What If?

by Shari Low

  ‘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 on the ground floor of the hotel, for a double expresso. I want to be awake when Carol arrives tonight, but the way I’m feeling, it’s doubtful. I’ve had a grand total of three hours’ sleep in the last two days. It’s not that the planes were uncomfortable, it’s just that there were so many movies that I wanted to see and I hate to miss anything. I’m regretting it now, though.

  The coffee shop is almost deserted when I enter. The whole coffee trend hasn’t quite caught on here yet. If it were a tea shop, it would be standing room only. I’m about to sit down when I notice a Western man sitting on his own in the corner, immersed in paperwork. I recognise that face! No, it’s not Phil Lowery, that would be too simple, but it’s close. It’s my second favourite person in China: Jack McBurnie, the Food and Beverage Director and the man who offered me the job here in the first place.

  ‘Hey, mister, fifty bucks and I’m yours for the night. I’ll show you a good time,’ I offer.

  He simultaneously raises his head and reaches for his walkie-talkie to call security.

  I sit down, grinning. ‘Or, alternatively, you could buy me a coffee and I’ll give you a freebie.’

  His mouth is open, but nothing is coming out, then he laughs so loudly that the staff stop to stare.

  ‘Carly, what the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Don’t even ask, Jack, you wouldn’t believe it. Anyway, what about you? It must be over fifteen years you’ve been here now. Jesus, you get less than that for murder.’

  ‘I know, I know, but this place grows on you. Shame you didn’t stick around long enough to find that out,’ he teases.

  I finally get my coffee, with a double thick doughnut to keep it company. I tell myself I’m comfort eating to soothe the pain of recent traumas. In truth, I’m just desperate to indulge in a pastry that I know will have come out of the oven only a few hours ago.

  Jack brings me up to date with the events since I left. None of the original management team remain except him. Heinz and Hans now run an Austrian restaurant in the centre of the city. Dan and Arnie returned to Australia shortly after I left, and Chuck and Linden work in the same hotel in Hong Kong that I had transferred to.

  ‘And what about Ritza and Olga?’

  ‘Last I heard they opened a private nursing home in Berlin.’

  I feel an immediate wave of sympathy for the elderly.

  We chat for a while longer, every bit as comfortable as we were the day I left. After my second coffee, I check my watch. Six o’clock. If the shoot finished on time, and Carol made her flight, then she’d land around nine.

  ‘Jack, can you do me a favour?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘I’ve got a friend arriving on the nine o’clock from Tokyo. Could you send the flashiest, most over
-the-top, fuck-off car that you’ve got for her?’

  ‘Is she as superficial as you?’

  ‘Maybe even more,’ I answer proudly.

  He grins. ‘Then it would be a pleasure.’

  I’m waiting in the lobby bar when Carol rushes in, face flushed with what could be excitement, embarrassment or a desperate longing for the loo. The head of every man in the bar turns to stare in awe. With her chocolate hair in tendrils reaching down to her waist, brown eyes the size of hazelnuts and a figure that looks seriously deprived of a good pudding, she’s every man’s fantasy.

  ‘A gold Rolls-Royce! A bloody Rolls-Royce! Cooper, I don’t know what you did to get that car, but it was worth it.’

  ‘I sold my body. Twice.’

  ‘Well, sell it again – I want that car for a week.’

  That’s why I love Carol – she makes me look deep.

  We take a bottle of champagne up to the room to drink while we change. Yes, I know it’s a superfluous overindulgence, but how often does one of your best mates fly from another country to support you in a ridiculous mission? And besides, after the journey in the Rolls, I can hardly bring her crashing back down to earth with a vodka and diet coke.

  ‘Thanks for doing this, Carol. For coming all this way. After Doug, I don’t think I could have done this on my own.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, my love. You’re always there for me.’

  ‘What happened with George? Is it over?’

  She nods. ‘I have no idea what I was doing with him. Or any of the others for that matter. Don’t get me started again – we can only have one midlife crisis at a time. Anyway, I’m here, so every cloud has a silver cover.’

  She’s totally bemused as to why I’ve collapsed in a fit of giggles on the bed.

  We polish off the bubbles and head for Champagne, the nightclub that I managed when I worked here. Only, when we get there, it’s not called Champagne any more. It’s now the ‘Downtown Karaoke Club’. Inside, it has been redecorated, but still in the same colours and fabrics. Even now, it doesn’t look dated.

  ‘Right then, ladies and gentlemen, next up is Johnny Woo, singing “That’ll Be the Day”. C’mon up here, Johnny.’

  There aren’t enough exclamation marks in the English language to describe my hysteria. Up on the stage, still with the Bee Gees haircut and a gold medallion that’s sure to leave him with osteoporosis in later years, is the DJ, Zac. I catch his eye and he bounds over, Johnny Woo now murdering his chosen song.

  ‘Hey, Carly, baby. You’re still the ravishing sex bomb you always were.’

  ‘Yes, Zac, and you’re still a twat,’ I laugh.

  ‘All part of the service, baby.’ He gives a bow and we swap small talk before he checks out my ring finger and gets to the important stuff. ‘So, not married? Never meet anyone that could match up to the Zac machine?’ he asks, so over the top that I lose it again.

  ‘Zac, you put me off men for life. I’m a nun now. Sister Carly.’

  He doesn’t know if I’m serious or joking. He never was the brightest light in the disco.

  ‘So where is everyone? Where’s Lily, Lila, Mimi and Cora?’

  When they’d chosen their Western monikers, I was pretty sure they’d come from the English Four Letter Christian Names Book.

  ‘All gone. All married Westerners and went abroad.’

  I’m glad for them – it was what they always wanted.

  ‘And you?’ I ask, positive that no one would be crazy enough to take him on.

  ‘I married Susie. Remember her?’

  Only too well. She was a regular who was often seen on the arm of wealthy customers. Seems like both Zac and Susie found love – or whatever it was – in the end.

  Johnny Woo is screeching to a conclusion, so Zac races back to the stage.

  By the end of the night, after outstanding renditions of ‘Crazy’, ‘I Will Survive’, ‘Summer Loving’ and the ‘Shoop Shoop Song’, we’re propping up the bar and being hit on by two very flash Frenchmen.

  ‘Tell me something,’ Carol slurs to hers. ‘Are you rich?’

  ‘Mais oui, we are very rich.’ The Rolex on each wrist gives it away.

  ‘Are you over forty?’

  I can tell he’s trying to decide whether or not to lie. He decides against it.

  ‘Maybe by one or two years.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry, I can’t possibly be seen with you. I have a rule, you see. I only date poor men who were born in the same decade as me, sorry.’

  She turns and grabs my arm as she floats out the door, leaving two very bemused males.

  ‘Don’t worry, mate,’ I hear Zac whisper to them in a moment of male bonding. ‘They’re nuns.’

  The following morning, our first stop is at the production company Phil started working at before I left Shanghai. With a bit of luck, he still works for them and they can tell me where he is.

  The girls behind the desk stare at me blankly – they’ve never heard of Phil Lowery and no Westerner works for them now, it’s local photographers only. Progress can be a pain in the arse sometimes.

  We need a plan. We buy a map of the city and split it into six areas. I’m counting on the fact that the expat community in Shanghai is still relatively small and very incestuous – everyone knows someone who knows someone. We circle every hotel in the area, then I recruit Zac to pinpoint all the bars and restaurants regularly frequented by expats.

  Next day, we set off for the furthest away zone and start scouring the streets. Initially, we’re too embarrassed to just walk into a bar and ask every Westerner if they know Phil Lowery, so we try to be as low-key as you can possibly be when you’re trailing round Shanghai with a Cindy Crawford look-alike. We order a drink and then casually enter into conversation with the bar staff and customers. By early evening, we’ve reached three conclusions:

  1. This will take us a year to complete;

  2. We’ll be pissed every day by lunchtime;

  3. Cagney and Lacey never had these problems.

  On day three, we try a different approach – it’s time to be ruthless. We go in and out of establishments like an SAS hit squad, leaving a trail of curious faces in our wake. Not one person shows even a flicker of recognition. I’m beginning to think I imagined him.

  Four days later, we’re down and we’re out. There’s only one area left to try and my optimism has deserted me. Carol and I sit on the edge of the bath, our feet soaking in six inches of water.

  ‘How did I ever get involved in this?’ Carol wails.

  ‘Because you’re a loyal and loving friend,’ I remind her.

  ‘Cooper, I do love you, but I don’t love you this much. My feet are disfigured for life. No more Dr Scholl commercials for me.’

  I take her to the bar for a consolation drink and Jack finds us there two hours later. Carol has adored him ever since I introduced them and explained that he sent the Rolls. However, to her credit, it’s been purely in a platonic fashion.

  ‘You two look like ladies who need cheering up.’

  ‘Jack, the only things that will cheer us up are a foot massage and another cocktail,’ Carol answers. ‘Which one are you offering?’

  ‘I’ll stick with the cocktail, since we’re in a public place,’ he chuckles. ‘So, should I take it that the hunt’s not going well?’

  ‘It’s right up there with Betamax videos and the Middle East peace agreement,’ I reply.

  ‘Have you tried the American Embassy?’ Jack asks. ‘He must have been registered there.’

  I need to go back to detective school, I hadn’t thought of that. In saying that, there’s no way they would divulge that kind of information unless it was an international emergency.

  Jack smiles and picks up the phone. In two minutes he’s through to a contact there, then gets put on hold.

  ‘I haven’t been in Shanghai all this time without making a few friends,’ he says.

  A few minutes later, he’s listening intently. He frowns and replaces th
e receiver. ‘Sorry, Cooper, but it seems Phil Lowery returned to New York eight years ago.’

  There’s a silence for a few minutes, then Carol finally speaks. ‘So, let me get this straight. We’ve come all the way to Shanghai, we’ve walked more miles than a nomadic tribe, been in more bars than an alcoholic, our feet look like they’ve been sanded by a floor buffer and you manage to find out he’s not here with a ten minute phone call… Jack, I think you owe us another few cocktails.’

  The next day we have a choice – either head to New York on Phil Lowery’s trail, or stop off in Hong Kong to search for Sam Morton. Jess has called to say that she hasn’t found Tom yet, so there’s no lead to chase up there. The decision is made by the fact that Callum is already in New York, so we’ll have a free place to stay and some very welcome time with my crazy busy brother.

  I’m sad to leave Jack when I hug him before heading off for our flight the following afternoon. It’s been worth coming back just to see him again.

  As our plane soars into the skies, the stewardess offers us a drink. Carol looks at her watch.

  ‘I do believe it’s happy hour,’ she exclaims.

  ‘Carol, it’s only two o’clock.’

  ‘Well, I’m happy and two o’clock is as good an hour as any. Two gin and tonics, please,’ she replies. Who am I to argue? I’m too busy being delighted that I’ve got a buddy to share this trip with.

  Callum meets us at JFK Airport, the result of a frantic call before we left Shanghai. This was turning into a regular family and friends outing. He smuggles us into his room at the Plaza.

  ‘I see you’re slumming it then,’ Carol observes.

  We bring him up to date with the latest instalments, then crash out on one of the two queen-size beds and sleep for the rest of the day. At seven o’clock, he wakes us.

  ‘I’ve got to go to a premiere tonight of the new Tom Cruise movie. Do you want to come?’

  The fact that we’re up, showered, made-up and dressed in five and a half minutes gives him his answer.

  Downstairs, a limousine the size of Newcastle is waiting for us.