While I was waiting for my flight in the airport, I sent Isolde a text informing her of Leon’s death. About a minute after I sent my text, she replied.
Ring me straight away.
The familiar fear rippled through me. What now?
I selected Isolde’s number on my mobile and pressed the call button. My heart thumped as I waited for her to answer.
“Yeah.”
“Hi, Isolde, it’s Andie. You asked me to ring.”
“Yes, I know I did. I don’t need you to tell me that.”
“Em . . . what can I do for you?”
“Nothing. Not much new about that, is there?”
I had no clue where this was going. “So . . . why are we talking right now?”
“I wanted to pass on my condolences to you on Leon’s death, of course. I’m sure it must be hard on you.”
“Oh . . . em . . . thanks, Isolde. I appreciate that.” Well, that certainly wasn’t what I’d been expecting.
“You don’t have to sound so shocked, you know. I am human.”
News to me. “Em . . . yeah, I know . . . I’m just kinda . . . shocked in general, and a bit out of sorts.” I knew Isolde knew a fudge when she heard one, but hopefully she’d let it pass this time, given the circumstances.
“Yes, it’s an unexpected climax to the story,” Isolde said. “Personally, I thought he’d been hiding out until you gave up – that’s what everyone thought.”
“Yeah.” I was too depressed to challenge her on that, or to defend myself. The little things like that didn’t seem to matter now anyway. I silently prayed that Isolde would hang up now, her good deed for the decade done.
“I also rang because I can do something for you. It might help to ease the pain of Leon’s death somewhat. I don’t know if you deserve it after the carry-on you put me through over Martin, but I’m a generous person.”
I stifled a snort. “Oh?”
“That was where you should have said ‘You are, you are indeed, Isolde.’ I’m not sure I want to help you now.” She made a strange sound that I’d never heard from her before. It sounded like a very small, very short, normal laugh. Not her usual patronising cackle, but a genuine, empathetic laugh.
Now I was really confused.
“I got a call earlier today. It was from someone you know.”
Long pause. She seemed determined to drag this out as much as possible. I obliged with an “Oh?” when it didn’t seem like she was going to continue without one.
“Yes. The cameraman rang me for a chat. Any idea what he might have wanted to chat about?”
“No!” Colm rang Isolde? If I thought my heart was thumping before, it was nothing compared to the golf-ball-in-a-washing-machine feeling I had now.
“You. He talked about you non-stop. I hadn’t taken him for the talking type, but I couldn’t shut him up.”
“What did he say?”
“He was mostly repeating what he’d said in an email he’d sent me –.”
“He emailed you?”
Isolde sighed. “Will you let me finish?” said the woman who had been waiting for me to feed her lines only a few seconds ago.
“Yes, he emailed me yesterday saying it was all his fault that you set your brother on me. He took total responsibility for the invasion into my life, the stress you caused me, the downright trauma . . .”
A busload of Rottweilers being released into Isolde’s back garden while she was sunbathing in a bikini wouldn’t traumatise Isolde. Talk about hamming it up. I knew that saying nothing would be a wise move, though.
“And he begged me not to let it cost you your job. Then he rang and begged again. I could tell it was killing him to do it, though. He must really like you.”
I was stunned into silence. My heart started to beat faster again, but this time it was out of excitement.
“I’m telling you this for a few different reasons. Number one – I owe you. The sales of Vicious Voice have been phenomenal since we started looking for Leon. Number two – I may be a tough bitch – actually, no, there’s no may about it – I am a tough bitch – but I’m not a heartless one. If I can help two people to get together and be happy, then I will. And number three – you won’t like this one – you are absolutely useless with men, from what I’ve seen in the time I’ve known you. I’m afraid you’ll let a good man slip through your fingers – even if he is an interfering one with an overactive imagination. He seems okay apart from that. So if you can’t see what’s right under your nose, then you need someone to hang a banner from a helicopter for you. I’m not wasting my money on something like that, so that’s why I asked you to ring me. Number three isn’t entirely altruistic, if I’m honest . . . if you’re a happier person, you’ll work better. Plus, I’m sick to the back teeth of looking at your long face every Monday morning.”
“Can I just check I have this right, Isolde – Colm emailed you yesterday, then rang you today?”
“You remembered two consecutive pieces of information correctly, Appleton. Impressive.”
I started to giggle nervously. Colm had faced the wrath of Isolde for me! Surely that could only mean very good things for us – that he’d forgiven me – and although I felt guilty for feeling a twang of happiness when Leon had just died, I couldn’t help it. It didn’t mean that the pain of his death hurt any less. But it did give me hope for the future at a time when I’d thought I had none.
“Did Colm say where he was ringing from?”
“Of course not. Do you usually start your conversations with ‘I’m ringing from Vegas, Isolde?’ What are you getting at – is he not in Vegas or something?”
“No. He’s gone missing. I think he might have taken a flight home. We had a row, and he hasn’t spoken to me since . . .”
“I remember the call came from an Irish mobile, but that doesn’t tell you where he rang from when you’ve been using Irish mobiles all along. And, as you know, our phone system here always shows the full international code even if you’re ringing from a mile up the road.”
“Okay.” I tried to swallow my disappointment and focus on the call. “What about the column? I’m not sure I’m up to writing about Leon’s death just yet . . .”
There was silence for a few seconds. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. Forget about the column for the next few days. I’ll write an article saying that Leon has died, and you’ll be unavailable for a while as a consequence. I’ll run that in the next edition. And in case you’re wondering what will happen with Éire TV– well, you were commissioned to produce four shows, and you’ve done that now. You don’t owe them anything any more. My guess is that the story of Leon’s death is going to be all over the place for the next few days, so they’ll have more than enough footage of various celebrity-watcher type of twats giving their opinions on the whole thing to fill a half-hour. If they had an interview with you on their show, it’d be a major scoop for them, but if you’re not up for it, don’t do it. Send them my way if they give you any hassle.”
“Wow. Thanks, Isolde – that’d be a big help. And, I must admit, I’d expected you to argue with me about not writing my column, so thanks for understanding where I’m coming from.”
“I won’t lie, Andie. If you did write a column to wrap this whole story up as soon as the funeral is over, it would mean good news for our sales. But that’s your choice, and I won’t be forcing you to do so. I’ll leave it with you.”
“Thank you, and thanks for everything you’ve told me. You have no idea what it means to me.”
“Don’t underestimate me. I have a fair idea. I was young once too, you know.”
For a few seconds, I was bold enough to contemplate asking her if there was anyone in her life. There could well be, for all I knew – perhaps she was just very discreet. But I got a bit of sense at the last minute before I opened my mouth. Best to leave well enough alone.
Isolde started talking again. “You’ve done well with this project, so when you get back, we’ll look at ha
ving you branching out a bit – maybe dealing with some of the more hard-hitting stuff. I might give you some of the stuff Jason usually works on. He could do with having his toes stepped on. Take him down a peg or two.”
I didn’t comment on that – I’d think about it later. Meanwhile, there was one other thing that was nagging at me. “Isolde . . . I appreciate you telling me about your weight issues. You really didn’t have to do that, you know. You could have just fired me straight away and given me no reason. It was what I expected.”
“I know it was. That’s as close to an olive branch as anyone has got from me in a long, long time.”
“But why? I don’t mean to be offensive, but being nice to people – especially me – is not really your thing.”
“You keep telling me things I already know. No, I’m not particularly nice to people generally, but, as I’ve already told you, I’m not heartless. I can recognise when people are going through a rough patch. Your rough patch has gone on a while, and it’s time it ended. Now, I’m never going to do the touchy-feely stuff with you or with anyone else on the team, but if I can help anyone out in my own way, I will. And I think all of this falls under that category. Now, scram, before you destroy my hard-woman reputation entirely.”
“Thanks again, Isolde . . .”
“Shut it. Way more thanking going on here than I’m comfortable with. Oh, you gained a lot of brownie points by not calling me Maud, by the way. And, as I warned you before, keep that to yourself. It wouldn’t be good for my professional image if I didn’t have a name suitable for the industry.”
“Umm.” I was trying not to laugh.
“Seriously, if that ever comes out, I’ll burn your house down, just like you did all those years ago. And don’t think I won’t do it, because I will.”
“Oh, I know you would.”
We both laughed, the first time we ever both laughed at the same time.
About a minute after my call to Isolde, she texted to say she’d forwarded Colm’s email on to my account. I raced to the nearest Internet kiosk and accessed my work email through a remote web browser.
Hello Isolde,
Colm Cannon here, the cameraman for Looking for Leon.
I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m emailing you, so I’ll get straight to the point. The situation of Andie getting her brother to spy on you was completely my fault. I was the one who convinced her there was something going on between you and Martin. The reason I did it was because I needed something to connect with her about, some shared interest. Sometimes, people are the most obvious thing to talk about. Unfortunately for you and Martin, you got caught in my crossfire.
Andie tells me that you’re an exceptionally clever lady, so I’m sure you’re sharp enough to have worked out why I needed that connection. And I’m writing this email to you because me falling in love with her means that she’s going to lose her job because I was too stupid to realise that I should have just asked her out, instead of finding pathetic excuses to spend time with her and pretending to be Sherlock Holmes.
If I have to beg for her, I will. So, here goes. Please don’t make her suffer the repercussions of me being an idiot. I’m happy for me to lose my job instead. Go directly to my boss – Martin can give you her number – and make an official complaint about me and my unprofessionalism. But I’m pleading with you to leave her out of this. She only tolerated my antics because she’s too nice a person to tell me to get stuffed.
I know I am in no position to ask for favours, but if you’re happy to move the needle of blame over to my side and to let Andie keep her job, then maybe you could keep the contents of this email to yourself. I know I don’t have a chance with Andie, so I’d prefer to keep my feelings to myself. You’re the only other person in the world who knows about this. I’m very good at messing up, and I really don’t need any help, so if you could take pity on a loser who is useless with women, I would forever appreciate it. Andie is too special for me to risk having her running out of my life as fast as her legs will carry her, which I know is exactly what she would do if she knew just how strongly I feel about her.
I really am very sorry that I got you involved in the mess that is my world. Love makes people do crazy things, as I am finding out. All I can do is apologise. I’ll respect whatever decision you make on this.
Regards,
Colm Cannon
I was very, very glad Isolde hadn’t respected Colm’s request to keep the email contents to herself. A warm, glowing feeling spread all over my body. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was on my way to Leon’s funeral, I would almost have felt happy for the first time in days.
Chapter Thirty-eight
I knew the funeral was going to be bad, but never in my wildest dreams could I have anticipated just how bad.
Looking back, it had a sense of inevitability about it. Things started off okay – or as okay as a funeral can ever be, which is unbearable at best. Bridget, who was taking a stiff-upper-lip approach to dealing with the day, had welcomed me into the mourning party with open arms – which I felt was very generous of her after I had killed her son. When I’d told her as much between great shuddering blubbers the previous day after I landed at her and Liam’s house, she whooshed my fears away with a window-wiper-style wave of her hand.
“Andie, he was ready to go after seeing you. You did him the biggest favour in the world, one that I, or anybody else, couldn’t do for him. Whatever you two spoke about, it was obviously a form of exorcism for his soul. My little boy is finally at peace now.” Her voice caught in her throat, but she rallied within seconds and carried on as if it had never happened. “So cop on, will you?”
I copped on and pulled myself together. I’d spent six hours at the house the previous day meeting Leon’s friends and family, the family from Ireland (FFI) having arrived in the middle of the night before. Bridget had tried to keep the atmosphere as light as possible and nobody had dared do anything that might darken it. It was her way of coping, and we all did whatever we could do to fit in with that. Meeting everyone the previous day should probably have made this day slightly easier but, as we walked into the cold church, I realised that nothing could ameliorate what lay ahead of us.
The presence of the media all around us was never mentioned or acknowledged. Bridget insisted that I sit with the family, which made me feel like a fraud as the thought of Colm popped unbidden into my head, but now was not the time to disagree with Bridget about anything. I didn’t dare cry during the ceremony – Bridget’s rigid head served as a warning to me to keep it together. I didn’t understand her way of coping, but I owed her enough to respect it, difficult and all as it was. If pretending it all wasn’t happening was helping her, then so be it.
The priest had known Leon for all of Leon’s life, so it wasn’t a struggle for him to speak about him. It was definitely a struggle to listen, though. His warm words of praise for all that Leon was as a person filled me with endless regret that I hadn’t had the opportunity to get to know him better. Regret was soon suppressed by guilt that I’d made such a song and dance about finding him, and yet I’d fallen for someone else. And I won’t even get started on how I felt about how my actions had forced Leon into hiding at a time when he should have been trying to enjoy his last days. By the time we stood up to walk Leon’s coffin out to the waiting hearse and bring him to his final resting place, I was shaking so much that I was sure I must have looked like I was having some sort of spasm.
I walked – or rather, shook – down the aisle, keeping a deferential distance behind Bridget and Liam but still feeling like an intruder. When the doors of the church were opened for Leon’s coffin to be pushed through, a dead heat flooded in on top of us, and I thought I would faint. Afterwards, I fancied that it might have been a warning sign from Leon, but I didn’t pick up on it.
I heard the sound of a flashbulb before I saw anything. I had walked with my head held low on my journey to the exit, examining the tiles on the church floor, the gnarls of th
e wood in the pews, the weekly newsletter and holy-water fountain – anything but the coffin. But, even buried so far inside my protective cocoon, the sound registered with me as very bad news. The last few weeks – had it only been weeks? – had taught me that much.
“Andie, how do you feel about Leon’s death?”
An overweight man shoved a camera into my face. I was too shocked to respond at first as I looked around and saw a sea of reporters and cameras gathered around the door of the church.
The overweight man’s words opened the floodgates for a deluge of other questions, all moral qualms about invading a funeral gone out the window.
“Are the rumours of a reunion with Leon true?”
“Were you with Leon when he died?”
“Andie! Is it true that you and Leon returned to Vegas to marry before he died?”
The last question was asked in an Irish accent. And what was worse, I was sure I recognised the voice. I knew I shouldn’t turn around to see who it was, but just like Lot’s wife couldn’t resist, nor could I. And with all the strange things that had happened to me in the last few weeks, being turned into a pillar of salt would probably feel entirely normal.
“Andie!”
The voice belonged to Sadie, an ex-colleague of mine from the Glitter days whom I’d never liked. She waved excitedly at me as if she had just spotted me at the other side of a swimming pool in a holiday resort.
She’d always been a career-hungry, overly ambitious cow who would stamp on someone’s grave to get what she wanted – which, it seemed, was exactly what she was sent over here to do. I glared at her as she tried to approach me, but she was soon jostled out of position by the crowd, all of whom were desperate to throw more questions at me.
[2014] Looking for Leon Page 33