Chapter Eight
GEORGINA
Some people never really get over their first love. Blake was one of those people. For all her edginess, for all her Fierce Warrior nature, Georgina had long ago excused her brother for being a sopping Wet Blanket.
In part, she realised this was because he’d taken the concept of Alice and blown it up into an inflatable woman of a doll who embodied everything about the female psyche. There was no doubt that his feelings for Alice were more than lingering teenage lust, although even Georgina had to acknowledge that her natural white blonde curls and cobalt eyes on porcelain skin, not to mention the legs that went on for miles and miles, were enough to make any sister’s veins course with envy.
But Blake’s fascination with this ethereal creature happened to happen the exact Monday after their mother had scarpered back to Benidorm to ‘start a new life’ with one Miguel, aka. the fling from her best (and in those days, super late to the altar) friend’s week long hen do. Which was the precise Monday Georgina’s role in the household changed too; aged just nine or not, she had assumed the position of Mama Bear-stroke-one of the lads, unnaturally nonplussed by her mother’s hiatus for ever and ever Amen to warmer climes. Something inside her had always known this would be the turn of events. That way it came as no surprise when the love she carried for her big brother – and her father – became the unconditional love a mother is supposed to carry for her child. Overnight.
Blake had spurned every female opportunity for his Happy Ever After over the years. Women, including his ex-wife and the child they had created – the nephew Georgina would never get chance to play Auntie to – had come and gone, all because of River. The fact could not be disputed: had he not led Alice astray into the badass world of ‘rock ‘n’ roll’, Blake would have moved on with his life. He’d have watched with a strange kind of satisfaction from the sidelines as she’d settled down with another local guy, granted they’d still have a better career than he could ever dream of, an estate agent perhaps or a solicitor, but they certainly wouldn’t be publicity hungry, Brad Pitt cloned gazillionaires. She’d have popped out two point four children, lost her mojo and her looks because there was no longer a damned thing to prove in the small town comfort zone, and they all would have lived happily ever after.
But oh no, River’s determination to secure her a place in that wretched band had resulted in one thing and one thing only: Blake putting her on an even higher pedestal, this one made of gold, encrusted with diamonds, and ever more out of his reach. Her antics haunted him everywhere he went. Especially the staff canteen where she’d ‘grace’ the tabloids emerging from a tropical Barbadian beach hand in hand with her latest bit of stuff, or dazzling the crowds in a figure-hugging ball gown on a red carpet in La-La Land, a sharp kick to the stomach as he tucked into his bacon butty.
That was why it was time for revenge, and what sweeter way for revenge to play itself out than between the sheets.
“So what excuse did you make up this time?” said River, breaking her stream of consciousness, a narrative she was rather enjoying along with the subtle dapple of daylight which was nicely warming up her pillow.
Georgina yawned and stretched her arms out of her side of the deluxe bed she’d grown all too accustomed to, a cat about to lick her paws. Last night’s activity had been epic.
“They think I’m overnighting at one of my former clients’ houses,” she said, opening her sleepy eyes and rolling over to face her lover, “there in the middle of the night to accompany him to the bathroom for a pee.” She circled River’s navel with her fingertip, “And there in the morning to shower him and make him breakfast.” She turned over to the bedside table, lifted the half-filled flute of Bolly and faced him again to bring the glass to his lips. River raised his eyebrows as he sipped and she took this as her opportunity to dive in for a luxurious (if slightly flat) bubble-fuelled kiss.
“Good. That is good,” he said when they came up for air.
He’d come clean with her last night about what had really happened during Blake’s visit, every bead of Champagne seemingly teasing out the smallest of details. She’d feigned her shock well, revelling in the amount of trust he was prepared to bestow on her so quickly.
Blake had mentioned he and Lee had called by with a ‘friendly warning’, that was the real reason she knew River was back on the scene just hours before Torgate, her path crossing with her brother’s as they’d met on their own garden path; one heading out to walk the neighbour’s feisty terrier, one about to flunk out on the couch with a breakfast of leftover cottage pie. But despite Blake’s hint, she hadn’t been at all prepared for the slightly bigger picture River had painted. She’d even started to feel sorry for River last night. Just for a couple of seconds anyway.
“I can’t believe it,” she’d finally said.
“Well, straight up, babe, it’s the truth,” River had downed his champers from the bottle before adding, “the irony being it was actually your dad and a couple of other painters and decorators who patched the bar back up again – a great job they did too – although thankfully he didn’t recognise me… or if he did, he did a very good job of playing dumb anyway.”
“Geez, yes,” she’d gasped. “That does explain the recent spell of contract work he was going on about.” She’d propped her head up with her elbow, unable to hide the legitimate worry that had wrinkled her face. “I mean, I know Blake can get flighty, that he’s not happy in that dead-end job, that he misses Ethan… who’s got to be going on for like eight now. But going to those lengths and dragging poor Lee along for the ride…?” she’d paused, puffing air from her cheeks like a dragon, “…all I can say is I am really sorry. This is not going to happen again. I can’t confront him, obviously—”
“No, do not even go there. He made it more than quartz crystal clear this wasn’t his last visit… maybe this was all too big a risk you working for me? What if he does come back when you’re in the bar… or one of his friends spots you as they walk past the window?”
Georgina couldn’t believe how dense River could be at times. She lay in bed reflecting on their recent dialogue, in awe of those fabulously muscular buttocks which never seemed to get a workout, other than when parked on a mattress, and shook her head at last night’s naïve remark as he pulled on his boxer shorts.
“a) Blake doesn’t have any friends, they’re just workmates,” she’d said, “well, except for Lee, who’s hardly contender of the year for Iron Man, b) Blake drinks at The Pear Tree to avoid seeing Dad’s sorry face prop up the bar at the Ring O’Bells… okay, what was the Ring O’Bells…,” she’d swallowed, she’d really not intended to keep labouring that point. “So I wouldn’t worry about him putting in an appearance at the bar any time soon to switch pints for piña coladas – either alone or with a baseball bat armed group of drinking buddies.” She’d stopped to sigh at the tragedy of it all, taking in River’s face, intent and hooked on her revelation. “In fact, he’s Dad’s mirror image at his pub, face melded to the head of his beer, his only communication a quick gawp at the barmaid’s cleavage, or a head nod to the landlord… such a sorry state of affairs.” Georgina had broken off again. “Now, where was I, oh yes… point c)… both Dad and Blake know I wear the trousers. I will tell them I’m working with you,” how she’d enjoyed the lingering of that four letter word, “but when the moment is right.”
And with that he’d pulled her on top of him, just as he was doing now, tempting her libido out of its daydream, despite him being fully dressed.
What could she say? She was yet to meet a woman who operated smoother than she did.