Title from: Call Me Lover by Sam Fender
Mauritius, 21st August 2023
Carla
"Good evening," a familiar voice coo's jokingly from beside me. A warm breeze fans around me on the sun lounger as I shift in my spot, it makes it all the more tempting to slip back into the lazy mid-afternoon slumber. The screech of an overexcited child (more specifically George's sister's child or my unofficial nephew James) pushes any hope of further sleep away. George's hands are cool as they brush against my upper arm softly his eyes shining down on me as I wipe sleep away from my own.
I've barely been sleeping.
When I do manage to sleep it's scarce and light and interrupted with the slightest shift, shuffle or huff from George beside me. The best shut eye I get is on a morning when he quietly slips out at the buzz of his alarm to work out or run for an hour before I can even think about opening my eyes. Without him beside me I can relax, the guilt not so great when he's not at my side. I've been topping up my REM on sun loungers around the pool of the five star hotel we're in whilst he entertains his niece and nephew in the pool or on the beach.
I've not been much fun over the last ten days and whilst I've heard quiet complaints from James, Jess and even George's mum Alison, George has never uttered a word of complaint. He quietly defends me to each of them with a mere shrug of his shoulders. "That's what holidays are for." or "She's been so busy with work." Are what he hums softly when anyone asks. I can feel my heart clench each time I hear him mumble the defence without so much of a waver of questioning to his voice.
Ever since that night George has gone out of his way to show me what I mean to him.
He returned on time for dinner every night before the Belgium race, even surprising me with food prepared by him on my return from work on the Wednesday before his flight. I was showered with apology gifts and deliveries through the whole weekend: new shoes, flowers and wine deliveries appeared at the door to the house for the whole weekend. He even earned an impressed glance from Megan when she stayed over on Saturday. After the race in Belgium George returned from his 2nd place podium, beaten only by Charles, with a smile on his face and a new iPhone box in his hands declaring it was his new 'work phone' so that he could focus more when we were together. He made a point of setting up the device before turning it off for summer entirely for me to see. Of course he can't completely disappear from Mercedes, various people from the team still need him at random intervals calling him on his usual phone but he has been less stretched when we're together, less distracted. He's putting the effort in, the effort that he knows has been lacking over the last few months.
I don't know if the fact makes me happy.
"It made me shit scared the thought of losing you Carls." George had quietly admitted on our trip to St Ives, the words falling out of him as we took a hike around the Cornish cliffs. His eyes stayed on the sea as he spoke and I found myself bursting into thick tears at the admission. I think George thought it was because of the pain he's caused me over the last however many months, the anger I felt at him the night of our ill-fated date. It wasn't. My tears were entirely self serving. The guilt ate at me with a sharp stab that hit me in my chest and it felt like I couldn't breathe. The thought of losing him over the things I've done also terrifies me and it's exactly why I can't tell him any of it.
We had the most amazing five days in St Ives to start summer break. George often left me pink cheeked as he held me close, kisses were laced to every part of me as we explored the place we first met hand in hand. We visited familiar corners, watching the seals from the pier, laying on the beach and visiting the tiny burger restaurant where we had our first date after the surfing lesson my brother had dragged me on all those years ago. I'll always remind George of how bold it was for him to ask me out with my older brother standing right beside me. George always reassures me it was the scariest moment of his life, particularly with the way Dylan rolled his eyes at him - he's always been good at that. We also explored new places, the cinema hidden in the middle of the town and new spots in secret coves on beaches hiding around our cottage.
I was fighting a nausea the whole time (still am). The intense swarm of endless nerves in my stomach so bad that I've been throwing up at least every third day, even now when we're surrounded by others on our trip to Mauritius the feeling hasn't dulled.
The sudden phenomena was almost certainly caused by anxiety. The guilt that I deserve to feel after that night. After Lando, is eating me alive and this is the physical embodiment of it. "Food poisoning." I had flagged it to George as when he overheard me throwing up in the bathroom and sent me questioning and concerned glances on his return from the gym yesterday morning. Because how else could I explain it? 'I'm sick because I had drunken sex with your friend a month ago. Don't worry though, it was a mistake that I've been beating myself up over ever since because I love you so much' wouldn't cut it. I know it wouldn't. Who would be insane enough to accept the explanation? I've heard much less from George before leaving him behind in silence.
Of course for a brief moment my mind had gone to another place. What if the nausea was caused by something not anxiety related? What if my brainless actions in Lando's apartment that night had resulted in something more than just regrets? What if there was going to be a permanent reminder of our time together? The thought had only made me greyer, it's how George caught me throwing up yesterday. It was only when I convinced him I needed time to rest (alone) that I found myself on an early morning run to a local pharmacy.
Three rushed pregnancy tests in the humid bathroom of the hotel cafe are what it took for any colour to return to my cheeks. My legs almost gave out under me with relief when the word 'negative' and the minus sign of confirmation appeared on the white sticks.
I don't know what I would've done if the result was the other way. It's something I prefer not to think about. There's no way I would've been okay, no way I could've kept that world altering news to myself - I've never been good at secrets. George would have known. Worse than that, he would have known that any potential child that might exist wasn't his. Before our trip to Cornwall we hadn't had sex in almost two and a half months - not that I had been keeping note. When we eventually did I silently cried in the bathroom afterwards, the way he gripped onto my hips as he leaned over my naked body reminded me of one thing and one thing only; Lando.
Lando whose name I nearly called out when George asked me what I wanted as his hands explored my body teasingly. Lando who has been texting me almost every day since I left his flat.
He asks variations of the question 'are you okay?' Giving brief half hearted updates on his own summer break in Ibiza and it's surrounding areas. Up until the weekend I've deleted every one leaving them unreplied to. It would feel like an admission of guilt to reply to anything he sends my way. But, of course, George is too nice to even think that. He'd had nothing but praise for Lando when he picked me up from outside of his home, even called him the day after to thank him. I don't think he realised what he was thanking him for - it's where my nausea began.
"I'm sorry." I apologise to George, his skin still cool from the water of the pool as he presses against me. Water drips from his swim shorts onto me and my sun lounger but I don't care. Sometimes, in moments like this, where he's looking at me like that I forget what I've done.
"Don't apologise Carls, you're obviously exhausted." His lips brush my forehead as he speaks, hand combing through the ends of my hair. The ends of my hair are frizzy from air drying under the sun, turning to small soft curls instead of it's usual straight polished look. George likes my hair like this, he always says it reminds him of when we met. "Are you okay?" George asks, his voice gentle as his fingers twist into the ends of the curls, pawing at me delicately. His question has concern lacing every inch of it.
"Great." I force, my feet shifting so I can press them into the cushion of the bed. If I can focus on the feeling of the heat against the sole of my foot maybe it will be easier for the smile not to feel so tight on my face. George nods softly at my reply, his eyes dancing around the pool area softly as James gets swaddled in his Toy Story towel by George's sister.
"You can tell me if you're not." George adds softly and I can feel all the hairs on my body standing on end with his prompting question. My eyes flit to the people beside us hoping they can't overhear our quiet conversation. They're all too invested in their own conversations to think about listening into ours.
"George..." His name leaves me as a sigh. I feel like I can't breathe.
"I know I've been shit the last few months. But Carla if you need me I'm here, I'm going to be here from now, okay?" His eyes seek out mine as he says the words quietly, I feel like he's seeing into my soul. There's an edge of a stern voice in the back of my mind which says that he should have been here for me the whole time. That for everything I've done over the last six, seven or even eight months George should have been by my side. Sure, some things he couldn't help, but the day of my showcase - we both know he should've been there.
I shouldn't have reacted like I did, letting the betrayal sit in me so deeply that I betrayed George in the most disgusting and disloyal way. But he should have been there and that fact remains. If he had been there nothing would have happened, my life would still be okay and not tearing apart at the seams as I torture myself over and over for what happened.
So maybe, if I ever want to forgive myself for what I've done to George I need to forgive him too.
"I'm fine. I promise I'm fine." I reassure George quietly, my fingers reaching for his own and interlinking them. Our conversation is quiet enough but I'm afraid that someone is going to catch us, question what our hushed words are over or query why we're even talking like this. "It's just work. I'm thinking over some stuff." I promise with a casual shake of my head, a brush off of his concern. The information (no matter how fake it may be) makes a smile ease onto George's expression, he doesn't say anything about it but his shoulders ease into a more relaxed position. I pause to reach for my phone and as I unlock the phone Lando's words echo through my mind "you deserve someone who makes you feel like you're the most fantastic person on earth", even with forgiveness, is George that for me?
I'm not so sure.
"Do you want to see some of the stuff?" I ask him, swallowing shakily as I tap open my photo's and select the correct folder. George shrugs before sliding onto the sun lounger beside me. It's a squeeze, but his strong hands hook my leg over his hip keeping me close to him as he presses a kiss to my forehead. Images of sketches I've worked on with Jenny and photos of models wearing items planed to be released in a weeks time scatter over the screen.
"I'm sure you know a lot more about this stuff than me." George mumbles shuffling until we both find a comfortable spot on the bed. I flick through a bunch of my favourites, highlighting them to George. The shimmering dusky silver blazer and matching shorts, the hot pink mesh dress almost identical to the blue dress I made for my date night with George and a black silk dress. "I like this one." George pointed out when I show him a black corset-style jumpsuit, his fingers pinching the screen to zoom in on the picture of me wearing the black material. I find myself gushing that it comes with almost secret pockets to hide lip glosses, keys or a card on the way back from a bar. He just huffs out a laugh with an 'of course' that has me grinning.
Each time that George compliments one of the items I can't help but compare it to Lando's compliments. I compare the butterflies and excitement I feel each time I've heard him compliment anything I've done with a piece of fabric - George doesn't spark nearly as much excitement. I'm terrified I'll never feel those butterflies again.
———
In summary...Lando and Carla are both going through it
I have been screaming since Sunday. The way I was on the edge of my seat on Sunday and crying when Lando overtook Max. Mclaren deserved that double podium but I'll settle for a double Brit podium instead
Tuesday is such a rogue update day for me but what can I say? I feel like you all deserve it!
❤️❤️