Page 78 of Playing for Possession
Dad looked up from his coffin and winked. Somehow, I suppressed my eye roll. Dad’s flair for the dramatic was legendary, but he’d really peaked with this.
I laid my purple tulips on his chest. “Hi.”
Dad flashed a huge smile. “What do you think of the coffin? I didn’t know whether to go with the powder blue or ivory interior.”
“The ivory is perfect. Very . . . morbid.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
A self-satisfied smile graced his tanned face. He looked well, considering he was supposed to be dead.
“Looking very dapper for a corpse, you silly old bastard.” A gravelly laugh erupted next to me. “What is all this bollocks? A living funeral? You don’t get enough attention as it is?”
Phil, the drummer from Dad’s band, shook his head in faux disgust, but humor sparkled in his eyes.
Dad pressed his lips into a straight line, trying not to laugh. “Fuck off.”
Phil’s laugh deepened. “You fuck off. I’ve been up all night writing your eulogy.”
Dad sighed. “I told you. I had a revelation. Why wait until you’re dead for everyone to come and say all the things they wished they’d said to you when you were alive? I’d rather just give everyone the opportunity to say it now.”
Phil smoothed his gray ponytail and stepped back, admiring the gleaming coffin. “We love you, alright? Is that what you want to hear? We were all waiting for your next wedding to have another piss-up. You don’t have to pretend you’re dead.”
Dad pouted. “Sit down. Stop ruining my funeral. You’re supposed to be in mourning. You could have worn a suit.”
No one from the band had worn a suit. I’d seen them all moping around outside—a bunch of aging hipsters in ripped jeans and leather jackets having an animated discussion about the trials and tribulations of Rich’s vineyards in the South of France. Once it had been booze, cigarettes, and blow jobs from groupies on the tour bus. Now it was organic wine and vaping.
At least he’d had a good turnout. The cream of British celebrity had gathered to mourn Dad’s fake death. Dad’s ex-girlfriends occupied three rows alone. Skylar caught my eye from across the room and waved. I smoothed my black shift dress with sweaty palms. At least a funeral had a dress code. I hadn’t had to spend days overthinking what to wear like I had for all of Dad’s weddings. This was just something I had to get through. Dad’s scene had always been too much.
My eyes kept drifting to the door. Kieran wasn’t here yet, but he’d texted last night and confirmed he’d come. This was the perfect opportunity to introduce Kieran to Dad. I indulged my father for another moment, squeezing his shoulder. Grinning, Dad adjusted the silk leopard-print scarf that circled his tattooed neck.
I kissed his warm cheek. “You do you, Dad. Rest in peace.”
He winked again. “Wish me luck getting through the pearly gates.”
“I wouldn’t worry. The angels will be asking for your autograph.”
The enormous sitting room had been temporarily transformed into a funeral parlor with black velvet drapes, decadent sprays of lilies, and thick candles on tall silver plinths. It looked like the set from one of Dad’s old-school music videos. I’d like to say this was the most eccentric thing that had ever gone on in this house, but knowing Dad and what he’d got up to in his glory days, it didn’t come close.
The room bustled with activity as people found their seats. I scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces. Where was Kieran? He’d said he’d be here early. He’d wanted to meet my dad in private before this all began.
A sudden blast of sound made me jump. “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen boomed out of the speakers at the front. I sat down next to my cousin and greeted a couple of family members I hadn’t seen in years.
“You saved me a seat. Thanks, Sis.” Ollie squeezed past an elderly aunt.
“Ollie!” I jumped up and wrapped my arms around him.
“What do you think Dad died of?” His whisper was full of laughter. “I was thinking his trousers got so tight they cut off the blood supply to his brain.”
I tapped my lips, pretending to contemplate. “Maybe. I was wondering if it’s possible to die of self-importance.”
We shouldn’t have been trash-talking Dad at his own fake funeral, but Dad always gave as good as he got, and trash-talking was a welcome relief from this maelstrom of emotion since I’d come home. It had been strange to sleep alone in my own bed last night. I’d texted Kieran until I fell asleep, but I missed him. Neither of us wanted to be sneaking around, but it wouldn’t be any good to go public too soon. If I could just get my first game out of the way,everything would be different. Being with Kieran had felt easy in Menorca, and now everything felt heavy again.
We both sat. Ollie gave me a beaming smile. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve got so much to tell you.”
“I need to know everything. It’s been forever.”
Ollie lowered his voice again. “This is wife number six now, like Henry the Eighth. I hope this one lasts. I swear the only reason he keeps getting married is so he can get the band back together at the reception.”
