“It’s your father,” she sobbed. “He died in his sleep some time last night.”
“What are you saying?”
“I wish it was all some horrible mistake . . .”
All I could do at this point was scream, “No, you’re wrong. He’s only 48. You don’t die in your sleep at 48!”
“The doctor said he had a heart attack. I thought he was sleeping late. I need you here. I’ll reserve a flight or wire money.”
“I’ll leave immediately,” I said. “I’ll ring when I know when.”
I hung up and the reality suddenly hit me. Papa gone? It can’t be. It isn’t. My whole body began convulsing and I screamed.
Keith rushed from the bathroom dripping and naked. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting next to me.
Between sobs I managed to tell him.
He turned white as a sheet. “Are you sure?”
“My mother wouldn’t make that up,” I blubbered. “I must go down right away.”
“I’m going with you. I don’t care what your mum says. You shouldn’t be alone. You pack while I get dressed. We’ll go to the bank first.”
I tossed a few things into a bag without paying attention to what I was doing. My eyes were too full of tears to see anything anyway.
Keith wiggled into a t-shirt and embraced me. “You’ll get through this, luv. I’ll call Ryan to make sure he doesn’t arrange any gigs the next few days. Will you be all right?”
I nodded and returned to throwing things into a bag.
We took the Tube to the airport and immediately caught a flight to Paris. Due to the high volume of holiday travelers, there were no flights to Brittany for several hours.
“I can’t wait that long.” Once again I burst into tears.
“It’s all right, luv. I have enough to hire a car.”
My hopes of a speedy trip to Brest were dashed when we were refused a hire car because we weren’t twenty one and didn’t have a credit card. I couldn’t bear being away from my mother a moment longer and started crying again.
Keith yelled at the clerk who refused us the car. “You’ll have to excuse her. Her father just died and she’s trying to get to the funeral! Come, luv. We’ll find a way.”
The train takes four hours and we need reservations,” I sobbed. “What can we do?”
“We’ll check other airlines,” Keith said. “We’ll go standby if we have to.”
It was close to two hours of checking other airlines and requesting standby that some elderly couple overheard our plight and gave us their seats. I managed to thank them profusely, then ran to the nearest phone box to call my mother.
When we finally landed in Brest, it was after nine. I immediately spotted my mother amongst the thick crowd. I dropped everything and ran to her, leaving poor Keith to gather what I’d dropped. It was nearly ten by the time we arrived at the house.
“Aimee’s parents were here,” my mother said. “They left lobster bisque and bread.”
Then it occurred to me. “Aimee! Aimee needs to know.”
“She knows,” My mother said. “Her parents got in touch with her after I called you. She’s on her way. You should eat something, ma cherie. You do not look well.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
“You haven’t eaten in hours. I’ll heat you up some bisque,” Keith said.
Before I could answer, Keith disappeared.
“What will we do?” was all I could ask my mother. I couldn’t bring up that I never called or sent so much as a postcard while on tour.
“Pasteur Édouard will be by tomorrow. This is all such a shock.” I noticed for the first time, my mother looked worse than I felt.
“I don’t know how I’ll live without him,” I said, choking back tears.
Keith returned and forced me to eat. It didn’t help me feel better. There was gnawing at the pit of my stomach and I kept thinking this was all a horrible nightmare.
Later that night in bed, I tossed about, unable to relax.
“Anything I can do for you, luv?” Keith rolled over and stroked me.
“Make love to me,” I blurted. “I need you so much right now.”
Keith caressed me some more. “I think we ran out of condoms in Denmark.”
I remembered, we had. I didn’t care. “My period just ended yesterday. We should be fine. I need you so much.”
Keith ran his hands up my negligee and kissed me. I relaxed a little as I clung to him and we kissed some more. This time Keith didn’t perform his usual punk rock tempo. It was more a Mozart symphony. As his gentle rhythm took over, tears streamed down my face. I felt like I was floating out with the tide — somewhere peaceful with no sorrow. I wanted to cry out in ecstasy and in anguish, but instead clung to Keith as if somehow the passion we shared would erase my grief.
I finally fell asleep, but kept dreaming my father was still alive. We were on the beach searching for mermaids, or finding pretty seashells for my collection. I woke several times, disappointed. I wanted to stay in my dreams where my father was alive.
Keith held me tighter and caressed me. “How you holding up, luv?”
I snuggled closer. He began kissing me and I kissed him back. Soon his hands roamed up my negligee, finding my breasts. I responded with my own caressing, running my hands over his bum, before meandering around and caressing between his legs. Before I knew it, we were making love again, sans protection. Again, I didn’t care. I felt myself floating again, but surrounded by darkness. There were no stars, just the gentle rhythm of our love.
“It’s nearly seven,” Keith said, rolling off me. “I’ll fix breakfast.”
I wanted to stay in bed and pull the sheets over me. I couldn’t shake the guilt of not contacting my parents just to punish them.
Keith handed me my dressing gown. “Your mum needs you, luv. As horrible as you feel, it’s worse for her. I can only imagine how I’d feel if I lost you. As devastating as it was losing Ian, it would be ten times worse losing you. Besides, you should eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said, wrapping myself into my dressing gown.
“I won’t leave this room until you’re with me and I’m making sure you eat.”
Keith fixed breakfast and did the washing up so I could have a shower and look presentable when the pasteur came. I had to be strong for my mother, but it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. My mother could barely communicate. She couldn’t decide on a date for the funeral or what type of service, so it all fell on me. It would be the following Saturday. I’d have to spend the week in France, but this was where I needed to be. I hoped Keith could stay. I wasn’t sure I’d survive without him.
“Of course I’ll stay,” Keith said. “You need me more than the band right now. I’ll let Ryan know.”
Keith continued fixing meals, running errands and doing the washing up.
The day of the funeral was the worst of my entire life.
I placed a portrait I’d painted of my father when I was six on the podium where the minister stood. It wasn’t great artwork, but my father always treasured it. I managed to get up and say a few things . . . things I remembered like our mermaid hunting expeditions and how he always displayed my art prominently at his work — and when he brought me new paints or a pretty shell to add to my collection — how he reveled over every creation I made. I choked back tears and hoped if my father heard me, I was forgiven for acting like a spoiled brat.
My mother was too distraught to speak. I was glad I was there for her, and don’t how I managed to hold myself together. I’d worked all week writing the eulogy but felt uncomfortable relating such personal stories in front of so many strangers.
After the service, I stood with my mother as one by one, people offered condolences. After several minutes, if I heard one more condolence, I was sure my head would explode. I was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. I remembered again the last time I saw my father. I said angry things I now regretted with ever fiber of my soul. Finally, I could take it no more and ran from the church.
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
