[2014] Looking for Leon

by Shirley Benton

  “But when the books became a phenomenon, why didn’t he take credit for being Daniel Larch then?”

  “Fear again. Leon was a shy man. He kept to himself, and he led a very peaceful, laid-back existence. He was concerned that once his face became public property, he’d never be able to reclaim his privacy. As Daniel Larch, he had the best of both worlds – he was able to make a living doing what he loved doing, but also keep his low-profile lifestyle. As long as the books were selling, the publishing company didn’t care.”

  After what I’d experienced in Vegas with the media, I could completely understand Leon’s perspective.

  “It’s all about to come out, though. Leon was in the middle of finishing the third book in his latest trilogy, which of course can’t be released now. It was due out next year, and the publishing company asked Liam and me if they can let the public know why they won’t be able to deliver it. Daniel Larch has a huge fanbase who are hanging on for the final book in the trilogy, so they’ll be demanding answers from the publishers. Leon had seen this coming, and he’d discussed his options with us. He eventually decided that he didn’t have an issue with his identity being made known after he’d passed away. He was just sorry he ran out of time and couldn’t finish the final book. God knows, he tried – he wrote 50,000 words of it after he got sick. But eventually, he just had to accept that he needed to put his energies into getting from one day to the next. Even the toughest of fighters have to know when to let go.”

  “I can’t believe it,” I said. “Leon was Daniel Larch!” I had so many questions that I didn’t know where to start. “He’s produced over twenty books – he must have been writing for years!”

  “He gave up his job when he was twenty-three to write full-time. It was quite a risk – he’d moved to New York and taken on an amazing job as a stockbroker after he graduated from college. He was on a great salary, and the bonuses and incentives he was receiving at the time were phenomenal – but he walked away from it all after two years and started writing full-time.” She sighed. “His father and I gave him a hard time about it – no, to be fair, I gave him a hard time about it – but it certainly worked out for him financially.”

  I thought back on some of the articles I’d read online about Daniel Larch over the years. The man was one of the highest earners in the literary world. Leon had been very, very rich.

  “He spent a third of his life doing something he adored. That’s more than a lot of people do,” I said to Bridget.

  I thought about what I’d discovered only the previous day. I had been tidying up my email inbox – a long overdue task – and I’d moved Leon’s email to a special to-be-kept-forever folder before I deleted all the rest of my emails. Of course, as I’d moved it, I’d had to open it up to read it again. And it was then that I noticed for the first time that when I reached the end of the mail, the scroll bar on the right-hand side still had some scrolling space left. I scrolled down, expecting to see his email signature, if anything at all. But instead there was this.

  By the way:

  Make that career move you spoke to me about. And don’t be afraid. I made a risky career move once, and it really paid off. You will never know what you are capable of unless you take a chance.

  It was yet another legacy from Leon to me. How strange that I had missed it the first time! But, in any case, his message was waiting for me to find it at a time when I really needed it. Now, I was ready to listen to what he had to say, and to act on it.

  For the millionth time since I left Vegas, I wished Leon could have been granted the chance to live. While I knew he and I would never have ended up together, I also knew he had so much to offer someone else. But even though the cruelty of his death affected me every day, the warmth of the experience of knowing him dulled the pain somewhat. I felt privileged to have crossed paths with him, however briefly.

  “It’s all talk about me here,” I said. “So what’s going on in Vegas? Any gossip?”

  “Well, achshully, I ’eard something recently that I thought would interest you. I noticed Lindy had not been on the entertainment slot for a while, so I made a few discreet enquiries.”

  That probably meant he put an ad in the paper asking for information, but I let him continue.

  “Lindy was fired last month, And-ee! If that is not karma, I do not know what is!”

  “What? But – that one is so smart, she’ll have Dave up for unfair dismissal!”

  “No. She cannot. I was told that Dave followed all the correct procedures. Lindy was given several warnings about her be’aviour, both verbal and written. She was not a permanent staff member, just on a six-month contract that was renewed a few times. When she came to the end of her latest contract last month, Dave did not renew it. And she ’adn’t any comeback after all the warnings he had given her.”

  “Oh dear. Well, who knows, maybe she’ll learn from the experience. It’s definitely about time for her to grow up, that’s for sure.” I couldn’t feel too smug about Lindy’s misfortune – she wasn’t the only one who’d needed to grow up. But at least now, I was working on it.

  “That is all that is happening here, And-ee. I miss you, but I am sure you are not planning on coming to Vay-gas anytime soon. You are probably glad to be back at ’ome now and to not ’ave to travel any more.”

  “Actually, I’m planning on doing a lot more travelling soon. But I can’t tell you too much about it right now – it’s a secret.”

  “Ooh! Now you have me intrigued. Can you even give me a hint?”

  I smiled. “Well, all I can say is that I’m not going back to Vegas, yet I might be in your neck of the woods sometime soon . . .”

  Chapter Forty-four

  The anticipation of Christmas hung in the air as I made my way down Grafton Street. Groups of people were moving in throngs into nearby pubs and restaurants, laughing and joking, whilst others flooded into the shops, attracted by the shimmering fairy lights that glistened invitingly at them. I’ve always found the lead-up to Christmas to be more exciting than the day itself. And, if things went according to plan, this year’s lead-up would be more exciting than most.

  I crossed Dame Street and made my way towards O’Connell Bridge. I walked as one part of a human tidal wave over the bridge and onto O’Connell Street, where a Christmas festival was taking place. The Friday before Christmas was the day when most people would be finishing up in work, and the festivities had been organised by a group of nearby retailers to get people in the spirit to spend as much as possible. The centre of the street had been transformed into a mixture of the North Pole and the front of a Christmas card, with plastic fir trees, Santa’s grotto and reindeer providing the backdrop. The plan was working, if the number of bags swinging from the arms of almost every person that passed was anything to go by. I had no bags. I’d learned to let go of a lot over the past few months, and I no longer carried baggage with me wherever I went. I was happy to leave everything behind me for the journey I was about to take.

  The collective sound of a group of carol singers in front of the Spire resounded in my ears as I made my way towards Clery’s clock, winding my way through fir trees and stands of free mulled wine and mince pies as I crossed the road. I couldn’t see whether Colm was waiting under the clock or not as I made my way down the street. As I approached, I noticed a number of other men standing aimlessly in front of Clery’s. I wondered if they were waiting for their girlfriends or wives to leave Clery’s with their shopping, or if they were up to the same thing that I was. Clery’s had always been the traditional place for couples to meet in Dublin, but I’d never once met a date there. I’d always thought it was too clichéd, or so I had told myself. Now, I realised it was just because I’d subconsciously been waiting for the right person to meet there.

  I felt like I was in Vegas all over again as the endless lights of the shop displays dazzled me, trying their best to seduce me. But the competition was far too stiff for them to even be in the running. Within seconds, they
were rendered invisible, and there was only one thing I could see.

  I caught Colm’s eye. He broke into a huge smile, which gave me the incentive to propel myself into his arms. He bundled me into his open coat – a long, black, 70s-style thing that screamed cosiness, and wrapped it, and his arms, around me so tight that I could barely breathe. And then he kissed me, so urgently and yet so tenderly that my breath was completely taken away, as if it had been years since we’d last met instead of only hours.

  I had no idea how long we stood like that, completely oblivious to the world around us. All I knew is that I could have stayed in that moment forever, if it hadn’t been for what I had planned. A plop on my nose brought me back to reality. I looked up, and felt a sense of wonder envelop me.

  “I can’t believe it! Do you know how long it’s been since it snowed at Christmas in Dublin?”

  “The last time I remember it snowing at Christmas, I was living at home in Kerry. And a lot of time has passed since then.”

  “Which is a good thing, right?”

  “Absolutely. So, maybe the snow marks the beginning of a new chapter . . .”

  “I think so. One thing’s for sure – we certainly couldn’t get more of a contrast with Vegas if we tried!”

  “When we were first in Vegas, I wasn’t allowed to do this.” He pulled me to him again. I allowed myself one last snowflake-mingled kiss before I pulled away.

  “We have to go.”

  Colm raised his eyebrows. “Where?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course . . .”

  “Then don’t ask me any more questions. Just go with this. Promise?”

  “O – kay . . . but . . . I do have one little comment to make. This place that we’re going to that I’m not asking anything about at all whatsoever . . . can we walk there?”

  “That’s a question, not a comment, but I’ll answer it. We could walk, but we don’t have a spare ten hours, so we’re not going to do that. We’ll get a taxi.”

  “Right. I’m not raising an objection to the plan I don’t know anything about, but I have to say that we’ll never get a taxi from anywhere near here – all of the streets around here have been closed off.”

  “I have a plan.” I beckoned him to follow me. We walked up the street to where a group of rickshaw sleighs awaited to take customers to their favourite store, a free service that enabled customers to empty their pockets even more.

  “We’re going to a shop on the North Circular Road, please,” I said to a driver who looked annoyed at being disturbed. I guessed he was being paid a flat rate for tonight.

  “Wha’? What the bleedin’ hell do ya want to go to a shop up there for? Have you noticed how many bleedin’ shops there are around here?”

  I flashed a fifty-euro note at him. “The North Circular Road shops are better.” There weren’t very many shops on the North Circular Road – it was mostly pubs and restaurants – but it didn’t matter.

  He pocketed the fifty. “Dead right, luv. In ya get.” Within seconds, he was rocketing past the nativity crib at the top of O’Connell Street, as if he was afraid I would change my mind and demand my money back.

  He deposited us in front of one of the few shops on the North Circular Road – a bridal shop.

  “Before you ask, we’re on this street so that we can get a taxi. We’d never get one in the city centre.”

  It was as if the mere mention of the word had summoned it. I looked to my right, only to see a taxi stopping at the lights right beside us. I ran over to check if it was available. It was.

  “The airport, please,” I said as Colm and I shuffled into the back seat.

  “The airport?”

  “No questions. You promised, remember?”

  “Yes, but I don’t have my passport.”

  “I do.”

  “You having yours is no good if I don’t have mine.”

  “No, I have your passport. And my own too, before you ask.”

  “How is it you always seem to have my passport?”

  “Ah-ah! ‘How’ is a question.”

  “We’re heading back to Vegas, then. And that’s a statement, not a question.”

  “Good guess, but no.”

  “Phew! I’m kinda done with Vegas.”

  “Me too. Now, no more questions or statements.”

  I cut Colm off at the pass every time he attempted to say a word on the way to the airport. He eventually gave up. I ignored his quizzical looks for the rest of the journey.

  Even though the airport was busier than ever, a feeling of goodwill engulfed me as I led Colm to an Aer Lingus check-in area. The sparkling lights of the gigantic Christmas tree in the departures area seemed to wink at me, as if they were complicit in my plan and approved wholeheartedly of it. I winked back at them, not caring who saw me. After all of my escapades in Vegas, it was a bit late to be worrying about people thinking I was a bit batty.

  “When does the embargo on the questions end?”

  “Who says that it does?”

  “Okay. But I should point out that I have to film a wedding on St Stephen’s Day.”

  “You’re not working on St Stephen’s Day. Or the day after, or the day after, or – well, for quite a while. Adrian is taking on all of your jobs for the next few weeks. He’s delighted to get the work, so don’t worry about it – your company is in good hands.”

  “What are you talking about? And don’t tell me not to ask any questions! What’s going on, Andie?”

  I thought about keeping the guessing games up, but the queue to the check-in desks was moving fast, so I relented. I dug into my handbag and handed a printout of the holiday details to Colm.

  He quickly scanned the information, the expressions on his face flitting from confused to excited to an even deeper level of confusion.

  “The Galapagos Islands, New York and Paris? How can we be going to all those places?”

  I looked around. “I could go to town on you with that answer, but I’ll refrain.”

  As we edged forward in the queue, Colm stared at me for a long time before breaking into a huge smile. “I can’t believe you remembered . . .”

  “I can’t believe you’d think I wouldn’t have. When you’re in love with someone, you remember every little detail . . . even if you haven’t admitted to yourself at the time that you love them.”

  Colm said nothing. He just stared at me.

  “What? What is it?”

  “There’s something I have to tell you . . . I have a big problem with going on this trip.”

  My blood ran cold. I felt mortification flush my face as I took in Colm’s serious expression. Had I got it all wrong?

  “You see, I had a more specific reason for not going to Paris than what I told you.”

  He didn’t continue. I looked up, and saw him waiting for me to say something.

  “Well, come on! Out with it!”

  He grinned. I didn’t know whether to feel comforted by that, or furious. “Before I tell you, let me just say that I know it’s a cliché . . . but . . . Paris has always been my planned proposal city.”

  His grin spread into a full megawatt beam, brighter than all of the Christmas lights in the entire airport put together. I was so on edge that it took me a second to realise what he’d just said.

  “We need to end the embargo on the questions now,” he went on, “because I have a few very important ones to ask. First of all, in light of what I’ve just said, do you still want to get on this plane? Because you know what’s going to happen if you do . . .”

  My voice caught in my throat. I was so happy, I thought I would burst if I spoke a single word. I managed a nod, sending happy tears flying down my cheeks.

  “You’ll get the next question when we’re in Paris.” He bent down and kissed away the tears, then lifted me up and twirled me in the air. I never wanted the moment to end – but I knew that when it did, I had a lifetime of other special moments to look forward to. It felt amazing.


  “My turn to ask a question now,” I said when my feet finally hit the ground again. “But it’s a bit personal, so please don’t take offence . . .”

  “Ask me anything.”

  “Can we not have Marietta biscuits served at our wedding reception?”

  THE END.

  Also by Shirley Benton

  Is it ever too late for a second chance?

  Tammy and Alvin had mapped out their entire lives together, including a pre-parental plan – a list of everything they wanted to do as a couple before they had children. But no amount of planning could have anticipated the heartbreaking problems that lay ahead – problems that shattered their once-perfect relationship and led to a traumatic break-up.

  Then, after years of trying to move on, Tammy’s world is turned upside down when Alvin comes back into her life asking for a second chance – with a difference. He proposes that they spend time together, doing the things they had once so eagerly planned, in a bid to remember why they felt they’d have children together some day, and ultimately recapture what they had.

  Still in love with Alvin, Tammy finds herself powerless to say no, even though their problems are still simmering in the background and threatening to boil over at any moment. Still, what they once had is surely worth trying to save.

  But can something that’s broken every truly be whole again?

  Can We Start Again?

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