[2014] Looking for Leon

by Shirley Benton

  “That’s not good news – that’s fantastic news!” I felt my whole body relax. I hadn’t actually admitted to myself how worried I had been about Colm. It was strange – I’d been as concerned about him as I would have been about any of my really good friends, and I’d only known him a few weeks. But I supposed that’s what happened when you spent so much time with one person – whether you liked them or not, you still grew to care about them, in a messed-up way.

  “And, the even better news is that you can go in to see your boyfriend now, but just for a few minutes.”

  “Em – he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Oh, I do apologise. I just assumed he was, because . . .”

  “Because what?”

  “Oh . . . it’s just that he was calling out for you at one stage when he woke up, that’s all. We gave him some medication, and it’s left him a bit confused . . . it’ll wear off. Anyway, I can bring you in now to see your . . . ?”

  “Colleague. We work together.”

  “I see. Come this way, please. Visiting hours actually finish up in ten minutes, so that’s all you’ll have – but at least you caught the end of visiting time.”

  Colm was in a public ward with about nineteen others. My heart went out to him as I walked towards him. He was lying in the bed all alone – not that I would have expected anyone to be in the bed with him – watching all of the other patients being comforted by their visitors. The din of chattering was overpowering, but none of it was directed at him. And then, he saw me approach, and his face lit up like I’d never seen it do before. He looked like a completely different person.

  “Andie! Why are you here? What about the ball?”

  “Oh, been to one ball, been to them all.” I hoped I sounded convincing. “Speaking of balls, you sound pretty on the ball yourself now – a big improvement on the last time I saw you, at any rate.”

  “Will you stop – I sound like an alcoholic.” His voice was slightly slurred from the medication.

  “Well, a little bit. It suits you, though. Maybe you should start drinking.”

  “I think I have enough problems at the moment without adding hangovers to the list. Besides, these drugs are making me feel fairly drunk anyway.”

  I sat down on the side of his narrow bed. “How do you know what being drunk feels like, if you never drank?”

  “I never said I never drank. I did, years ago. I gave it up when I was eighteen.”

  I nodded knowledgably. “Ah, so you were an underage drinker, and you gave it up when you got to the legal age. Very responsible of you.”

  “A model citizen, that’s me.”

  We lapsed into silence. Then, out of nowhere, Colm grabbed my hand.

  “Listen, thanks so much for helping me earlier . . . and now, you’ve missed the ball because of me, but I want you to know that I really appreciate it.” He placed his other hand on top of our already clasped hands. It reminded me of something an old neighbour of ours, Maisie, did years ago, when Mum dragged me along to visit her in hospital. I was only about eight at the time, but even then, I had enough sense to know she was on her way out of the world. She’d gripped one of my hands between both of hers and squeezed it with a ferocity that you wouldn’t expect from someone so old, frail and sick, and thanked me over and over again for coming to see her. The next day, she was dead. Colm obviously wasn’t in that situation, but his brush with illness must have affected him – this behaviour was most un-Colm-esque. It was that, or the drugs the doctor had given him.

  “No need to thank me. It’s what anyone would have done.”

  “No, they friggin’ well wouldn’t have. I don’t know many women who would sacrifice a night with George Clooney for one with me. Actually, I don’t know any women who would.”

  “Ah, I’ve gone off George a bit recently.”

  He smiled. “Seriously, Andie, thank you. I won’t forget this.”

  I shrugged, and withdrew my hand. “I’m just glad it’s a viral infection, and not something more serious.” I suddenly thought of something. “Hey, do you want me to call your parents and let them know that you’re sick? You’re probably not up to speaking to them right now, but you probably want them to know all the same?”

  He turned his head away. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Okay, no worries. Just thought I’d ask in case you have one of those Irish mammies that need to hear from their sons every day or they have you written off as having fallen off a cliff or something –”

  “My parents are dead.”

  That put a halt to my babbling pretty fast. “Oh, Colm, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “How could you have?”

  A nurse walked into the ward. “Right, everyone, visiting time is over now!” She poked her head into each cubicle and reiterated her message.

  I stood up. “Did they tell you how long you’d be in here?”

  “No – they’re going to see how I am in the morning, and we should have a better idea then. Listen, Andie, I’ve a favour to ask. Could you get my health insurance documentation from the top drawer of the locker beside my bed, and if it isn’t an awful pain, could you bring it in here tomorrow? Or maybe ask the hotel to fax it to the hospital if you’re too busy to come in?”

  “Don’t be daft – of course I’ll be coming in to see you tomorrow.”

  His face brightened again.

  “I have the key to your room, by the way – I grabbed it from the desk as we were leaving.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that, because I had absolutely no idea where it was.”

  “And I’ll ring Éire TV when I get back to the hotel and explain the situation to them. Don’t worry, we’ll work something out there.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind? I was going to ring them tomorrow when I felt a bit better.”

  “Don’t even think about it. I’m on it.”

  The nurse stood at the foot of Colm’s bed and glared at me. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Andie, for everything. You’re a real friend.”

  I smiled weakly before I left, the word “colleague” roaring in my head. It taunted me all the way to the elevator, mingling with the memory of Colm’s grasp on my hand.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next day, Colm was released from hospital. Confirmation had come back later the previous night that his lumbar puncture showed no signs of meningitis infection. Although he was free to leave, he was under strict orders to rest for at least a week. Most people would have been happy to take some time out to recover, but Colm wasn’t most people.

  “What am I supposed to do all day?” he said when I accompanied him back to his hotel room after he was discharged from hospital.

  “You’ll probably sleep most of the time. Your body needs time to recover.”

  “I won’t sleep twenty-four hours a day!”

  “So watch a movie or something!”

  “I’ve watched all of the movies on demand that they have here already.”

  “So watch something on the Internet, then!”

  “There’s nothing I really want to watch at the moment.”

  “Well, I’m sure you could shuffle your way to the cinema – it’s only around the corner and –”

  “There’s nothing on at the moment that I want to see.”

  “Colm, I’ll put you back in hospital if you don’t stop being so awkward.”

  “What about filming for this week though? My boss is going to have a fit when she hears we’ve no footage for Éire TV . . .”

  “All sorted out. I’ve explained the situation to LVTV and they’re willing to share whatever they film with us. They owe it to us after you gave them our People Search footage, remember?” I looked at my watch. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to go to work now.”

  “Oh, rub it in, why don’t you?”

  I shook my head. “There’s a lot more to life than work, you know!”

  “I know that. I’m just going to be bored
, that’s all.”

  “I wish I could trade places with you. Lindy has a live daytime TV interview organised for me this afternoon with this one called Dolly – I’ve seen her show, and she’s a right pain.”

  “At least it’s something to do. There’s nothing like work to keep you going.”

  “Colm! Just enjoy being under orders to chill out for once. Your body gave you a hint that it wants you to slow down, so take it.”

  He shrugged, looking like he was having none of what I was saying.

  “If you don’t cheer up, I’ll send Lindy around to do it for you.”

  “Oh God, no! You wouldn’t.” He smiled. “See. I’m happy again.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.” I laughed to myself as I left his room. That was the first time either of us had made reference to Lindy’s little crush. I know it was bitchy of me, but I was happy that Colm had more sense than to succumb to Lindy’s charms. It was obvious that she was a thrill-of-the-chase type of girl.

  When I arrived at the office, I made a list of everything I needed to do. I decided to tackle the Looking for Leon messages first. The previous week, Lindy had set up a website for me called LookingForLeon.com for members of the public to contact us. It was pretty basic – just a page containing the bones of my story, but most importantly, it had a box at the end of the page that would allow visitors to type in a message that would go directly to an email account that Lindy had set up. We both had access to it, and we’d set out a schedule for when each of us was responsible for checking it – and today was one of my days. So far, no leads had come in, but I’d received loads of messages of support, and they were always quite a nice read to finish the day with.

  There were five emails waiting for me. Four were from various ladies who’d all been unlucky in love, and were hoping they’d see a shiny happy ending to my story. The fifth was an entirely different story. The name of the person who sent the email was ‘Go Home’. Oh, lovely. Would it be from the person who’d sent the letter, or had I accrued another enemy? The increase in my media coverage was bound to bring a few ill-wishers my way – it came with the territory, so it wouldn’t be surprising to find out that it was from someone new who was sick of the sight of me. But at the same time, I’d almost unconsciously been waiting to see if the letter sender would strike again too. Spoiled for choice . . . Swallowing hard, I double-clicked the mail, feeling nerves creep all over my body at the thought of what it might contain.

  From: gohomeandie@yahoo.com

  To: lookingforleon@hotmail.com

  I’ve told you already that you need to stop this ridiculous crusade of yours. You’re making an absolute fool of yourself. Leon is not interested. Go home.

  My heart started to beat faster. Okay, so it was only an email, it couldn’t hurt me, but it gave me the jitters all the same. The sender had obviously set up the email account just to email me, instead of mailing me from their own address. My finger was hovering over the delete key when something told me to keep the email. If I ever found Leon, this was something I’d want to show him. Or, worst-case scenario, I’d need this as evidence if this person continued to hassle me and I had to report it to the police. I knew, at a high level, that it was possible to specify where a person was located when they sent an email from their IP address, even if they had set up a fake email address. I couldn’t risk Lindy seeing it, though – she’d only make a huge deal out of this if she knew about it – so I forwarded it to my personal mail, then deleted both the message itself and the forwarded mail from my sent items.

  Then I tried to switch myself onto everything else I had to do, but the email kept replaying in my head. My brain seemed to be refusing to move on until I’d done something about it instead of just ignoring it. Okay, maybe it was just from some random person who’d taken against me for whatever reason, but the most likely scenario was that the communication was coming from someone who was close to Leon and who must know where he was. Maybe, instead of being a bad thing, this email was actually the key to finding him? If I could just engage this person in some sort of dialogue and try to get more information from them, it might bring me further in my search than anything else would. And much as I hated to admit it to myself, if this person was right and Leon actually wasn’t interested, then I was making a gargantuan fool of myself. Maybe engaging in contact with Go Home was a risk, but I needed a lead.

  I went into my personal mail and composed a new mail.

  From: andieappleton@hotmail.com

  To: gohomeandie@yahoo.com

  Go Home,

  Thank you for your email. If Leon isn’t interested, then I’d really like to know why. Has he met someone else, or am I just not his type at all? I can’t take your word for this. Until I hear from the horse’s mouth that he’s not interested, then I can’t stop my search.

  It seems to me that we both want something that neither of us are getting at the moment – but if we work together, we may actually get somewhere. If what you’re saying is true, and you can prove it by getting me in direct contact with Leon and he tells me to my face that he doesn’t want me in his life, then you’ve got what you want. I’ll be going home. As for me, this may not be the outcome I want, but at least my search will be over and I’ll have the answers I need. As you can see, you’re getting the better end of the deal here really.

  Perhaps you and I should talk about this instead of emailing? If you send me on your phone number, I will be happy to call you to discuss this further.

  If I don’t hear from you, then I’m afraid I can’t take your email seriously and will most certainly be continuing my search.

  Regards,

  Andie

  I read the mail back quickly and pressed the send button before I started to over-analyse my actions, then deleted it from the sent items. If anything came of it, I’d tell Lindy then, but it was best to keep this to myself until I had something concrete to go on.

  I threw myself into the rest of the items on my list to try to settle myself down. Gradually, I managed to forget about the email and my reply to it as I worked my way through the deluge of things to do. Maybe Colm had a point about work.

  “And now, Andie, we have a little surprise for you.”

  “Oh?” I plastered a polite smile on my face, but if anyone was watching me closely, they would have noticed me gripping the sides of my seat, and digging my fingernails into its plush velvet cover. My interview with Dolly on LVTV’s daytime chat show was fully underway, and I’d just been quizzed about what I knew about Leon, what made me fall in love with him, and whether I believed he would come forward sometime soon. I trotted out the same lines I’d told everyone else who’d interviewed me, and realised that I was starting to get bored with my own story, not to mention the sound of my own voice. Still, if it brought me closer to finding Leon, it would be worth it.

  “Yes. We may very well have your Leon in the studio here with us today!”

  A whoop went up from the live ‘stoodio’ audience, while my intestines turned to liquid. I looked around frantically – which served to make Dolly grin inanely. Yes, I know, you’re visualising a Dolly Parton lookalike whenever I mention her name, but in a cruel twist of fate, Dolly was fascinatingly flat-chested. Like, she didn’t even have nipples. The area from her collarbone to her size-zero waist was as flat as an ironing board. Even more fascinating was the fact that she had an arse like two Frisbees – two huge butt-cheeks that spread out and curved in again to become part of her legs. It was seriously intriguing – I just could not understand how it could be physically possible to have that body shape, because surely to have a size-zero waist, you’d have to diet or eat nothing, and if you dieted or ate nothing, surely the weight would fall off the arse too? Anyway, it really didn’t matter – her beautiful, flawless face made sure of that. She was seriously one of the most beautiful women I had ever met – tanned, poker-straight thick black glossy hair to her waist, huge, expressive eyes, gleaming white teeth, the lot. She made Lindy look like she’d
just emerged from a cave. If Leon was here, he’d probably fancy Dolly.

  Of course, there was no sign of him when I looked around, but there wouldn’t be, would there? They’d have him hidden away backstage, then bring him out in a blaze of some cheesy love song . . . oh God . . . I wasn’t ready for this. It was one thing talking about finding him, but actually finding him was something else entirely . . .

  “Are you ready? Here come the Leons!”

  The Leons? What the . . . ?

  A group of men of various heights, ages and ethnicities trooped out wearing masks. They waved at the crowd as they made their way to a podium where any musical guests on the show would normally play, never once looking in my direction.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Leon Line-up!”

  So that’s what it was. I was glad she’d decided to tell the audience what was going on, seeing as she’d failed to inform me.

  “Yes, we put the word out on our website that we were looking for guys called Leon from Arizona to join us in our studio today! All of these hunks claim to know Andie . . . but are they just bluffing in a bid to capture the heart of this beautiful lady? Well, we’re about to find out! Andie, come this way.” She grabbed my wrist and yanked me down to the group of men, all of whom were throwing shapes and trying to outdo each other.

  Lindy was a dead woman walking. She obviously knew about this and had kept it a secret – probably knowing full well that I wouldn’t have anything to do with it if I’d known about it. Hell, what was I saying – it had probably been her idea!