Page 21 of Not Another Rockstar
“Sorry, I’ve to go. Now that Brinkley knows I’m up, I’ll have to walk her or she’ll pounce on Elijah,” Autumn said, and the barking settled. “Look after yourself and each other. Call anytime, and please give Phoebe my number if she needs someone to talk to. Overcoming traumatic events is a talent of mine.”
It was a relief to have Autumn to turn to. He made a note to repeat her offer to Phoebe. They’d met briefly at a B.O.A. concert years ago, but he doubted she remembered.
“Will do, I’m sure she’ll appreciate the offer. While I have you, did you get the engagement present?” he asked, having had it shipped express.
“It arrived this morning! We love it, but with everything going on you really didn’t have to! The painting is gorgeous, please thank Phoebe for us. Elijah and I just have to agree on where to hang it.”
Seeing how Elijah brought Autumn out of her shell made Axel believe in the healing powers of love. “It was alreadyarranged, and I’m sure Phoebe will be happy it’s found a good home,” he said quickly. They were pulling up to the airport. “I’ve got to go,” he said as his security opened the door for him. Up ahead, Nick was helping his sister at the drop-off point. Phoebe didn’t know that Axel had bought one of her paintings, and he didn’t want Autumn wondering why he was keeping his support of her secret.
“Talk soon!” Autumn’s goodbye was masked by the barrage of questions and flashing cameras waiting for them. He pulled down his cap.
The others waited inside the doors, and luckily the paparazzi couldn’t follow them past security. Having a moment to breathe, Nick and August went to get a drink in the private lounge while Axel followed Phoebe to the bookstore. Even if she had two security guards with her, he wasn’t leaving her alone.
After ten days stuck at home with no company and nothing to paint, Phoebe realised how quiet her apartment was. Usually, she’d be too busy painting to notice the silence, and she was so used to Cillian coming and going at all hours—before he started touring, anyway—that she couldn’t help waiting for him to walk through the door. Nick had tried to get her to stay with them, but after being trapped in the hospital where her every movement was watched, she wanted to be in her bed and have her own shower. Midway through her second bowl of cereal for the day, she contemplated if she’d made the right decision. The hospital had refused to give her any more of the ‘good’ painkillers, so she’d been numbing herself with hours of trashy soap operas and takeout. She was starting to leave an impression of her body on the couch cushions. Eat, sleep, ice her wrist, do her physio, rest, shower, eat, sleep—taking care of herself had become a full-time job.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table and she leapt to answer, hoping it was Lena with news about her next show. Even if she couldn’t paint right now, she had enough work in herstudio for at least her next two scheduled shows. The collections would be smaller, but even the chance to be around paint again felt like breathing fresh air after choking.
It wasn’t Lena.
“Oh, my girl, Nick told us about what happened at the airport, but we’ve just seen the video on the Facebook,” her mum rattled off quickly, and she regretted answering. “I’m glad Axel gave security a good earful, I always thought he was a good egg, pardon the pun. How are you coping?”
“I’m fine, please don’t watch that stuff. It was only a few eggs, nothing a shower couldn’t fix. Since I can’t paint, I’ve been sleeping mostly. The pain in my hand and the physio exercises have me worn out, so I don’t have time to worry about what people think of me online.” She thought talking about being tired might get her mum off the phone faster.
Lena had called when she first got home and warned her to stay away from social media, so she hadn’t known the footage of her being egged outside Dublin Airport had gone viral. The message online was clear: she was the reason that Cillian Hunt was dead. Thankfully, she was too tired to feel any rage, grief, or the injustice of it all.
“You’re right to focus all your energy on healing and getting back to your art. Be sure to get some rest and get out for some air. We wanted to come and visit you and your brother, but it’s all been a terrible shock to your dad’s heart. I do feel terrible, but I don’t think we’ll make it to the funeral.”
Her parents had had Phoebe and her brother later in life; the generational gap meant they liked to sweep it under the rug rather than face hard emotions.
“Are you sure? His mum will miss you,” she said, surprised they weren’t going to attend considering Cillian had been a part of all their lives for so many years.
“We’ve called Maureen to let her know and sent some flowers. We’ll come up once everything has settled. It’s been hard for us, given all the media attention. So many loved him, I doubt our absence will even be noticed.”
Phoebe didn’t argue; she wasn’t going to force them to attend.
“To think we were only planning your wedding, and now a funeral. It’s heart-breaking and you don’t deserve half of what they are saying about—” Her mum cut herself off.
“What aren’t you telling me? Have the press been contacting you?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. The dog shelter got a few calls, but it was just the pushy press being nosy and some upset fans. A stern warning, and they haven’t called back,” Mum said in a dismissive flurry.
Phoebe sat up abruptly, knocking her pillow off the couch. She’d seen the online vigils for Cillian, seen the comments and shares from celebrities and fans mourning another great artist gone too soon, despite barely knowing him. The grief and outcry was expected, but she was not prepared for her parents to be targeted by aggrieved fans. It was a mercy that news of his cheating hadn’t been leaked and that his ‘girlfriend’ had kept quiet.
If her parents weren’t going to the funeral, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about them finding out the truth.
Shehadn’t told them about the accident in detail. They thought she’d only had some stitches and a concussion. They’d never believe in a million years that their golden boy future son-in-law would drink and drive. Why tell them and ruin their memory of him?
“I’m so sorry, I never expected you to be targeted.” Phoebe struggled to mask her upset.
“I don’t want to hear you blaming yourself. You loved each other dearly and this was a tragedy,” Mum said softly.
“Please tell me or Nick if you get any more calls or letters.” Phoebe started pacing, needing to use up her adrenaline. She wished she had never got on that plane, never got in that car with him.
“Don’t worry about us, we’re able to handle ourselves. Anyway, we’ve closed the shelter for a few days. We’re long overdue a holiday, and we have someone watching the dogs. Once the funeral is over, I’m sure things will settle down and you can all be left in peace.”
Glancing around her small apartment, Phoebe thought a little less peace might be nice.
“Make sure you and your brother look after each other. Family comes first, and we’re here if you need us. Come home any time. Even if we can’t be with you in person, you always have us in your corner.”
