[2014] Looking for Leon

by Shirley Benton

  “Did you leave after the church part of the funeral, then, to get away from all of this?”

  “No. I went to the graveyard.” He shook his head. “There was no way I was going to just pop up on top of you though after Bridget fainted. The poor woman. I couldn’t believe it when the baying mob practically jumped on top of her to capture pictures of her at the worst moment of her life. Believe me, not all photographers would do that – there are some left in the world with morals and ethics.”

  “Yeah, well, not in Vegas.” I shuddered at the memory.

  “I know you’re probably disgusted with me for brawling at Leon’s funeral . . .”

  I shook my head. “Those photographers and journalists made a mockery of his funeral, not you. And I can hardly fault you for defending my honour, can I?”

  “You can fault me for a lot of other things, though, Andie. I’ve handled everything that’s happened very badly.”

  “Well, that makes two of us. I wasn’t honest with you, and that wasn’t right . . . but it was because I hadn’t been honest with myself either. I thought I’d moved on, but I was just standing still.”

  “And now?” he asked.

  “Now . . . now I need to spend a lot of time sorting myself out. And I think I should start that process by telling you what I should have already told you a long time ago. Let’s order a drink. This’ll take a while.”

  Colm snuggled me against him while I told him the story of what had happened with Elaine from start to finish, and what Leon had said to me in Vegas and in his email. Then, Colm told me every last detail of the night he killed the elderly man. I could see him reliving it as he said the words.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered when he’d finished.

  “Elaine’s death wasn’t your fault either, but we both know that doesn’t stop us from feeling responsible. But Leon was right. There comes a time when everyone needs to let go and move on. And . . . I was really hoping we could help each other do that by moving on together. What do you think?”

  “I think I’ve finally found exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

  His face lit up.

  “And I also think it’s time you stopped behaving yourself,” I added slyly.

  His eyes widened, and he furrowed his brow in enquiry. I nodded.

  As we passed through Reception, hand in hand, Cassie raised a make-up brush to us in salutation and whooped like a cowgirl.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Colm woke up when his alarm went off, and looked around the room in shock.

  “Jaysis, Andie, the cleaners came in while we were asleep and tidied up the place. And look, they packed your bag too. Wasn’t that very good of them?”

  “Hilarious. Don’t give up the day job.”

  “What time did you have to get up to do all of this? The room was a bombsite when we went to sleep!”

  “A few hours ago.” I swung my desk-chair around to face him. “And it would be a bombsite when you insisted on tearing my clothes off me and flinging them around the room, wouldn’t it?”

  “You love it. And I love doing it, so we’re both happy.” He raised one eyebrow at me speculatively.

  “Not a hope,” I said to the eyebrow as I swung back around to my laptop. “I’ve more work to do this morning and we’re leaving the USA today, which is why I packed so early. I’d suggest you get back down to your room now and get your stuff together.”

  “You’re a hard woman,” he said as he dragged himself out of bed and looked around for his clothes. I’d put them in a neat pile beside one of the bedside lockers, which was the last thing he expected. It took him a good minute to find them. (Attempting to be tidy was part of the new me.)

  “I thought you’d be up early yourself, actually. Why aren’t you whizzing around the place working as usual?”

  “One word. Unemployment. Or unemployed, if you’d prefer. Either works.”

  It took a few seconds to sink in. “Oh no! Were you made redundant? When did this happen?”

  He shook his head. “I quit. I actually have given up the day job.”

  “What? How come you never told me?”

  “I was keeping it for the journey back to Ireland. I thought it’d be a good time-passer for that part of the flight where you feel like you’re never going to get home. Oh, well, we’ll just have to do a crossword.”

  “But why quit now? It doesn’t make sense . . .”

  He shrugged. “It just wasn’t worth it any more.”

  “It hasn’t been worth it for a long time, in your eyes, but it’s never been enough to make you quit before,” I pointed out. “So how about you tell me the real reason?”

  “Oh, Bea-tch just got too much to bear. No big deal.” He looked away.

  When you first start seeing someone, you learn new things about them several times every day. I’d just learnt something very important about Colm. He was a hopeless liar. Not only was he making furtive eye contact with an art-nouveau cat-esque creation in a painting on the wall rather than looking at me, his cheeks had flushed so fast after he spoke that it was as if someone had held a hoover up to them and sucked all the blood to his face.

  I walked around in front of him and stood in front of the hideous painting. “Our first row was a humdinger, but I can promise you that our second will be even more spectacular if you don’t tell me right now what the story is.” I folded my arms in front of my chest and put on my best no-nonsense, bordering-on-threatening face.

  “You look like you have a glucose barley stuck in your throat. Have you been digging into my sweet stash again?” Colm looked more amused than threatened.

  “Colm! What’s going on? Why did you leave?”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “She wanted me to film the funeral.”

  That shut me up. My tough face dissolved.

  “She rang me to ask me about the funeral. When I said I’d be going she instantly assumed I meant I’d be there as a cameraman and not in any other capacity. When I explained to her that I was going out of solidarity with you and there was no conceivable way that I would do such an unthinkable thing as shoot footage of his funeral, she went ballistic at me for wasting what to her was an opportunity. She tried every angle you can imagine to get me to do it. It started with her being ‘disappointed’, then she reminded me of the obligations of my contract, followed by a guilt trip on how I was letting the team down if I didn’t do this. I told her to get stuffed. And that’s when things got a bit ugly.” He shrugged. “As you said, I haven’t been happy in that job for a long time. I’ve told Bea-tch countless times in the past that I’m not happy to film funerals – of course, that didn’t stop her assuming I wanted to film Leon’s, just because this one is so high profile – she’s sickening. Invading on people’s grief is not my idea of a good day’s work – everyone should be allowed their privacy at a time like that. I don’t want to be in a job that has that level of disrespect for others.”

  “But what will you do now?”

  “I’ll live a happier life. It was a joke, anyway. I was hired as a cameraman, but I ended up doing a full-time job as a project manager as well as the full-time job I was employed for, just because they were too tight to pay someone else to do it. That place was taking advantage for a long time. Enough was enough.”

  I must have looked worried, because Colm got up and put his arms around me. “This is going to work out fine. I’ll freelance – there are always plenty of jobs available for weddings and corporate events. I’m not selling my soul to a life I hate any more.”

  “Well, that makes two of us, then.” I extricated myself from his arms and pulled up my sent items on my laptop. “Read the last mail I sent.”

  He read it in a few seconds. “I didn’t see that one coming,” he said then.

  “You know what, neither did I. But now that I’ve done it, I can’t understand why I didn’t do it a long time ago.”

  He took me in his arms again. “I won’t even ask you right
now what you’re going to do – knowing you, I’m sure you have a plan up your sleeve. And whatever it is, it’ll all work out fine.”

  “For both of us,” I smiled. “Now, I’m going to have to kick you out, I’m afraid. I have to finish my final column.”

  “Diligent to the last.” He planted a long kiss on my lips. “How long will it take?”

  “Give me half an hour. I have it all written in my head already.”

  “Okay. That gives us time for breakfast before we start out for Vegas.”

  As soon as he’d left, I turned my attention to my laptop. I re-read the email I’d just sent to Isolde before starting my column.

  Isolde,

  The final column that I’ll be sending on to you later is exactly what you told me not to write when I first set out to find Leon. But that’s okay, because I’m handing in my notice. We both know this isn’t the job for me. I know you’ll be happy to get rid of me too, so I don’t feel too guilty. Let’s face it, the post-Vegas success buzz would have worn off soon, and we’d be back to killing each other.

  If you wish to use the column, that’s fine. If you don’t, no bother. I won’t be writing this column for the readers, or for anyone other than myself. It is going to be my way of saying goodbye.

  Thanks for everything, Isolde. You’ve been a total pain to work with up until a few days ago when I started to like you, but it’s been a learning experience all the same. And I promise you, I will go to my grave keeping your real name a secret (as long as you give me a glowing reference).

  All the best,

  Andie (A-n-d-I-E)

  PS Don’t forget to test the interviewees’ sheep impressions when you’re recruiting my replacement. We all know you secretly love your shepherd’s role.

  As I clicked back into my inbox, a new mail popped in. It was from Bridget. I’d left my love-nest in the middle of the previous night to email her and refute Lindy’s claims that Colm and I had been together when I’d started my search, and to inform her that the fact we were together now in no way diluted the high regard I held Leon in. I had no idea how she would react to it in her reply. I gulped as I opened her email.

  Two minutes later, I was fighting back tears. In Bridget’s reply, she not only dismissed Lindy’s ramblings as “pitiful and inconsequential”, but also thanked me again for all I’d done for Leon, and had wished Colm and me every happiness for the future. And most importantly, I could tell that she meant it. With parents like Bridget and Liam, it was no wonder at all that Leon had grown up to be the person he was.

  I took a deep breath before I started my second task. This wasn’t going to be easy, but I had to do this. It was time.

  Dear Leon,

  The moment has come for me to say goodbye to you. Not long ago, this would have destroyed me. You see, I wasn’t very good at letting go. But that’s hardly news to you, seeing as you’re the one who opened my eyes to that very fact. You opened my eyes to a lot of things, Leon.

  I believe in luck, but I also believe in fate. I know that our eyes were destined to connect through the crowd in the MGM on the wonderful night that we met. I now also know that we were meant to be separated too. You were sent to me to take me on a journey, one that’s opened my eyes and shown me the direction my life should take. You said that our time together was a source of solace to you in your final weeks, which is something I’m deeply grateful for. I’d hate to think you did so much for me without me being able to give something back. Because of you, my life has changed in a way it never would have – never could have – without your influence.

  I went looking for you, and I found you. But I also found a whole lot more that I didn’t even know I was searching for. You changed my life, and I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forget you.

  Rest in peace, Leon.

  All my love,

  Andie

  Chapter Forty-three

  Four months later

  “’Allo?”

  “Ah, Philippe, is it yourself?”

  There was a pause. “Well, of course it is, And-ee – you rang me, so you must know it is me, no?”

  Now wasn’t the time to explain Irish sayings, so I continued on with a “How are you doing?”

  “I am fantasteek, And-ee. It is lovely to ’ear your voice! It feels like so long ago since you were here in Vaygas.”

  “Four months is a long time, I suppose! We have a lot to catch up on! I hope you’re not too busy there at work?”

  “Listen to you. Already taking the peas out of me. I will fit you into my ’ectic day, And-ee. Tell me, ’ow are things going between you and Col-um?”

  “Great. We moved in together, and it’s all going so well . . . things are just perfect.” I knew the smile on my face was embedded in my voice as I spoke.

  “Ah, that is lovelee to ’ear. And I suppose you both are working like lunateeks as usual?”

  I filled Philippe in on how I’d left the Vicious Voice.

  “I bet your boss was sorry to see you go.”

  “Oh, she’s doing just fine without me. She started writing columns herself until she found someone to replace me, and they went down a treat with the public, so she’s now my full-time replacement. They’re really snarky columns, complaining about everything and everyone you can imagine. It seems to be what people want, and she’s even been getting invites on to TV shows on the back of them to defend her position about this, that and the other – which she seems to love.”

  “So she’s essentially become you, then! A nasty version of you!”

  “Yes, except she thrives on all of this kind of thing. Me, I’m happy to be relatively anonymous again.”

  “And are you anoneemous? Surely people still recognise you?”

  “Yes, but I’ve deliberately been keeping a low profile since I left the Vicious Voice, and the fuss has died down.” And thankfully, I hadn’t become the hated figure I’d feared I might as a result of Lindy’s rumour. The whole thing never really came to anything; interest in the story died with Leon’s death. “There’s always someone new to talk about. I’m old news now, and I’m happy about that.”

  “But what about work? Did you find another job?”

  “Freelance work has been flooding in. That was one advantage of having my face plastered all over the place – my name is out there. I just don’t do any articles about Leon. I still have money left from that People Search contract anyway.” Rick had launched People Search in Europe shortly after I returned home, and he got me to do a few appearances in various capital cities, but we parted company amicably as soon as my three-month contract was up. “As for Colm, he set up his own videography company. He does videos of weddings, mainly, but he also gets freelance camerawork gigs. He’s so busy that he’s had to employ someone – Adrian – to take on some of the wedding jobs.”

  “Ah, that ees good to ’ear. So are you looking for another job in a paypear, or will you continue to freelance?”

  “Actually, neither, if all goes to plan. I’ve decided to apply for a teacher-training course next year. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

  “Really? That’s wonderful! What will you teach? Drama?”

  I had to smile. “No, although I can see why you would think that. I’ll hopefully be an English teacher.”

  “Oh. Well, you ’ave good Eng-leesh, so that is a good start. And you are very brave to do such a thing at your age.”

  If anyone else had said it to me, I might have taken it up as a snarky comment. Coming from Philippe, I knew it was a case of what you heard was what you got – and he was right. Most people my age would have considered leaving a job and re-training for something else at thirty a big step, but most people hadn’t met and been inspired by Leon. And what I had found out about Leon’s career after his death had blown me away.

  Leon hadn’t told me what he did for a living on the night we met. When I thought back on it, we’d spent most of our time talking about me. I would have felt guilty about that
except that I knew, looking back, that Leon had wanted it this way. Mostly, when I made any enquiries on that night about his life, he’d deflected them and turned the conversation back to me. And when I went to visit him, his career path was never going to be on the conversation agenda. So when I found out that Leon was a very successful author with an endless string of books behind him, I can safely say that I hadn’t seen that one coming.

  “Leon was the author of a prominent series of fantasy books for teenagers,” Bridget had explained when she last rang me. Bridget and I had kept in constant contact since I’d returned to Ireland, something that seemed to be helping us both. “He wrote under a pseudonym – Daniel Larch. You may have heard of him?”

  “Heard of him? I’ve read every single book he’s ever written!”

  Although Daniel Larch’s books were ostensibly for teenagers, they’d achieved the arduous task of also speaking to an adult audience, and successfully crossing over into that market too. Part of Daniel Larch’s rise to prominence was the mystery surrounding the real identity of the author. It was widely known that the name was a pseudonym, and his publishing company had made it known that the author refused to give up his or her real identity.

  “Yes, he did very well for himself,” Bridget said with more than a hint of pride in her voice.

  “Why didn’t he want to write under his own name?”

  “Fear. Unfounded fear, of course – he was an amazing writer, but there was no convincing him of that. He was determined to be a writer, but when he was offered a publishing deal on the strength of his first book, he got cold feet. He was afraid that if the book didn’t sell well, he’d never be taken seriously as a writer. I was dead set against him creating Daniel Larch – I knew the quality of his work was outstanding – but he didn’t have the same belief in himself.”