Page 48 of The Interview
“Sean and Georgia, G. Georgia and Sean, the way it’s meant to be.”
That’s when the tears come, tracking from my eyes back to my ears.
“I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry life didn’t happen that way for us,” I tell him.
“But it did. For as long as it could, it did. Apart from the four years they stole, it was you and me, G. Like someone said yesterday, it was you and me against the world.”
“Someone said that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Or they thought it, and I picked it up.”
“You can hear my thoughts? Everyone’s thoughts?”
“No, not usually, but occasionally, if something resonates, I’ll pick it up. I don’t always know where it’s coming from, but I hear the words.”
I let out a long sigh. It’s weighted with the knowledge that I have my own confession to make.
“I know,” he says before I can speak a word. “I never knew for sure back when it happened, but I always thought there was more. That there was still something between you.”
Realising he’d lived with those thoughts makes my heart,allof my insides, physically hurt.
“I’m so sorry, Sean. You deserved so much more, so much better than me.”
“I’m more pissed off you lied. I asked you, G. That time we saw him at the restaurant, when I found out about the house? That’s the angriest I’ve ever been with you, by the way. I asked you then.”
“You didn’t ask, you accused!” I snap.
“Was I wrong?”
We both sigh this time.
“Well, why we’re all about confessing, you should know Carla got her hands in my pants. We didn’t fuck, not while we, me and you I mean, were together, but she did get her hands in my pants.”
It feels like my insides have turned to liquid and are being churned continuously. I also know it serves me right and I just need to suck it up.
“After we lost Baby M?” I ask. “I know about the time she came to the house, and the abortion.”
“Yeah, thanks for that, Marls. Your brothers are shit at keeping secrets, you know that?”
I shrug.
“I’m gonna go and haunt the fuckers. Scare the shit out of them.”
I snort a laugh, imagining Len trying to reason with Sean’s ghost. And Marley? Well, it could go either way. He’ll either shit himself and wake Ash to fight Sean off, or spark up a joint, offer Sean a toke, and start talking about the good ol’ days.
“Before she came to the house, we’d had a little moment in the studio. I was a mess. You’d shut me out, and I had absolutely nowhere to go with my feelings, my grief.”
Guilt is added to whatever other emotions are already sloshing around in my stomach. Guilt at the truly awful way I dealt with my own grief at that time, and the way I couldn’t bear to be around him. I needed someone to blame, and he was, completely unfairly, my only option.
“I’d been rerecording something I’d not been happy with earlier in the day, so I was the only one from the band there. I was in no hurry. No rush to head inside our empty home, to our empty bed.” His fingertips brush gently across my cheek. “It was a shit time for both of us.”
“I treated you appallingly. I’d never experienced grief. I just didn’t know how to navigate my emotions, and being with you just seemed to magnify them. I’m so fucking sorry. I was such a shit wife. Please forgive me,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out around the sob that wants to escape.
“No, we were both flailing in the dark. Neither of us knew how to handle things, but it’s still no excuse for what I did.”
“Tell me. I need to know. In the grand scheme of things, Sean, does it really matter? It all seems so trivial now, every single argument feels like a waste of precious words.”
“We were the only ones left in the studio—the one at our Hampstead place. She had the keys to lock up. She asked if I wanted to share a joint before I left. We sat on the sofa, smoked, talked about shit, how we were doing. I told her I wasn’t good,and I cried. I didn’t want to, tried hard not to. I wanted to save my tears, share them with you, but you didn’t want me. She held me, let me cry, and it felt good. Felt good to be held. Then she started kissing my hair and the tears on my cheeks. I turned my head. I didn’t want her mouth on mine. That was yours, and I didn’t want her there, but when she started to undo my jeans, I let her. When she slid her hands inside my boxers, I let her. I raised my arms above my head so I didn’t touch her. I closed my eyes, leant back into the sofa, tipped my face to the ceiling, and I let her go down on me.”
