Page 21 of The Final Beat

Joey nodded and with a big swallow, followed his sister out of the room.

I turned to the two younger women and grinned. “Right, got any wine, because I’m gasping?”

CHAPTER 11

JOEY

As Cosima led me down the hallway, I almost bolted for the front door. I didn’t think I’d ever felt so sick to the stomach, not since I’d given up drugs anyway. For what had to be the thousandth time, I wondered at my own dickheadedness. What the fuck was I doing there? Why hadn’t I just let him die without ever knowing me as a grown man? Why hadn’t I just carried on believing it was all my fault that he left? I should have stayed at home playing with my dick and wondering what to have for tea.

“Mamma, c’é Joseppi.”

Over Cosima’s shoulder I saw a petite woman clutching the hand of a man. I couldn’t see him, just his forearm which was thinner and paler than I would have expected. A slightly greying head popped up and turned to face us.

The first thing that struck me was that she looked a little like my mum. Petite, dark, with pretty eyes and full lips. The second thing I noticed was that those pretty eyes were filled with hatred as they watched me. Her grip on his hand visibly tightened as her shoulders stiffened.

“Speravo che non venisse,” she said, her gaze still pinned to mine.

“Rosetta.” The male voice was low, and sounded pained as he gave his warning. “Cosima, bring him in.” The words were said in English, probably for my benefit, which was good seeing as I’d forgotten the bits of Italian I’d learned when I was small. Unlike my bloody mother who spoke it fluently, probably in case Aldo came back.

As Rosetta rose from her seat, Cosima stood to one side and nodded at her mother as she pushed past us. When she came level with me, the older woman leaned closer.

“I only let your mother know out of courtesy. I did not want you to come.” Her English was a little broken, but the message was clear. Funny, though, she must have forgotten when she wanted to contact me when I became famous.

“Mamma.” Cosima sounded just like our father as she cautioned her mother. She then turned to me. “Go in but please don’t stay long. He is tired.”

I really didn’t want to go in there, but there was no turning back. It was time that I faced him. As I shuffled into the room which had the acrid smell of cleaning fluid and death, the door closed behind me. The only thing I could see were legs covered by a blanket because I couldn’t lift my head. I didn’t want to see him. I was scared what he would look like, that he wouldn’t be the big man with the head of thick wavy hair, muscular chest and piercing brown eyes that I remembered.

“You can look at me, Joseppi.”

Easy for him to say. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.

“Joseppi,” he demanded. “Look at me.”

His tone pissed me off. Who the hell did he think he was telling me what to do? My head snapped up and it was only my anger that stopped me from taking a shocked step back. He was frail, his eyes dim, and his head was bald bar a few strands of wispy hair. He had the look of a man dying of cancer.

“It’s Joey and has been since I was nine,” I spat out. “When I finally got it into my head you were never coming back. At sixteen I became Joey Farrow, officially.”

He managed a slight smile and shook his head. “You will always be Joseppi Esposito, no matter what a piece of paper says. Or how angry you are with me.” He laughed which turned into a cough, and I was stuck in place. Not one of my limbs could move to help him, so I just watched as he continued to gasp for air. When he grabbed at the blanket I finally came out of my stupor and reached for a glass of water that was on the bedside table.

“Here, drink this.”

Aldo shook his head. “I am fine,” he croaked out. “Sit.”

I moved to the chair where Rosetta had been sitting, dropping down into it and scrubbed a hand down my face. I wasn’t even sure that I was awake and not dreaming it all. Again, why the fuck had I got on a plane to Italy in the first place?

“I am surprised you came,” Aldo said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, well, so am I.”

He glanced at the door, and I watched his hands grip the blanket. He was in pain, and it was obvious he didn’t have much time left. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that fact. He was my dad, yet I didn’t know him and him dying would have no impact on me, but the pain in my heart was acute. Being in his presence meant he wasn’t an old, faded memory any longer. He was real and I wanted to get off that chair and run. The reasons he left, and my guilt weren’t important. I didn’t give a shit.

I lifted my arse off the seat and was stopped with a low, “stay.” Maybe it was some distant memory of that voice or maybe it was respect for an older man. I didn’t know, but I sat back down anyway.

“I suppose you were curious about me,” he said. “Wanted to see how weak and ill that I had become.”

I should have taken time to consider my answer, but I always did go with my gut instinct. “No. I wanted to know why you abandoned me and Mum.”

He coughed again, but it was only short and didn’t leave him strangulated like the last one.

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