Chapter 35 Joanie
Joanie
Dad looked up from his coffin and winked. Somehow, I suppressed my eye roll. Dad’s flair for the dramatic was legendary, but he’d really peaked with this.
I laid my purple tulips on his chest. “Hi.”
Dad flashed a huge smile. “What do you think of the coffin? I didn’t know whether to go with the powder blue or ivory interior.”
“The ivory is perfect. Very . . . morbid.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
A self-satisfied smile graced his tanned face. He looked well, considering he was supposed to be dead.
“Looking very dapper for a corpse, you silly old bastard.” A gravelly laugh erupted next to me. “What is all this bollocks? A living funeral? You don’t get enough attention as it is?”
Phil, the drummer from Dad’s band, shook his head in faux disgust, but humor sparkled in his eyes.
Dad pressed his lips into a straight line, trying not to laugh. “Fuck off.”
Phil’s laugh deepened. “You fuck off. I’ve been up all night writing your eulogy.”
Dad sighed. “I told you. I had a revelation. Why wait until you’re dead for everyone to come and say all the things they wished they’d said to you when you were alive? I’d rather just give everyone the opportunity to say it now.”
Phil smoothed his gray ponytail and stepped back, admiring the gleaming coffin. “We love you, alright? Is that what you want to hear? We were all waiting for your next wedding to have another piss-up. You don’t have to pretend you’re dead.”
Dad pouted. “Sit down. Stop ruining my funeral. You’re supposed to be in mourning. You could have worn a suit.”
No one from the band had worn a suit. I’d seen them all moping around outside—a bunch of aging hipsters in ripped jeans and leather jackets having an animated discussion about the trials and tribulations of Rich’s vineyards in the South of France.
Once it had been booze, cigarettes, and blow jobs from groupies on the tour bus. Now it was organic wine and vaping.
At least he’d had a good turnout. The cream of British celebrity had gathered to mourn Dad’s fake death.
Dad’s ex-girlfriends occupied three rows alone.
Skylar caught my eye from across the room and waved.
I smoothed my black shift dress with sweaty palms. At least a funeral had a dress code.
I hadn’t had to spend days overthinking what to wear like I had for all of Dad’s weddings.
This was just something I had to get through. Dad’s scene had always been too much.
My eyes kept drifting to the door. Kieran wasn’t here yet, but he’d texted last night and confirmed he’d come.
This was the perfect opportunity to introduce Kieran to Dad.
I indulged my father for another moment, squeezing his shoulder.
Grinning, Dad adjusted the silk leopard-print scarf that circled his tattooed neck.
I kissed his warm cheek. “You do you, Dad. Rest in peace.”
He winked again. “Wish me luck getting through the pearly gates.”
“I wouldn’t worry. The angels will be asking for your autograph.”
The enormous sitting room had been temporarily transformed into a funeral parlor with black velvet drapes, decadent sprays of lilies, and thick candles on tall silver plinths.
It looked like the set from one of Dad’s old-school music videos.
I’d like to say this was the most eccentric thing that had ever gone on in this house, but knowing Dad and what he’d got up to in his glory days, it didn’t come close.
The room bustled with activity as people found their seats. I scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces. Where was Kieran? He’d said he’d be here early. He’d wanted to meet my dad in private before this all began.
A sudden blast of sound made me jump. “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen boomed out of the speakers at the front. I sat down next to my cousin and greeted a couple of family members I hadn’t seen in years.
“You saved me a seat. Thanks, Sis.” Ollie squeezed past an elderly aunt.
“Ollie!” I jumped up and wrapped my arms around him.
“What do you think Dad died of?” His whisper was full of laughter. “I was thinking his trousers got so tight they cut off the blood supply to his brain.”
I tapped my lips, pretending to contemplate. “Maybe. I was wondering if it’s possible to die of self-importance.”
We shouldn’t have been trash-talking Dad at his own fake funeral, but Dad always gave as good as he got, and trash-talking was a welcome relief from this maelstrom of emotion since I’d come home.
It had been strange to sleep alone in my own bed last night.
I’d texted Kieran until I fell asleep, but I missed him.
Neither of us wanted to be sneaking around, but it wouldn’t be any good to go public too soon.
If I could just get my first game out of the way, everything would be different.
Being with Kieran had felt easy in Menorca, and now everything felt heavy again.
We both sat. Ollie gave me a beaming smile. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve got so much to tell you.”
“I need to know everything. It’s been forever.”
Ollie lowered his voice again. “This is wife number six now, like Henry the Eighth. I hope this one lasts. I swear the only reason he keeps getting married is so he can get the band back together at the reception.”
I followed his gaze to Dad’s latest wife, Valerie, sitting in the front row. A tight black dress hugged her incredible lingerie-model physique, and a lace veil flowed from a pillbox hat on her perfect hair. She dabbed her face with a black lace handkerchief.
“As long as he doesn’t start beheading them, I reserve judgment,” I said.
“Valerie is really leaning into the grieving widow vibe. Those tears look real.”
I kept my voice deadpan. “It’s what he would have wanted.”
Ollie laughed. Rock music blasted from the speaker. I almost jumped out of my seat at Dad’s shrill, rasping vocal on “Love Me to Death.”
Ollie whispered in my ear, “He’s trying to plug his new material. That’s what this is all about. I saw some music journos outside. Any minute he’s going to rise out of that coffin like Dracula and start singing along.”
I snorted with laughter. “I need to talk to you after this. Somewhere private.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds ominous. You can’t leave it like that. Give me a hint.”
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “It’s not ominous. Not really. I want to talk to you about Kieran Earnshaw.”
“What about him?” He scrutinized my face and his eyes widened. “Oh no. You didn’t!”
My cheeks heated. “He’s nice, Ollie. Underneath everything you see on the surface, he’s really so nice.”
He sighed and shifted in his seat. “Look, this is awkward, and I really didn’t want to tell you this, but someone has to. Dad let something slip the other day . . .”
A middle-aged woman in a smart navy suit stepped up to the podium. An expectant silence wrapped around us.
“Welcome to Mortimer Fox’s living funeral. Today we gather not in sorrow, but in joy, to celebrate the life of a great man. A multi-platinum-selling rock legend. A visionary artist. A dedicated father.”
Ollie’s breath was hot against my ear. “Dad bribed Kieran to agree to the commercial. They had some kind of deal. If Kieran did this, looked after you, and didn’t try anything on, Dad would help Kieran get back on the England team.”
An odd laugh rose up in me. That was ridiculous. Kieran had never met Dad. “Looked after me? What do you mean?” Dad had fixed it so I had to do that awful commercial that he knew I didn’t want to do? And Kieran had gone along with that?
The woman at the front eulogized about Dad, but my brain couldn’t process the words.
Panic spiraled in my chest, and every beat of my heart felt louder and more frenzied.
That couldn’t be true, could it? Although it had a kind of logic to it.
Kieran had been so adamant in the PR meeting that he wouldn’t do the commercial.
Then he’d been so grumpy and standoffish at the gym, then suddenly on the plane he’d had a dramatic turnaround.
He was the one who had instigated the truce between us.
The room began to spin. The black roses that climbed the wall tangled and blurred. I gasped for breath, but all the air had been sucked out of the room and replaced with the heavy fragrance of lilies. It couldn’t be right, but I trusted Ollie. He wouldn’t lie. Footballers told lies, not brothers.
Where was Kieran now? He’d told me he’d come for this funeral.
He hadn’t replied to any of my texts. Of course he wouldn’t want to come if this was true.
Could it be true? My heart weighed heavy in my chest. How humiliating if it was.
Why wouldn’t he have come clean about it?
He’d been keeping a secret from me the entire time?
Dad and Kieran must have spoken about me behind my back to make their little arrangement.
My mind drifted to when I’d heard Gerard talking about me.
Everything I’d known about Gerard was a lie.
I’d trusted him, and he’d been laughing at me.
If Kieran had been lying to me too, then how much of any of it was true with him? None of it. How could it be?
I’d overridden every one of my instincts telling me exactly what Kieran was like. What a fool. A visceral humiliation gripped me, swirling like ice water in my stomach. How could I have been so stupid again? I’d known he was trouble, but I’d fallen for him anyway.
Ollie squeezed my hand. His eyes were full of sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Not as sorry as me.