Page 56 of The Final Beat

“And neither of you can be blamed for that,” Ronnie added. “It’s perfectly natural.” He took a breath and then grinned. “We’re off down to the bar. Fancy an orange juice?”

I shook my head. “No thanks, mate, I’ve got stuff to do.” Like figuring out how I came to terms with Destiny’s pain for starters.

“Okay, but you know where we’ll be if you change your mind.”

I nodded and clapped Ronnie on the shoulder as I carried on back to my room. When I opened the door I was grateful that we weren’t all staying in the same suite. Solitude was what I needed. Not the constant chatter, banter, and damn fucking loved up happiness of three couples who were presently all experiencing various levels of joy.

The room was practically in darkness seeing as I hadn’t opened the curtains before I left that morning. There was just a thin chink of light coming in through a gap, not enough to brighten the room or my mood. I glanced over at the wet bar but knew there were only soft drinks behind it. Even when we shared a suite there was never booze in it. I’d argued that they didn’tneed to babysit me, but secretly I was grateful for it. My need at that moment to sink a double vodka proved they were right.

Walking to the bar I found my latest craving, a box of salt and vinegar crisps. I never ate them at home, only on tour which was odd. Then again, that was my whole life, odd and fucked up.

I snagged up two packets, ripped one open and shoved a handful of crisps into my mouth. As I walked towards the sofa, I kicked off my shoes, ridiculously expensive trainers that had been given to me by the manufacturer and picked up the TV remote. There’d been days, not so long ago, when we’d spent the hours before a sound check drinking and joking around, or in my case getting high. Nowadays the guys were more interested in engagement rings, nappies, and air fat fryers, or in my case crisps and old episodes of Homes Under the Hammer.

“It’s a shit hole mate,” I growled at the screen. “Stay well clear.”

After five more minutes of watching the guy wasting his inheritance on a crappy flat in a shitty area, I turned the TV off and threw the remote to one side.

“God, I’m bored.”

As if someone was listening to me complain, my phone began to ring in my pocket. Pulling it out and seeing who it was calling me, I considered turning the telly back on.

“Mum, you okay?”

“Hey, baba. How are you?”

I groaned inwardly because there was a slight slur to her words, and it wasn’t even two in the afternoon.

“I’m fine. Just chilling out before sound check later.”

“Oh yes, you’re on tour.” She giggled, like she’d just remembered that I was in a famous rock band. “Anyway, how was the funeral?”

Wow, that didn’t take long. I’d have thought she’d have at least talked about the weather for a couple of minutes first.

“Alright,” I replied, my hackles already rising as I prepared for the onslaught of questions. “A funeral is a funeral.”

“But it was your dad. It’s not just any old funeral.”

I didn’t know what she wanted me to say. I didn’t know what to say because I wasn’t sure how I was feeling. Grief? Anger? All of the above.

“To me it was just a funeral, Mum.” My stomach lurched with the lie.

“Stop being brave about it, Joseppi. I know you.”

“If you knew me,Zoe, then you’d know not to call me that. And you’d also know that Aldo wasn’t my dad. Hechosenot to be my dad.”

“It wasn’t that simple, baba,” Mum replied.

“Yes, it is.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, the anger and frustration rising in me. “It is that simple. He left me heartbroken. He leftusheartbroken. He already had a family. He knew it when he met you and still chose to go ahead and let you fall in love with him. All that time he lied to you, Mum, he lied to us.”

The silence echoed down the line. In fact, it screamed at the highest decibel. Then I could hear breathing, rapid and shallow, and I could practically feel her anxiety. She was rarely stuck for words, but the seconds were stretching out and I instinctively knew that Aldo hadn’t been the only one to lie.

“You knew, didn’t you?” The realisation felt like a punch in the guts. “That he was married when you met him. You knew.”

I heard the hitch in her breath and the anger began to build. The pressure in my head ballooned, building to the point of explosion. The grip I had on my phone tightened until my knuckles went white and I didn’t think I’d ever felt more betrayed.

“You damn well knew he was married and yet you still let him into your life, get you pregnant, and then let me love him.”Drawing in a torn breath I pushed up from the sofa and stalked to the window, slamming my open palm against the glass. “You fucking knew.”

“Joseppi,” she snapped. “Don’t swear at me.”

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