Page 63 of The Interview
“Yeah. I said something like, ‘Georgia, how are you?’, and this bloke replied, ‘Fuck off mate, she’s with me.’” Me! It’smyfucking bar, and the cheeky fucker’s tellingmeto fuck off! At the same time, George said something like, ‘I’m good, Cam. How are you?’, and when she did, the geezer grabbed her, spunher around towards him, then threw a punch at me. Obviously, it missed, but security had been watching and restrained him before anyone got hurt. Although he did put up some resistance on his way to the door, so a table was knocked over, glasses smashed, the usual chaos when you attempt to remove someone who doesn’t want to go.”
Cam pauses, and I wonder for a moment if he’s going to say anything about what happened in his office that night. Thankfully, he skips right over it.
“Unfortunately, once evicted from the premises, and because Georgia didn’t follow him out, he proceeded to smash up her car.”
I press my lips together as I try not to laugh at Cam’s formal tone. He sounds like he’s giving a police statement, not an interview.
“Why didn’t you follow him out?” Daniel asks me.
I look up at Cam, and he grins down at me.
“Stockings,” he mouths, making me want to fuck him right this very second.
Instead, I cross my legs. “The man had just thrown a punch at someone for saying hello to me. I didn’t feel safe going outside with him. To be honest, I was more concerned that Cam was okay and about the damage to his property. I felt awful. When he started smashing up my car, I knew I’d made the right decision to stay inside.”
“I wasn’t letting her out there with him, anyway,” Cam interjects.
Both of us are bare-faced lying because we were, in fact, getting busy in his office when the damage was done to poor, old Hilda.
“My security restrained the man until the police arrived, and then he was arrested. After we’d given statements, I offered toget Georgia’s car repaired, and that’s how I got my first date,” Cam says with a smile.
“Go, Dad. Knew you had it in ya!” George calls out.
There’s talking and chatting behind us, so I take the moment to whisper to Cam, “You forgot about your office, the twirling chair, my stockings…”
“I didn’t forget anything. I’m just not sharing any of that with these fuckers. That’s ours; just yours and mine.” He leans in and kisses me gently on the mouth. “Love the fuck out of you,” he says with his lips still brushing mine.
“Shit shag, little dick Lee,” I blurt, remembering what I’d called the bloke I’d been with that night. I bury my face in Cam’s chest as we both laugh.
“You got stockings upstairs? It’s been a while since you wore them for me,” he says against my ear.
“Cameron and Georgia, you’re still mic’d up and live. Just a reminder that we can hear what you’re saying,” a voice calls out.
“Jesus, you two,” I hear Tallulah say while I keep my face buried in my husband’s chest, and we both laugh.
“We did some digging, didn’t find much, but thought you might like to see this one,” Daniel says.
My stomach knots for a split second as I wonder what he’s about to reveal. The screen we looked at images on yesterday lights up, and suddenly, there we are. Cam’s wearing black, tailored trousers and a white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. His hair is longer in the picture than it is now, and much darker without the grey, but in a similar style. He looks fucking gorgeous—still does. More so now, I think. He’s one of thosemen who’s matured like a fine wine, the salt and pepper in his hair and beard just adding to his sexiness.
I’m wearing a pale blue dress. It has a paisley design on it, with bell-bottomed sleeves. Very sixties in style.
“Our first date,” I say quietly.
Someone—one of our boys, I think—wolf whistles.
“Oh, my God, look at you two,” Kiki says.
“My mum and dad were baddies,” George states.
“Still are,” I reply, recalling the night these were taken, when there were paps outside the Italian restaurant Cam had taken me to.
The first image is of us getting out of Cam’s car. The next is of us side by side, with Cam’s hand at the small of my back. I’m looking up at him as we walk and talk, and he’s smiling down at me. It’s a great picture, made even better by the fact that it shows there’s something there between us, and that my kids are seeing that. I don’t know why that’s suddenly become so important to me, but it has. I want them to know how much I loved their dad, even if I didn’t realise it back then.
In the next image, we’re front on to the camera.
“How did they get these shots?” I ask. “I remember there were paps hanging around outside, but none of them showed any interest in us.”
“Long lenses,” Makenzie says from somewhere. “They could’ve been anywhere and zoomed in to get the shot.”
