’s name?”

I looked up at his brown eyes and noticed the tiny flecks of gold he had floating in them, all framed by the longest of dark brown lashes.

Answer George!

Stop blushing!

Stop looking into his eyes and answer the question.

I swallowed and tried to wet my lips before speaking, “My dad’s a massive fan of music, any and all music. Bailey is named after some bloke who made guitars back in the sixties. My dad met him or heard about him and liked his name, which I think was actually his surname, not his first name. Anyway, my dad liked it, remembered it, and decided to give it to Bailey as his first name. Lennon is obviously named after John Lennon. Marley after Bob… And me? Well, I’m named after my dad’s favourite song, “Georgia On My Mind” by Ray Charles. So, I got the name Georgia Rae, but living in a house full of boys, it got shortened to George. So yeah, it’s not really a boys name, the boys just turn it into one. . .” I trail off.

I’d told this story so many times to so many different people I could repeat it in my sleep. Sean listened and nodded his headslowly but I still felt self conscious as he studied me with those gold flecked eyes.

“Well, Georgia Rae. I think you’re far too pretty to be called an old bloke’s name. So, I’ll call you…” He tilted his head to the side as he thought about what he was going to call me… beautiful, his girlfriend? I didn’t mind either. “Gia?” he stated.

Oh my heart. My young heart just about dissolved into a puddle somewhere in my chest.

Gia, he wants to call me Gia.

No one had ever called me Gia. It was Georgia by my teachers. G, or George, by my friends and family, but never had anyoneevercalled me Gia. I loved it, and it would be special. Just our thing… special, between us.

“So, that all right then? If I call you Gia?”

I nodded. It was all I could manage. The pop rocks were exploding in my stomach again, and once more they were blocking the signal between my brain and my mouth.

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