Page 38 of The Final Beat

I couldn’t help but laugh, anyone would think from the look of disbelief on his face that he was being serious. Joyfulness was not an emotion I associated with Joey Farrow. Darkness and sadness maybe.

“Okay.” I sighed. “If notthat, what kind of game?”

He chewed on his bottom lip and made a show of thinking about the kind of game that he wanted to play. I wasn’t totally surprised when he licked his lips and grinned.

“I suppose we could think about playing your game,” he said, moving to the edge of the sofa. His tight arse was perched ready to move and there was a glint of naughtiness in his eyes.

I was more than tempted to take him up on it. I knew I’d end up sated and buzzing and it wasn’t a bad way to spend a rainy afternoon. The danger was, the more Joey and I had sex, the more likely it was that my barriers would come down. Barriers that I’d worked hard to erect, and it was a scary thought that they might disappear. What was even scarier was that Joey could be the one who smashed them.

“Maybe we sh?—”

Before I could say anything else, I was interrupted by Joey’s phone ringing. It was sitting on the coffee table and vibrating like mad against the glass.

He leaned forward and glanced down at the screen. The smile he’d had on his face suddenly dropped and his eyes flashed up at me.

“Cosima.” Joey’s Adam's apple bobbed as he watched me carefully with the phone continuing to buzz in front of him.

I nodded at it. “Answer the damn thing.”

Joey scrubbed a hand down his face and groaned. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“It might not be that.” Moving to sit next to him, I picked up his phone and handed it to him. “You need to answer it.”

“I really don’t.”

“You do, Joey.” I shoved the phone at him. “You need to know.”

He gave me a single nod and took it from my hand. As it continued to ring out, Joey looked down at the screen, his jaw tensing.

“Answer it.” Placing my hand on his knee, I gave it a gentle squeeze. “Go on.”

He stabbed his finger on the screen. “Cosima.”

As Joey listened, I slowly stood up and tiptoed away, leaving him to speak to his sister.

I was in Joey’s music room, just off his open plan living space, plonking the keys of his baby grand piano when he walked in. The tightness in his jaw hadn’t loosened, in fact it looked like it was made of stone. He sat next to me on the stool, shoving me along.

“Well?” I asked, turning to look at him.

He started to play Chopsticks with his right hand, his shoulders heaving.

“Joey.”

“He’s dead,” he said flatly. “Early hours.”

“Joe,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “No need, Dais’. I didn’t know him, and we knew it was going to be anytime soon.”

Watching as he moved onto another tune, I studied him, wondering whether he was going to crumble or continue to act like his dad dying was nothing. When he played a bum note, hecursed under his breath and restarted playing the tune that I didn’t recognise.

I nudged him. “What else did she say? You were on for at least ten minutes.”

“Told me when the funeral would likely be and said he died in his sleep. They were all around his bedside apparently.” He took a sharp intake of breath. “Seems he had all his loved ones around him.”

Reaching up, I ran my fingers over his head, moving them down to cup his cheek. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

He turned to look at me and I was shocked to see the pain in his eyes. “Don’t be nice to me, Dais’. I don’t deserve it.” He gave me a shaky grin. “Besides, it’s unnerving.”

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