Paul said he would call her later. She nodded and smacked a kiss on his lips. Paul looked as if he wanted to ravish her so she left quickly. That was going to be their down fall, and she knew it. Being attracted to one person like that could not be a good thing. She considered taking up shagging with someone else and perhaps evening out the er... Hormone levels. No, that would just be far too much work.
Despite herself, Gabrielle was wondering when the next time they could do it would be. Maybe she could have a party and get a chance to sneak off with Paul. Maybe she could convince George to have a party. No one would expect something like that because generally, when the Harrisons were away or out for the evening and Peter and George had people over to get off their heads, Gabrielle spent most of the evening with George. What was the point of having a big party, she wondered, when all they did was get drunk together in the kitchen and then suggest potential shags out of everyone there.
George was her drinking buddy, Paul was her fuck buddy.
She thought about this and considered it. That wasn’t true. George and Gabrielle’s relationship was something they could never fully comprehend. She knew that. She wasn’t going to try to understand it. How many people do you feel that if they died, you would die. Not many.
She decided to concentrate on he mater of Paul. Paul the fuck buddy. Paul the fuck buddy with the really nice arse and extremely nice face. Wow. She had a great fuck buddy.
Perhaps she should tell Shaz? No, Shaz would just tell Cyn and it would be repeat episode of Aaron’s party. What about George? Would he care? Would he understand? Would he disapprove? No, it would just create massive amounts of weirdness.
Even if she felt like she could read his mind sometimes, massive amounts of weirdness could still be produced when dealing with George.
What time was it, anyway?
She didn’t have a watch, so she jogged the last block and sprinted through the gate. She was quiet please with her athletic ability. And jogging a block is very exerting for someone who doesn’t be believe in physical activity that doesn’t have to do with sex. Which Gabrielle did. It wasn’t like she was built to get fat anytime soon.
She slid her key in the lock. She didn’t need to go through the window because she’d been expected to stay at Aunt Maude’s. Luckily, Maude got home early at 2 and she was still awake. So she and Paul were able to run off and be fuck buddies.
All the lights were off in the house. She pursed her lips and stole through the foyer into the family room. The site there put a heavy weight on her heart. She closed her eyes, willing the image to go away. God, mummy.
Her father sat on the couch, head in his hands, soft sobbing sounds were heard if she was quiet. Which she was. The photograph of her mother when she had been younger that had been on the mantle until she died was on the couch next to her father. They put it in the desk drawer when she died. As they did of most photographs or other things that brought back to many memories.
Once, in a very freighting attempt to rid herself of her mother’s face, Gabrielle accidentally smashed a picture in with her hand. It was as if something that wasn’t her had done that. She hadn’t meant to. One minute she was looking at a picture of her mother and herself, looking mischievous around the Christmas Tree. Images had swarmed her mind and made her feel paralyzed with grief. She didn’t even realize how much she’d missed her mother till that moment. It was no wonder John stuck his foot through the window when a bus hit his Mum.
The next thing Gabrielle knew she was staring at a broken picture frame and clutching her bloodied hand. A thin scar ran down the side of her thumb as a reminder. Blood and Glass didn’t go together well. They complimented each other in a sick way.
Gabrielle shook her head and strode over to her Father. He looked up at her, sniffling and wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. It was sort of pathetic and heart breaking to see a grown man crying over his dead wife.
“Gabrielle? You’re home early sweetie” She sighed and picked up the picture of her Mother.
“Dad” she shook her head and sank down next to him “Why do you do this to your self”
He held his hand out for the picture. “Didn’t mean to Gabby. I just… miss your mother so much. I feel like part of myself has died”
“So do I” Gabrielle muttered She closed her eyes. She thought about smashing the picture and stood up straight.
“All you can do is not think about it” she said stonily
“You have to grieve an get over it and remember” her father quoted the priest at the funeral.
She sneered “Like hell I will. I am over it. I grieved, and I let her go. But there is no bloody way I am remembering it”
You sound like john, said a little voice in the back of her head. It would be better to sound like Paul. If you were like him you could shut off your emotions and appear comatose. You aren’t like John, so stop it.
She opened her mouth as if to answer but realized that it was voice in her head. Not a voice in her house. “I…” She started to say
“Yes, sweetheart?” he Father asked
“Nothing” she shook her head
You’re like George you know. You are.
That’s what she wanted right now. George. She wanted George, much like a child would want their binkie.
“I’m going to George’s.” She mumbled and turned in the direction of George’s house “I’ll be back for dinner”
If Gerald Gallagher answered she didn’t hear him. Instead she walked in a straight line through the kitchen, over the gate and into George’s yard. The backdoor was open. It must have been early because Louise always put the laundry out first thing in the morning. Gabrielle strode through the back door as if it were her own house. Peter was sitting at the kitchen table eating oatmeal.
“Hey gabby”: he said, barley looking up.
He waved at him but didn’t look away from where her eyes were trained. Her feet. Plodding along. Get to George.
“George is still asleep,” he said, as he blew on his oatmeal “get him up, I want to see if he’ll play footie with me and the lads”
She didn’t answer. But she waved at him. Her tiny form went up the massive staircase. The one marvel of the Harrison house. Up to the top of the stairs. At the right was the bathroom and the Master bedroom. To the left were three tiny rooms that belonged to George, Peter, and Harry. Louise had been in America for a while. Since she’d left, George and Peter no long had to share.
She put her hand on George’s doorknob and pushed her way into the room. It was dark except for the light filtering in here and there between the curtains. The curtains were pretty gray and blue plaid. Gabrielle remembered when Louise made them to replace the old makeshift ones that weren’t nearly as nice. George had a fit because they were so pretty. He didn’t want anything pretty. He was a strictly non-pretty guy.
She smiled at the memory. And at George. He didn’t snore. One of his better traits, but he she could hear him breathing across the room. She kicked her shoes off near his night stand and watched him for a few minutes. She wasn’t sure why but sometimes George felt like just George, like someone you always hang around with and have fun with. Other times he was George and she was dead happy to have him.
The duvet was folded backward neatly with the blankets. Gabrielle was willing to bet Louise had come in and tidied up and folded the covers back of his face and given him a kiss on his mop top covered head. She was like that.
He was facing away from her, one arm was dangling over the side of the bed. The other was curled around his face. His thin frame was clad in only a white tee shirt, and she could see his black boxer shorts underneath the covers. He needed another haircut. It was getting way to long. George really didn’t care anymore.
Well what now.
George snuffled and rubbed his face into the pillow mumbling something incoherent. She had the strongest desire to hug him and to touch him for just the smallest amount of reassurance. Yeah, that’s what she’d do. Get in bed and go back to sleep with him and when she woke up, life would be perfect again.
She undid her cardigan and tossed it on the chair where his jeans were laying, obviously just in from the wash by the way they were folded. George had never folded anything in his life. They would have been strewn about the room carelessly.
Gabrielle unzipped the back of her long skirt. Damn it. It was so much less clothes to take off when you were not dressed conservatively. She stepped out of her skirt, and tugged her socks off with it. Under the long wool skirt she had a cream satiny petticoat that fell to just above her knees. Standard middle of winter conservative wear. She never wanted to see it again.
With one last effort she pulled her roll neck jumper off because guess what. There were more clothes after that. Now clad in bra, undershirt, knickers and petticoat. Layers that Paul had complained about in a hilarious incessant manor last night. Gabrielle hovered over George it, unsure what to do because he was taking up so much space. They were both slight inn frame, it wasn’t a problem of fittin in the small bed. It never had before.
She pulled the duvet back a little and his head shot up. “Wha.. Uhh.. mum? Wha?” he murmured
“No, Gabs” she whispered.
George licked his lips and swallowed “Gabs?” he repeated without opening his eyes. He rolled onto his side and buried his face in the pillow. She smiled. At a different time, disoriented half asleep George would have been hilarious.
Gabrielle kneeled on the bed and kicked her feet under, hoping to get in without waking him up. No such luck. George blinked and watched her slip under the covers. She wanted to put her arms around him but of course he didn’t know why she was there. He was half asleep. Once, he mistook her for Paul when they had been sleeping. That was really weird.
“Gabs?” he whispered, furrowing his brow “It’s morning?”
“Uh huh” she pulled the covers up to her chin and nodded
He watched her settle in for a bit and then caught her gaze. His brown eyes were blurred with sleep. They were still beautiful though. She wondered what her own eyes look like. People said they were pretty and her best feature but Gabrielle found them to be freakishly large. A lot of the time George would look her in the eye and know exactly what she was thinking. She couldn’t really conceal emotions very well from him.
Don’t cry. She encouraged herself. You all ready went through all of that before with him you don’t need to do it again.
She let him see her, she didn’t want to talk.
“Mum issues?” he asked biting his lower lips hesitantly
She nodded wordlessly
“Want a hug?” he asked, a grin played at George’s lips. He winked carelessly and she smiled back.
“Uh huh” she managed to say. Gabrielle wiggled herself over to George. She knotted her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his chest. They were both tiny little waif people. It felt nice holding something that felt so familiar in its slightness.
George sighed and threaded his fingers through Gabrielle’s hair as she clung to him. She wasn’t going to cry. He knew she wasn’t going to cry because she wasn’t a crier. He’d seen her cry three times. Ever. Once when Billie the Bulldog ran away and got hit by a car. They were six and George cried too. Once when she had to go to boarding school and he didn’t cry but punched a bloke at school who was younger and skinner and there for, George could take his anger out on him. He got suspended and spent the week at Gabrielle’s trying to convince her parents to bring her back.
The third time had been when her mother died. As far as George knew those had been the only times she’d cried. Unless it was at night in her pillow. Even as children when she fell over and hurt herself, she didn’t. He’d known her since he was five. It was sort of odd to be a five year old scouser kid and to have this tough cute little five year old, with pigtails and a turned up nose. She beat up Willie O’Conner, because he stole George’s ice cream. And, when Willie pushed her over and she cut her knee, of course, she got up instead of crying and tackled Willie rugby Style.
George remembered being thoroughly impressed that she had a cousin named James who played rugby and taught her how to do that. She didn’t cry then. And so George stopped throwing those childish fits about things too. In fact, he and Gabrielle spent so much time together as children, and picked up on so many of each other’s traits, the two dark haird children were often mistaken for twins.
Shifting back into the present George pressed a kiss down onto her temple. He generally, as a rule didn’t kiss her unless it was joking. Lips were off limits but various forms of hugging, touching, snuggling, or coddling were fine. She inhaled deeply and sighed into his chest.
“It’ll be fine.” He whispered, not for the purpose of letting her know It would be all right but so she could hear his voice. She had a thing about that. He comforted her. Just by being him. It was a wonderful feeling.
“You think so” she murmured against his chest
George pushed his knees against her thighs and she parted her legs far enough for him to entwine his legs with hers. It was a weird thing they’d done. It made you feel like you were further connected to the other person.
Gabrielle mumbled something again. George wasn’t sure what, he closed his eyes and felt the haze of sleep coming back to him while every sense and nerve ending focused on her.
Gabrielle felt her mind do what she knew it would. Pull away from the bad and settle on only George.