Authors: Georgia le Carre
Sexy Beast (24 page)
“Jump into the angry abyss with a smile on your face.
This how magic has always been created.”
—Shamans
HREE
BJ
H
er eyes look like they are lit up from within and her skin is actually glowing. I remember something that scares me out of my wits. My grandmother once told me that a few hours before death the person always glows. You think they are getting better, but they are really just preparing for the final journey.
We are at the hospital. Her family is gathered outside. They have said their well wishes and now it’s my turn. Only I can’t say anything. I am too afraid I will break down. I can feel my insides sloshing hotly. I have never been so frightened in all my life.
‘You will tell Tommy that I love him and I always will,’ she says. There is slight tremor to her voice and fear in her eyes. She is just as terrified as I am.
Fuck, I can’t do this. ‘Fucking tell him yourself,’ I say.
‘Say something nice to me,’ she says softly.
But I can’t. If I stop being a son of a bitch I’m going to howl my eyes out. ‘When you get out of here, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re gonna need stitches.’
‘I said say something nice.’
‘It’s hard to say something nice when you are bleeding out.’
‘Oh darling.’
The nurse comes in. ‘It’s time,’ she says.
I grab Layla’s hand.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ she whispers. ‘I’m not.’
I want to cry. I want to envelop her in my arms and not let them take her away, but I let go of her hand and watch them wheel her through the swing doors. I stand there, lost and frightened in the empty room. I am so fucking frightened my breath comes out in a huge heave through my body. I feel a hand touch me. I turn around
‘Come with me,’ Jake says. His voice is firm and authoritative. And like a lost child I follow him outside. I feel hollow and emasculated. I let her go. She could die on the operating table.
I should have told her that she is one a billion.
BJ
“Not to dream boldly may turn out to be irresponsible”
—George Leonard
T
here are fresh flowers on the grave. My mother must have visited earlier. I stand by the headstone and I feel a sense of serenity. For the first time in my life I feel at peace. There is no hate, no anger, no pain, no hurt.
All the lost jigsaw pieces of my life have come together in a brilliantly beautiful mosaic. Only now, I can see why that red piece happened, or why that blackness had to be right there, where I thought it should not be.
Now I see how perfect it all is.
There is a small ladybug on the black marble of my father’s gravestone. I get down on my haunches and watch it. A gust of wind comes and it flies away. I touch the stone. It is warm from the morning sun.
I never thought the day would come when I would forgive my father. It reminds me of what a man once told me. He was a heroin addict.
‘I am not to be reviled. I’m to be pitied. You have to walk in a man’s shoes before you judge him,’ he said.
I didn’t understand him then, but I do now. I know that given the right circumstances, I could have been my father. Maybe I wouldn’t have battered Tommy, but I wouldn’t have loved him. Without Layla, I would have been dead inside the way my father was.
He was not to be reviled, he was to be pitied.
I turn away from the grave and walk towards the car. I have to stop by the local store and get a carton of organic milk for Layla. I haven’t told you what happened, have I? They wheeled her into the operating theater to do the biopsy, only to find no tumor during the ultrasound. It had shrunk to nothing. They couldn’t believe it. They probably still can’t. They didn’t even have to perform a Cesarean. Layla had been right all along. She never stopped believing. She made the miracle happen.
Layla carried our baby to full term.
Tommy was born a healthy, lusty baby weighing 8lb and 2 ounces. A bundle of joy.
It’s a beautiful day, so I park the car and walk down the road to the corner shop.
‘Coming for your milk, Mr. Pilkington?’ Mr. Singh calls.
‘Yup,’ I say picking up a carton.
‘Tell your wife, organic yogurt coming next week.’
I grin. ‘That’ll make her day.’
‘Yes, yes, your wife very interested in organic things. She always looking for seeds. I tell her, I bring from India for her.’
‘Thanks, Mr. Singh.’
‘No problem.’
The bell jangles when I close the door. I light a cigarette and smoke it on the walk home. I kill it outside the front steps and chuck it into the bushes. I fit the key into the lock, open the door, and step inside.
Layla is coming down the stairs. She breaks into a smile.
‘Hey,’ she calls gaily and runs down the rest of the way.
I watch her approach, a sunburst in my heart. ‘You look good enough to eat.’
‘Never mind that now. I’ve got a secret to tell you,’ she whispers.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
She giggles. ‘It involves adding to the world’s overpopulation problem.’
My eyes widen. I feel ten feet tall. I put the bag of milk on the floor and move closer. She smells of milk and baby powder. She starts laughing as I pick her up by her waist and whisk her into the air and whirl her. Round and round we go until we are both dizzy.
‘You made me dizzy,’ she says laughing.
Love is just a word until someone comes along and gives it meaning.
She. She is the meaning.
-The End –
This book is dedicated to
Gianna Bretta Milla.
Took the same decision as Layla, but did not survive.
“Lord, keep your grace in my heart. Live in me so your grace be mine.
Make that I may bear everyday some flowers and new fruit.”
— Gianna Bretta Milla, 1922-1962
If you enjoyed Sexy Beast and want to know how Jake met Lily you’ll find it here:
Amazon US:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00X2JUCRC
Amazon UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00X2JUCRC
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Coming Soon…
GOLD DIGGER
Georgia Le Carre
CHAPTER 1
‘W
hatever you do, don’t
ever
trust them. Not one of them,’ he whispered. His voice was so feeble I had to strain to catch it.
‘I won’t,’ I said, softly.
‘They are dangerous in a way you will never understand. Never let your guard down,’ he insisted.
‘I understand,’ I said, but all I wanted was for him to stop talking about them. These last precious minutes I didn’t want to waste on them.
He shook his head unhappily. ‘No, no, you don’t understand. You can never let your guard down for even an instant. Never.’
‘All right, I won’t.’
‘I will be a very sad spirit if you do.’
‘I won’t,’ I promised vehemently, and reached for his hand. The contrast between my hand and his couldn’t have been greater. Mine was smooth and soft and his was gnarled and full of green veins, the skin waxy and liver-spotted. The nails were the color of polished ivory. The hand of a seventy-year-old man. His fingers grasped fiercely at my hand. I lifted them to my lips and kissed them one by one, tenderly.
His eyes glowed briefly in his wasted, sunken face. ‘How I love you, my darling Tawny,’ he murmured.
‘I love you. I love you. I love you,’ I said.
‘Do your part and they cannot touch you.’
He sighed. ‘It’s nearly time.’
‘Don’t say that,’ I cried, even though I knew in my heart that he was right.
His eyes swung to the window. ‘Ah,’ he sighed softly. ‘You’ve come.’
My gaze chased his. The window he was looking at was closed, the heavy drapes pulled shut. Goose pimples crawled up my arms. ‘Don’t go yet. Please,’ I begged.
He dragged his gaze reluctantly from the window. His thin, pale lips rose at the edges as he drew in a rattling breath. ‘I’ve got to go, my darling. I’ve got to pay my dues. I haven’t been a good man.’
‘Just wait a while.’
‘You have your whole life ahead of you.’
He turned his unnaturally bright eyes away from me, looked straight ahead, and with a violent shudder, departed.
For a few seconds I simply stared at him. Appropriately, outside the October wind howled and dashed itself into the shutters. I knew the servants were waiting downstairs. Everyone was waiting for me to go down and tell them the news. Then I leaned forward and put my cheek on his still, bony chest. He smelled strongly of medicine. I closed my eyes tightly. Why did you have to go and die and leave me to the wolves?
In that moment I felt so close to him I wished that this time would not end. I wished I could lie on his chest, safe and closeted away from the cruel world. I heard the clock ticking. The flames in the fireplace crackled and spat. Somewhere a pipe creaked. I placed my chin on his chest and turned to look at him one last time. He appeared to be sleeping. Peaceful at any rate. I stroked the thin strands of white hair lying across his pinkish white scalp, and let my finger run down his prominent nose. It shocked me how quickly the tip of his nose had lost warmth. Soon all of him would be stone cold.
I wondered whom he had seen at the window. Who had come to take him to his reckoning. My sorrow was complete. I could put my fingertips into it and feel the edges. Smooth. Without corners. Without sharpness. It had no tears. I knew he was dying two hours before. Strange because it had seemed as if he had taken a turn for the better. He seemed stronger, his cheeks pink, his eyes brilliantly bright and when he smiled it appeared as if he was lit from within. He even looked so much stronger. I asked him what he wanted to eat.
‘Milk. I’ll have a glass of milk,’ he said decisively.
But after I called for milk and it was brought to him he smiled and refused it. ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ he asked. ‘I feel so good.’
And at that moment I knew. Even so it was incomprehensible to me that he was really gone. I never wanted to believe it.
‘In the end you wanted to go, didn’t you?’
There was no answer.
‘It’s OK. I know you were tired. It was only me holding you back. You go on ahead. Find a place for me.’
He lay as still as a corpse. Oh God! I already missed him so much.
‘I understand you can’t talk. But you can hear me. When it is my turn I want you to come and get me. I’ll be expecting you to come in through the window. Go in peace now, my love. All will be well. They will never know the truth. I will never tell them. To the day you come back to collect me.’
And then I began to cry, not loud, ugly sobs, but a quiet weeping. I didn’t want the servants to hear. To come rushing in. Call the doctor waiting downstairs to come in and pronounce him dead. I knew what waited for me outside this room. Another hour…or two wouldn’t make a difference. This was my time. My final hours with my husband.
The time before I became the hated gold digger.