I wake the next morning on a single bed, with Jess’s feet in my face.
Getting her up requires brute strength and violent threats, but eventually I succeed and we stumble downstairs. Seamus is waiting with two cups of tea that could unblock drains.
‘Thanks, Seamus, you’re a star,’ Jess mumbles.
‘Seamus, where can I buy some chocolates and flowers to take to Mrs McCallum?’
I have a feeling I’ll need all the bribes I can muster. Tom’s mother never liked me, and given that I broke her son’s heart, she probably prays for my damnation at mass every Sunday.
‘There wouldn’t be much point in doing that, m’dear. She passed away about six years ago. Heart attack, if I’m not wrong.’
I feel like someone has just kicked me in the stomach. Poor woman. And there was me thinking evil thoughts about her. Oh, the shame.
‘And Mr McCallum?’ I ask.
‘Aye, him too. Keeled right over one morning when he was milking the cows. ’Bout four years back.’
‘No!’ I exclaim. It can’t be true. Oh God, poor Tom. He’s got nobody now. ‘And Tom, please tell me he’s okay?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t be knowing about that, now. He sold up and left, right after his old dad died.’
He wasn’t even here! It might have been handy if Seamus had shared that little nugget of information before now.
‘Do you know where he went, Seamus?’
‘Nay, lass, not a word been heard from him since he packed his bags. Last I heard, he was going off to Canada, but I don’t know how long he was heading there for. I would have told ye all this when ye arrived yesterday, but I hate to give bad news on the Lord’s day.’
A phone rings and Seamus picks up the receiver, barking into it for two minutes before he realises that the ringing hasn’t stopped.
‘Ooops, sorry,’ Jess mumbles as she fishes her mobile out of her pocket and moves to the other side of the room to answer it.
I sit in silence, trying to absorb the news. How would I ever find him now?
Jess rejoins us and I ask who called.
‘It was Carol. I told her you’ll meet her on Wednesday in Shanghai.’
‘But I can’t leave now, I need to find Tom,’ I argue half-heartedly. Or maybe I should just forget this and go back home.
‘Look, Carly, you haven’t got the time to chase all over the place looking for him. He could be anywhere and it could take months. I’m going to stay away from London for a couple of weeks. You go and meet Carol and I’ll try to track down Tom. I need something to keep my mind occupied. Don’t worry, Seamus here will keep me company.’
Seamus’s face beams. It’s probably the best offer he’s had this decade.
I ponder Jess’s suggestion. ‘But how will you find him?’
‘Cooper, it may have escaped your notice, but as this weekend’s headlines pointed out, I’m an expert researcher. Apparently I’m also a nymphomaniac home wrecker, but we’ll overlook those bits. Trust me, I’ll find him. Now, you’re going to Shanghai and no arguing.’
I love it when she gets assertive and bossy. I know she’s right. Compared to the elusive Mr McCallum, Phil and Sam should be relatively easy to find.
I borrow her phone again and, with the help of Directory Enquiries, I start to call airlines. My credit cards tremble with fear as I give the numbers over for flights and hotels.
Next day, I’m back at Dublin Airport, and as I board the plane to Bangkok on the first leg of a complicated route to Shanghai, I look back to see Jess waving furiously from the viewing deck. I blow her a kiss. For a woman who’s being hunted by most of the British press, she looks remarkably calm and happy.
That reminds me, I never did ask her who leaked the story of her affair to the tabloids. I bet it was a jealous colleague of Basil’s – they must be salivating at the mouth over a woman like Jess. Or maybe the jealous wife? No, that would put an end to her five page spreads in House & Garden.
A sudden thought strikes me. No, surely not! Not Jess! She wouldn’t have… Would she?
The man in the next seat looks at me with true concern as I laugh and raise my can of Guinness – ‘To Jess, a woman who has taken her destiny into her own hands. A woman after my own heart.’
18
Baby One More Time – Britney Spears
I think I’ve left the plane at the wrong destination. After brief stops in Bangkok and Hong Kong, I arrive at Shanghai’s international airport and discover it is now sleek, modern, spotless and completely unrecognisable.
In the five years since I left here so much has changed. Maybe Phil has too. Technically speaking, he isn’t an ex, however, I adored him with all my heart and we did make a pact to hook up again if I wasn’t married by the time I was thirty, so it’s only right that I track him down to see if it’s time to keep our promise.
Outside the terminal it’s about a gazillion degrees, so I jump into the first taxi I see and dredge my memory for the floppy disc labelled ‘Conversational Mandarin – use only in cases of emergency’. When I ask the taxi driver in his native tongue to take me to Shanghai’s Windsor Hotel, he looks at me quizzically. Oh, hell, I must have my words mixed up again. I’ve probably asked him to take me to the nearest fried egg sandwich.
‘Do you mean the Windsor Hotel, lady?’ he asks in English that’s better than mine.
I smile ruefully and nod. How times change. When I was last here, I never once encountered an English-speaking taxi driver.
I check in, dump my gear in my room and decide to hit the coffee shop
