The Story of Me

“So, how was it left?”

“Well, first he threatened to blow my legs off if I didn’t tell him where you were.”

“What?”

“George, this is Cameron King we’re talking about; he has been known to get a bit nasty.” I’m only too aware of how ‘nasty’ Cam can get. I witnessed him blowing off a bloke’s kneecaps in a pub car park many years ago, but I’m not about to confess that to my brother.

“So then what?”

“I told him if he blew my legs off then he would have no chance of ever getting back with you, and that the ol’ man would hunt him down and blow his fuckin’ head off.”

“Bails!” I shriek at him. I don’t know what bit of his last sentence I’m more pissed off about.

“Look, George, the bloke’s bang in love with ya, babe; he always has been. He was devastated when you got back with Sean, then after the accident, he called constantly.” He goes quiet for a few seconds. “He was actually really good to me. We had a few beers and chatted a few times, ya know, when you weren’t doing so good.” I feel a sharp stab of guilt in my heart at the negative effect my suicide attempts have had on my family. “He’s had his own shit to deal with in the past, George, what with what went on with his misses and kid and everything.”

“Chantelle, yeah, he told me about it.”

“Did he? Strange, really, that you two have both been through something similar, both lost your other half and your babies.” We both remain silent for a few seconds as we get lost in our own thoughts and digest that coincidence. I had in fact thought about that a few times since my birthday; how many people in this world lost a partner and child at the same awful moment? Thankfully, very few but it had happened to both Cam and me.

“He was one of the first people to call me after the accident, like within a couple of hours, George.” I wasn’t aware of this fact; I’d only found out months later, on my birthday, that he had asked about me at all. “He called a couple of times a week in the begi

“When I was out last night, somebody laughed; you know, that big loud laugh Cam has?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, somebody laughed like that, and I just started thinking about him and then when I got home, I was drunk and a little bit stoned and I, erm… I texted him.”

“Georgia!” I felt like I was seven with the way he said my name.

“I know, I know, Bails, but I did it. Don’t judge me, okay. We’ve all sent a drunk text before.”

“Yeah, but he said he spoke to ya.”

“Yeah, he did. I don’t think my texts were making much sense.” I need Bailey to be honest when he answers the question I’m about to ask him, but I actually don’t know if I want to hear the answer. “Why’d he panic? Bails, does he know? Does he know what I did? Does he know about my time in the psych unit?” I know the answer’s going to be yes.

“I just told ya, George, me and him had a few beers when you were, you know, when you weren’t coping.”

“Bailey, you can say it. We both know what I did, when I tried to top myself.” My face burns with shame as I say the words.

“Yeah, then.” There’s a few seconds of silence. “Anyway, yeah, he sort of told me how he’d turned to drink and drugs and how in the end, his family stepped in. They had him put into some rehab place by force, and it was the best thing ever for him. He hated it and he hated them for a while, too, ya know, for doing it to him, but he said it’s what needed to be done.” He’s quiet for a second again. “Did you know all this about him, George, about Cam?”

I nod, remembering the day Be

“When you still lived in the flat above the shop?”

I smile at the memory of that place. “Yeah, when I had the welcoming party from Hell waiting for me.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Be

“Yeah, yeah, he’s still got it, I think. He just moved his office out, that was all.”

“Does he still own the wine bar?’

“Yep, he’s never sold it, despite the success of ‘Kittens’.” My stomach churns.

“Kittens?”

“Yeah, the chain of clubs he has.”

“He has a chain?”

“Yeah, you went to the opening night of the first one in Shoreditch the other year. Don’t you remember when you punched that bird’s lights out and it was in all the papers?” My jaw clenches at the mention of Whorely.

“I thought that club was called KK’s or something like that?”

“It is, Kitten and King’s, but everyone calls it KK’s. He’s got three of them on the go in England now, and he’s just opened one in Ibiza and one in Madrid.”

He’d called the club Kittens and I didn’t even know. I’d fucked him in his office, in a club he’d named after me, and I didn’t even know.

“You still there, George?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, I’m just tired.”

“D’ya want me to call ya back tomorrow?”

“Na, na, I’m fine. So yeah, anyway, his brother Robbie turned up,” I continue to tell Bailey about what I had found out about Cam’s past from his brother that day.

We end the call a while later, with him assuring me he won’t inform our parents or brothers of what had happened last night. God, if any of them knew the actual truth, I’d be packed in a crate and shipped back to England in a flash. I wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

It’s getting late and I’m tired, but I want to talk to Cam. I just want to put his mind at rest and thank him for his concern. That’s all.

That. Is. All.

I find his number and press call, my stomach in knots. It’s Sunday morning in England, and I wonder if he will be up yet… And alone.

“Kitten, what the fuck’s going on? Are you okay? What was wrong last night, and don’t tell me nothing.”

“Fuck, Tiger, you’ll let me get a word in edgeways, won’t ya?” I hear him sigh and I know, I just know he’s shaking his head. My heart likes that I know that about him and does a little skip and a dance in my chest. “Stop shaking your head at me.” I hear him laugh, a little laugh, not his big, head thrown back, boom of a laugh, but it makes my heart let me know it still has life pulsing through it, and it stirs something in my belly.

“What happened?” he asks me quietly, and I suddenly want to tell him everything. I want to curl up in his big lap, feel his big arms around me and breathe in that unique smell that is Cam.

“Do you still wear Givenchy?” He gives another little chuckle.

“What a strange question. Now stop evading mine and tell me what the fuck happened.”

“I fucked up.”

“What did you do?”

“I got drunk. I got stoned. I snorted coke.”

“Kitten,” he whispers, and I know his eyes are closed. I’m not sure whether or not I should continue but I do.

“And then I couldn’t sleep, so I took a couple of Valium, but I was so fucked-up that I forgot I had taken the Valium already and I took some more.” I say it quickly, and then cringe as I wait for his response, but nothing could prepare me for the roar that comes down the line. I have to move the phone away from my ear it’s so loud. I catch words like ‘who, where, kill, dead, fuck, murder, dead, cunt’ and he says Georgia a lot; not Kitten but Georgia. I put the phone on speaker as a precaution so I don’t have it against my ear.