“You what? Philippe, I could have been stark naked inside that room for all you knew! That’s such a breach of guest privacy –”
“No. You sounded too sad to be naked. Naked is good, no? I thought I would find you in a puddle of crying with the chocolate stains all over your face and clothes, too sad to answer the door to a good friend, but instead, I find a note saying you’re leaving. And I say to myself, Philippe, that means she didant even want to say goodbye to you. That was hurtful.”
“I did, Philippe, but –”
“No. We will deal with your ’orrible friendship etiquette later. But me, I am a good friend, and that is why I have been trying to find you . . .”
A taxi rounded the corner and stopped in front of me. I lunged for the door, and hurled my hand-luggage into the back seat while the taxi-man put the rest in the boot.
“I’m sorry, Philippe. I really need to go. You’ve been a wonderful friend, and I’m sorry I have to leave this way. I’ll ring you later.”
“No! You are not leaving!” Philippe grabbed my arm and tried to pull me way from the taxi.
“I bloody well am! Stop this, Philippe!” I just about managed to shrug him off before yelling “The airport! Quick!” at the driver and throwing myself in beside my bags. I looked up to see Philippe running around the car to get to the front passenger seat. “Lock the doors! Quick!” I yelled at the driver, but it was too late.
Philippe was in.
“Throw him out! He’s not coming with me!”
“Yes, I am!” Philippe turned to the driver. “I am ’er friend. She does not understand the friendship, but I persist in being ’er friend because I am a caring person.”
“You won’t change my mind, Philippe! I’m leaving Vegas and that’s that!”
The driver looked suitably impassive. “Are we going to the airport or not?”
“You and I are. He’s not! Get the hell out, Philippe!”
“No. I am not lee-ving.”
And he meant it. Fine – he could have it his way. If he wanted to pay for another taxi back from the airport, that was his business, but I wouldn’t be coming back with him. “Let’s go to the airport, please.”
The driver shrugged, and edged the car forwards.
“No! Stop the car, now!”
The driver ignored Philippe, and increased his speed.
“You must stay, An-dee! there are things you do not know!”
“Drive!” I hollered at the driver. “Faster!”
“Did you hear me? Don’t you want to know what these things are? I will tell you whether you do or not. You must know.” He turned to the driver. “I told you to stop the car! It is important!”
The driver drove on as if Philippe had never spoken.
“Are you deaf?” Philippe put his hand on the steering wheel. “You must pull over!”
The driver swerved to the left. “What the hell – let go!”
“Philippe, stop! You’ll kill us!”
“And if I do, it will be your fault for not listening to me!”
The driver pulled up abruptly with an almighty screech of the brakes. “Get out of my car, you madman! Now!” The driver didn’t wait for Philippe’s protests, but instead got out of the car, opened Philippe’s door, grabbed him by the lapels and hoisted him out onto the side of the road in one fluid movement.
“Stop it! I will sue you for the man’andlement!”
“I’d rather be sued than dead.” In a fraction of a second, the driver had ensconced himself behind his seat again and driven off. He shook his head. “This place makes LA look normal.”
I had to stifle an erupting giggle as I waved out the window at Philippe, who was running after the car and shouting God only knew what. Had all of that really just happened? What the hell had got into Philippe?
I had to admit, I was curious about what this news of his could have been . . . but then again, he could have just been making that up to get me to stay. He’d romanticised the idea of me finding Leon from day one.
The driver was silent all the way to the airport, but occasionally shook his head and muttered something that sounded undeniably like “Nutcases”. I tried not to take offence at the plural. All that mattered was getting my flight home.
I kept expecting a siren to go off as I checked in, flagging to someone somewhere in the city that I was trying to escape, but it passed without event. Bags dispatched, I did a quick 360 and spotted the only free seat in the entire heaving airport, so I dived on it, only to discover when I shifted my bum to make myself comfortable that I was already stuck to the seat. Christ, things were bad when I was the only person in the entire airport who had fallen for the chewing-gum trap. There was undoubtedly some kid watching me from behind a seat somewhere, and laughing his chewing-gum-free ass off. You had to hand it to me – when I did something, I did it properly, but this was taking the whole being-blind-to-what-was-in-front-of-me thing a bit too far.
I looked up, mumbled “Okay, I’ve learned my lesson – leave me alone!” at the Man in the Sky, and hoped I could get through the rest of my flight-wait unscathed.
I decided to stay where I was – my trousers were ruined now anyway, so no point in standing up and showing them to the entire world until I really had to – and to check my phone. Just to make sure that everything was alright at home, and that there hadn’t been an emergency that anyone was trying to contact me about . . . Oh, okay. To see if Colm had contacted me. There, happy now?
Two hours later, I was still there. I had another hour to kill before my flight, but my thoughts were more than enough to keep me occupied, and I had yet to make the journey to my departure gate. Then my peripheral vision picked up on someone walking towards me, but I didn’t pay much heed until the person’s feet stopped right before me. I shifted my gaze from my phone to the sensible shoes in front of me. They were a flat, brown leather lace-up affair, pristine and unscuffed. Above them was a pair of brown slacks with a perfect crease running down the middle. Higher up, I wasn’t surprised to see a beautiful brown cashmere jumper finishing the look to perfection. The head of the lady who wore this outfit with endless aplomb was also groomed with precision. Her make-up was light, with that barely-there effect that took so long to pull off, and gave her skin a glowing appearance. Her short hair was lightly curled, its copper highlights complementing the shade of her foundation. I had no idea who she was, but I couldn’t help thinking that someone should snap her up for an ad for make-up aimed at women in their fifties – she was the most stunning-looking woman of that age I’d seen in a long time.
“Can I help you?” I asked when she said nothing.
“Andie, I need to speak to you. It’s about Leon.”
I resisted the urge to sigh heavily into her face. It was sweet at first when all of these lovely ladies in their fifties came up to me waxing lyrical about how Leon and I were destined to be together, and how they were certain that he was travelling around Europe at the moment looking for me, and it was only a matter of time before someone got in touch with him and let him know that the woman of his dreams was waiting for him back in the States, and we’d live happily ever after yadda yadda yah. But not only was it now very draining, but it was really getting to me how people thought they could just come up to me whenever they felt like it and interrupt whatever it was I happened to be doing at the time to give me their blow-by-blow account of what they thought of the situation. They knew nothing about the shagging situation. If I knew nothing about it and I was slap-bang in the middle of it, how could they assume they knew better than me? And what was worse, in this case, was that I was sure I could detect an Irish accent in her voice. It was barely there, the accent of someone who had lived in the US for a long time, but detectable nonetheless. I’d met a few Irish people over here, and they were the worst of the fifty-somethings. Not only were they willing to tell me in excruciating detail where I’d gone wrong with Leon, but they all had single sons or friends with single sons or divorced sons or reformed
alcoholic sons who were looking for a woman, and they’d be more than happy to set me up with them when I got back home, seeing as I wasn’t managing my love life very well on my own. Nobody could put you down while trying to make it sound like they were trying to do you a favour quite like your own people.
“I’ve nothing to say about Leon.” I looked back down at her shoes again, not just because I wanted to break eye contact, but because I was vaguely mesmerised by how immaculate they looked. She surely must have just bought them in one of the airport shops while waiting for her flight. I was sure I could even get the smell of new leather if I sniffed hard enough.
“Well, I’ve plenty to say about him, and I think you should listen.”
The tone of her voice shocked me. It was impervious, commanding, and utterly patronising. Something snapped inside me. Who the hell was this woman to tell me to listen to her as she gave out to me? Enough was enough. If this lady had to take the brunt of my anger at all the elderly ladies who were in love with Leon, so be it.
“No. You listen to me.” As I listened to myself, I realised that I sounded pretty scary. Good. I stood up for added effect. The lady was as tall as I was, so it didn’t really have much impact, but I felt better for it. “I’ve had it up to here with listening to everyone going on about Leon as if they know him. I’m sick of hearing people say that if I’d done this, that and the other, I’d have found Leon by now. And most of all, I’m sick of people like you coming up to me and telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. What makes you think you have the right to approach me – to interrupt me – to tell me what you think I should do? Who are you to think your opinion is the one I should follow?”
She looked at me as if I was a bug that had flown into her tea. “Good grief. What did I do to deserve that? I’m not sure what he sees in you.”
“And I’m not sure what business my love life is of yours!”
“If you’d give me half a chance, I’d tell you. Perhaps you’d like to leave your anger aside for one moment and listen.”
She stared challengingly at me. Something about her demeanour raised my curiosity. I couldn’t honestly say she was anything like the grannies I’d met so far. I raised my eyebrows at her to encourage her to go on.
“Do I look familiar to you?”
“No. We definitely haven’t met before.” She was the type of woman that you’d remember meeting.
“We haven’t, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t look familiar.”
I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but I looked her over again to see if I could make any sense of it. I wondered briefly if she was some former model and was big back in her day – maybe she expected me to know her – but she just didn’t seem like someone who would be crass enough to even mention it if she had been.
“I’m afraid you don’t.”
“That’s disappointing. I’d expect someone who is supposedly in love with my son to be able to see the family resemblance.”
Her words were like a boulder coming down a hill towards me at speed.
“You’re Bridget?”
“Well, you know my name. That’s something.”
“But you – you don’t look like someone who’d turn a hose on someone else.” It was all I could think of. I suppose I could have said worse.
“My, it sounds like you and Leon had some strange conversations.”
“I’m just shocked, that’s all . . .”
“Well, you’re not going to stop feeling like that any time soon. Let’s get the shocks over and done with. Have you received any nasty letters and emails recently warning you off Leon?”
My stomach lurched at the mention of the letters. I nodded slowly.
“Me. All me.”
There was no head-hanging as she said the words. In fact, she looked downright proud of herself.
“Why did you write them? Why is it so important to you that I would stay away from Leon?”
She smiled. “You’re getting me to my destination too fast, Andie. This is something I was hoping I could build up to slowly.” Her hard-faced look was suddenly replaced by one of sheer vulnerability, almost of devastation. “Could we go somewhere to have a coffee, perhaps?” She walked away without waiting for a reply. She knew I’d follow, much as I was tempted to stay sitting down just to thwart her.
Thankfully, we found a free table in a nearby café within seconds. We didn’t order coffee. Whatever this was about, it wasn’t about coffee.
“First of all, you shouldn’t take my letters personally. I’d have written the same thing to anyone. There was no you involved in this – just a template in my head for any person I would perceive to be a threat to my son’s welfare.”
“How exactly did you see me as a threat to Leon? All I wanted to do was to be with him.” Which was true at the time, if not now.
“You couldn’t be with him. Nobody could. Him meeting you made a bad situation a million times worse.”
I instantly pictured seven kids huddled together on a couch, watching Leon and the wife he hadn’t told me about arguing over the Irish girl who was looking for him.
“Look, if I’ve broken up a home or something, I apologise, but as far as I knew, Leon was single.”
She shook her head. “If only it was something as delightfully simple as a broken home.” She looked down at the table and traced circles on it with her index finger. She didn’t seem like someone who would ordinarily circle.
“Please, just tell me. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
She looked at me with pity. The look was worse than any words, and said more.
“Leon is dying, Andie.”
I felt my heart actually clunk. I never knew hearts could do that, but mine did. It clunked until it felt like it was no longer there.
“He’s got prostate cancer, and it has spread all over his body. He’s only got days to live.”
“But . . . but he was fine when we met only a few weeks ago!”
“He wasn’t fine. He just put on a good show.”
I started to tremble so violently that I must have looked like someone who was using an electric drill on a hole in the road. Leon’s mother picked up on it straight away. What was worse was that she looked like she was about to join in but at the last minute she regained control of herself.
“Right, let’s go. We’re heading to the bar.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want alcohol.”
“Well, I do. You’re not the only Irish person around here.” She grabbed my elbow and yanked me away before I could say another word.
Chapter Thirty-four
“Vegas was his last big blast. He wanted to say goodbye to the world in style, so he dosed himself up on painkillers and hit the road. I was worried sick about him going on his own, but there was no persuading him to bring friends along – he said he just wanted to please himself, and see where the week took him. As it happened, it took him to you.”
I thought back on how Leon looked that night. Certainly not like someone who was sick – or at least, not at first glance. His shaved head suited him, and I never once thought it was for a reason other than style. He was thin, but not painfully so. His suntan had eliminated any traces of a possible pallor. Ironically, he’d looked the picture of health, a walking advertisement for the value of a week in the sun. Maybe it had been the happiness he must have felt at being released from the shackles of his sickness, if only for one week, that had lent him a look of wellbeing.
“I had no idea. We talked for hours, and he never mentioned a thing.”
“Why would he? The whole idea of the holiday was to get away from it all. To get away from himself, really. He just wanted to be the person he used to be for the last time, before he got too sick to do so. As it happened, his timing was perfect. A few days after he got home, he took a turn for the worst. And ever since then, he’s been suffering horrendously.”
“And here am I, drawing attention to him at a time when he needs to be left in peace. If only I
’d known . . .”
“Attention isn’t the issue. Not many people have even realised it was him. He told nobody about going to Vegas in case his friends insisted on following him there to look after him, so very few people have made the connection at all.” Some of her whiskey sloshed over the side of the glass as she slammed it down on the table after a quick gulp.
“Yeah, but he knew, and he had enough on his plate – which, I assume, is why you sent me those letters.”
“Yes. That kind of thing isn’t my usual style, but I had to do whatever I could to protect my son. I’m sure you think I’m a witch for trying to keep you away from him, all the same.”
I shrugged. Now wasn’t the time to start throwing insults, or agreeing with them.
“Oh, come on!” she said. “Leon told me you had a bit of fire in your belly.”
Or maybe it was. “Yes, a witch is probably a euphemism.”
“Good. That’s the spirit.” She smiled.
I smiled back, then a hush fell on our table as I digested what she’d just told me. My whole world had changed since those brown shoes had come into my line of vision.
On the way to the bar, Bridget had explained that she’d booked into the MGM to find me (as my tenure at the MGM had been mentioned in several interviews – my whereabouts were no secret) and phoned down to Reception to request to be transferred to my room number, whereupon she’d encountered “an extremely loquacious Frenchman” who’d questioned her on who exactly he was putting through to me. Bridget had sensed he was the type of person she’d be better off to have onside rather than off, and had told him she was Leon’s mother in the hope that he was aware of my search and would move things along. When I’d refused to speak to Philippe when he phoned my room, he’d told Bridget that I was unavailable at that moment but he would see to it that I’d make myself available. After his bid to stop me leaving had failed, he’d called to Bridget’s room and insisted she travel to the airport immediately. It was down to sheer luck – and chewing gum – that I hadn’t gone through the departure gates and Bridget had been able to spot me. She’d been certain that her arrival at the airport would be too late, but had felt compelled to try. Funnily enough, asking her how she’d located me had been way down my list of priorities, so she really could have spared herself the bother of relaying her lengthy explanation. All that mattered was the bombshell she’d just dropped.
[2014] Looking for Leon Page 30