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It was there when he lay in bed at night, pushing down on the roof and then the ceiling that closed in, forcing him to shut his eyes. It was like a weight, that was the best way to describe grief. An invisible force that dragged you down. There when you went to sleep and as soon as you opened your eyes in the morning. And now it was the day of the funeral and Ace didn’t think he could bear it. How sad his dad looked, as though he was lost, looking up and realising, Oh yeah, Gus is gone. Can’t see him, can’t phone him, can’t laugh with him, or call him a dickhead, or drink whisky down to the label. Forty years, gone, no coming back.
And Ace was going to punch Lance who had been acting like some big fucking hero, loving the fact their dad was falling to pieces and that someone needed to liaise with Oliver in London. Edie and his mum had noticed too, and all of them hoped Oliver was savvy enough to see what Lance was after. He was still being a moron where Edie was concerned, barely acknowledging she was in the room, scowling when she spoke. Ace had mentioned it to Jenny who had seen it too, saying he was behaving the same way he had towards her and Ace when they arrived on the scene, and it was about time he grew the fuck up.
Following the discovery of Gus, they’d had to follow procedures and as a consequence any hope of the press buggering off had been well and truly scuppered by the arrival of the gendarmes. It fed the news team’s ravenous appetite for a scoop and once again, images of the blue cars, and then the private ambulance arriving and departing La Babinais were pinged across the globe and the rumours began again.
You really couldn’t have made it up, some of the tweets and posts on social media, the guessing games – ‘Has gun-toting Joe Jarrett lost control? Who died at his remote country idyll? What secrets are the men who guard his million-euro property keeping? Another tragedy in the sordid life of Joe Jarrett.’
When Lance made another public plea for privacy and understanding, his well-enunciated words fell on deaf ears. And even though Ace thought Jenny was being overcautious slash dramatic, Edie agreed that it was a good idea to hide Joe’s shotgun cartridges, just in case.
While the gloom settled over the farmhouse, Nanou and Silvestre had been diamonds, helping Jenny arrange the funeral that had to take place within a six-day window. And because it would be a private burial, according to Gus’s well-laid-out wishes, they had to get permission from the local prefecture before it could go ahead. The ceremony would be humanist and very simple. It was the list of mourners that was going to be a problem.
Joe stuck like glue to what was written. Gus didn’t want a fuss, no showbiz names, just the people he cared about the most. Anne, Gus’s sister, was too poorly but her daughter and husband would attend on her behalf. Steve and Chaz were flying over, along with Oliver. Denny was NOT on the list. It hadn’t gone down well and there had been an almighty row between him and Joe that they all listened to on loudspeaker.
‘Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me I’m not welcome?’
‘Just doing what Gus wanted, and you are definitely surplus to requirements. So, stay the fuck away. Nobody wants you here. Take a hint.’ Joe was pacing the room, shouting at his phone that lay on the kitchen table.
‘I know exactly what you’re doing, Joe. You’re hanging me out to dry and I’m not having it. If Chaz and Ste are going to be there, I should be there too. What’s it going to look like? The press will have a field day. Talk about turning your backs… you might as well get a sign printed saying you agree with those slags. For fuck’s sake, Joe, it’s not like you’re an angel so quit the holier-than-thou routine. It won’t wash with me.’
Joe sprinted over to the phone and if Denny was there in the room, their foreheads would have been locked together as Joe bawled at the screen. ‘Never said I was, you disgusting piece of shit, and neither did Chaz and Steve, but we are nothing like you, so I’ll tell you one more time, stay away. You’re not wanted now or ever. Take a fucking hint.’
‘I’ll sue. I mean it. You cut me off and I’ll sue your arse for every penny you got, you hear me?’
Joe threw his head back and laughed. ‘Ha, you pillock… we’ve been here before, remember, and you lost so do us all a favour and them poor kids of yours, save your money… I reckon where you’re going, you’ll need it.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Just fuck off, Denny. Don’t ring again and let the lawyers and Oliver deal with the shitshow you’ve caused. And have some respect. My best friend is dead… DO YOU HEAR ME? FUCK OFF!’
It was at this point that Jenny leant over and pressed End Call because Ace’s dad was on the verge of losing it big time. They all were.
Edie came and sat by Ace on the sofa while they waited for Gus to arrive. Even that sounded wrong, like he was coming for his summer holiday, not to be buried on the hill in a coffin. Stop thinking stuff like that, stop it, now.
They were perched on the edge of the cushions, both holding hands, squished together like they were outside the headmaster’s office waiting to be told off. Edie smoothed down her dress. ‘It feels wrong, to wear something flowery, and I hate this cardy, it’s all too summery. Like it’s disrespectful but I suppose if it’s what Gus wanted…’
Ace was wearing dark jeans and his best pair of trainers, the ones he kept in a box for special occasions that he sprayed with Scotchgard so they wouldn’t scuff. ‘Trust him to insist we all wore our normal clothes. He said rock and rollers don’t do suits and Dad would look bloody ridiculous, which is actually true.’ He’d already told Edie this about five times and cringed. It was like his brain kept getting stuck in a groove. They both laughed anyway. It lasted about two seconds.
Then the needle changed tracks and he was off again, engine running, steam whistle blowing. ‘Edie, I need to get away, or at least make some plans, proper ones. Book some flights and a place to stay so I know that it’s going to happen. That this will all be over, and I can breathe again and walk about like normal without Hervé asking where I’m going.’
When he was little and at the dentist, his mum used to jiggle his hands, trying to keep him happy when he was terrified and it made him smile when Edie did the same, squeezing and jiggling and saying something jolly. ‘We’ll do it tomorrow. I promise. We could start a scrapbook. Print things off and stick them in, maps and stuff like that. It can be our almanac, with an itinerary, a wish list of places we want to go, a proper written down one that’s not just dreams or misty ideas in our head. I know scrapbooks are my weird thing, but it can be our weird thing too.’
‘You definitely still want to go?’ He turned his head and had to ask again because everything was so… blancmange. Wobbly, not fixed and he needed things to be firm, organised. Like a block of chocolate, hard and solid so you could break it into chunks if you wanted. Eat a bit at a time and at your own pace.
Edie nudged him. ‘Of course I want to go. You know I do, so stop it.’ She gave him a look that had come to mean, ‘I love you. Remember. Me and you, side by side.’
That’s why he loved her. That’s why they were right together. They could read each other’s minds. Hold on to that, hold on to that.
Edie interrupted his mantra. ‘I’ve been thinking about our trip too. We’ll have to make sure Joe’s okay; we can’t just abandon him even though he’s got Nanou and Silvestre. And I know your mum’s missing Hector, so she’ll be heading out soon. She told me this morning that she needs hot se–’ He felt Edie freeze and saw her blush and grin at the same time. ‘Oops, sorry – too much information.
‘She said she wants us to visit the ranch which would be nice. Let’s do a special page about Mexico City. We could detour there on our trip. Do you know how far Malaysia is from Mexico…?’ She let go of his hand for a second, fiddling with the cuff of her cardigan, turning the cuff up, then back down like she couldn’t make up her mind.
‘And we need to go and see Gran. Or she might come here. That would be nice wouldn’t it? I was so chuffed when Joe invited her, and it was lovely to hear them talking on the phone, laughing.’ She was holding his hand again and had gone all dreamy eyed.
‘Even after all those years they just clicked. He told me. Gran’s being coy, she’s quite shy like that but I can tell she liked that he rang her about Gus. She met him briefly that summer when he’d come to watch NorthStar play. Gus had been in the audience with the A&R guy from a record label and they’d been introduced after the gig. Thankfully Gus missed what happened later - Joe whacking Denny on the head with a bar stool and him throwing snooker balls at Joe’s head. That’s why she took Joe home, because one caught him and cut his eyebrow. She stitched him up and he stayed all summer, her working in the pub while he wrote his album. It’s the best story, isn’t it, like a film.’
Ace nodded and laughed to himself because now Edie was doing it, making polite conversation, rambling on about things they’d already talked about, going over stuff he knew by heart. As long as it made her happy. It’s just nerves, that’s all, completely normal. In for three, breathe out for six, one more time, and another.
More rambling from Edie. ‘It’s only a couple of months till Christmas so we’ll have to go after that. Maybe we could all have Christmas together. Tomorrow we can check the weather in Singapore… shall we start there?’
