Page 13 of The Interview
“I remember the morning so vividly. The colours, the smells. That feeling of sleeping in late, or just lying in bed, reading Smash Hits, learning the lyrics to whatever songs were out. Even though I knew I was going to spend all day with her, I’d dragged the phone—the landline, obviously—to my room. It lived on thelanding at the top of our stairs but had a lead on it long enough that I could move it about. So, after I’d heard the sounds of our house waking up, the radio playing, the washing machine go on, the low rumble of voices, all accompanied by the smell of toast, I’d gotten up and dragged the phone into my room. I remember how brightly the sun shone through the gap in my curtains, and I called Jimmie, as I did every day, and we discussed what we were going to wear, how we were going to do our hair, and where we were going to hang about that day. It always ended up being mine because Jim was still debating back then whether it was going to be Len or Marls she was going to marry. I told her that the boys wouldn’t be here, as they were auditioning new singers for the band, but she wanted to come over to ours anyway.” I pause for a minute, and someone sets a cup of tea on the coffee table between Dan and me.
“Yorkshire, strong, just a dash of milk,” one of Dan’s assistants tells me. “Cam made it,” she says with a wink, and I smile. “Where can I find one of him?”
“Our two boys will be here at some stage. They’re dead ringers for their dad but may be a bit young for you.”
“Shame,” she says with a shrug, but keeps smiling.
There is no shouting of ‘cut’ during our interaction, like I was expecting. The cameras just keep rolling, and I also notice Kenzie has returned and is moving around our setup taking photos while Dan waits patiently for me to get back on with my tale.
“We were going through our ‘Dexy’s’ phase and had decided to wear dungarees, but with our bikinis underneath just in case we got too hot, or the boys turned up and Jimmie needed an excuse to show off the fact she was finally getting boobs—mine had already arrived and I, on the other hand, didnotwant them on show. So, with our outfits decided, I ended my call, showered, dressed, and went downstairs. The house was quiet, the radioturned down low as my mum sat on a stool at our worktop and sipped on tea out of her favourite china cup and saucer. My first thought was how beautiful she was, then she looked up at me and said, ‘Nope. Not today, Georgia. I’m sick of seeing you dressed like a hillbilly. You can get back upstairs and put on that nice frock I got you from Romford Market the other week. I’ve not seen you wear that yet.’
“But I’m just playing out with Jimmie, and we’re gonna sunbathe later,” I whined.
“I don’t care. You either change or stay in your room. No Jimmie, and no phone. You’ve got some lovely dresses in your wardrobe. You’re growing so fast, they’re not going to fit you for much longer.
“Good,” I mumbled. “I hate dresses.
“Don’t say hate; it’s not a nice word. Hate’s the opposite of love, and you can’t tell me you feel that strongly about an item of clothing, so go and pick a dress, put it on, then I’ll do something with your hair.”
“What dress did you pick?” Dan asks, leaning forward in his chair, fully invested in my story.
“It was light blue and white. It had kind of a dropped waist and a bow. It was like a sailor type style. Fucking awful.” I pause for a moment as I recall the horrific outfit I was wearing that day. “Because my boobs had grown so much over the summer, I had to put a bra on with it—something else I also hated wearing. Thinking back now, though, I’m wondering if my mum knew I was growing up. Boobs, periods, secondary school, it was like that day, her making me wear that dress was her last-ditch attempt at keeping me her little girl. Now I’m a mother, I kind of get where she was coming from and feel bad about the tantrum I threw.”
My head snaps to the right as I look towards someone making a choking sound as someone else whispers loudly, “Liar. You’ve never been sorry for a tantrum you threw.”
My eyes instantly land on my brother and daughter standing next to each other.
“Who let you in?” I ask Marley. “And why are you here?”
“I know the key code, little sister. Let myself in because I wanted to make sure you didn’t tell any lies about me… but it looks like you’re too busy telling lies about yourself.”
“Fuck off, Marls,” I tell him, instantly wondering how many times in my life I’ve said that, and if I’ve ever, even once, meant it. “No one’s talking about you because you don’t matter. This interview is about me and Sean—thereallytalented one in Carnage.”
Marley’s hand instantly flies to his chest, his open palm covering it.
“Such hateful words. You wound me, Porge, when all I have is love for you.”
“Don’t call me Porge.” I stand to receive the cuddle my big brother delivers.
“You doing okay?” he asks against my ear as he wraps me in his arms.
“Cam call you?”
“Nah. Kenzie told Jake, who told Joe, who mentioned to me that this was happening today. Thought I’d show my handsome face and make sure you’re doing all right with everything.”
“We’ve only just started, but so far so good. Dan, this is my brother Marley,” I introduce my brother as we step apart.
Daniel steps forward, wide-eyed, and shakes my brother’s hand. “An honour. Any chance I could convince you to join Georgia on the sofa for a chat in a bit?”
Marley gives an unusually nervous laugh and shrugs. “This is G’s gig, I don’t wanna be seen to be?—”
“No,” I interject. “I’d love it. Love for you to join me.”
“Viewers will die, fucking die when you pop up on screen, I’m telling you that right now,” Dan gushes.
“Please, Marls.” I use a tone on my brother that he’s never been able to say no to. Plus, despite his protests for privacy, my brother’s the consummate entertainer and a complete attention whore.
“I’ve got a bit more to do with Georgia for this segment, but if you don’t mind hanging around, I’d love to bring you in for your perspective.”
