Chasing Rainbows

  Part One: Nick

  The drive back to the flat from the airport was tiring and seemed to last forever. The traffic was madness and yet another reason for leaving London. But it gave me time to think.

  I was rather embarrassed about the way I had handled the farewells. Simple things like saying goodbye and making up after arguments were still alien to me when it was with another man. It would have been much more comfortable with a woman. I found it difficult in those situations to express myself then when face to face with a person of my own sex and it was inevitably clumsy.

  It was about 5.30 p.m. when I arrived home and Imogen was still in the park with Sally. I was pleased to have some time to myself even though the place seemed rather empty without her and Eamon, who had almost become part of the furniture in those few weeks we were together. I took a shower as the afternoon and the drive back had been rather warm, and then sat with a can of beer and listened to some music.

  I wondered what Eamon would be doing. I calculated that he had already arrived and would be on his way to the hotel. I though it odd that he was not going straight to Versailles where the college was; after all, it was only just outside Paris and very easy to get to. I had questioned him on that point and, as usual, he was evasive. He eventually said that there were a couple of excellent student shops in Paris that he needed to go to. At that time, I accepted what he said but soon realised that he would not have the time to go to those shops on Saturday afternoon when he arrived and it was unlikely that they would be open on a Sunday. That was in the not so distant past when seven-day trading was a “thing” of the future along with mobile phones. I said nothing but presumed he wanted to see a friend or even an old lover. I believed him totally when he said that there was nobody else.

  I was missing him already but was happy to believe he would be phoning me soon.

  Sally and Imogen arrived back from the park, full of beans. The small zoo had some new young fallow deer which were on show after having been kept inside for a couple of weeks and she referred to them all as Bambi. She was very excited and asked if I would like to go back to the park and meet them.

  I declined her offer and explained that we had to stay in as Uncle Eamon would be calling soon and that excited her sufficiently. She played with one of her jigsaws as I prepared our evening meal. I didn’t know what time Eamon would call but I made sure the television was turned down low. I didn’t want to miss him.

  At nearly 10 p.m. she was still awake and excited about Eamon calling. She kept asking me when and all I could say was “soon”. She was tired so I took her to bed and read to her for a while, expecting the phone to ring any minute.

  Eventually she dropped off and I went back into the living room. Imogen had made some coffee – she knew I was anxious and a little worried that he hadn’t called.

  “Stop worrying, Nick,” she said. “He probably can’t get to a phone or find one that works. You know what it’s like in London and I suspect it’s the same or even worse in Paris.”

  “Yes, but he did say he would call when he got there and surely he must be there by now.”

  “Then maybe he’s asleep after the journey or he has forgotten.”

  “No ... he definitely would not have forgotten,” I said. “Perhaps there is another reason.”

  “No doubt you’ll hear soon enough, possibly tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, “but already I miss him. It’s only been a few hours but it seems like weeks.”

  She put her arms around me.

  “Don’t worry.”

  After we had coffee, Imogen went to bed and I sat up listening to some music. By then I was very concerned that he had not called and began to think that something terrible had happened. A plane crash, or the wrong flight and he was en route to Bombay? Or even worse, did his evasiveness mean that he was already involved in an affair and that I was just a holiday romance, a ship that passes in the night?

  No, I was being irrational. Maybe he did forget or he was tired but there was no way I could find out. He had mentioned in passing the name of the hotel in Paris but I hadn’t written it down. He left the name and number of a colleague in Versailles but he would not be going there until Sunday so that was no use.

  I went to bed alone for the first time in a number of weeks and woke very hour or so.

  The bed was empty without him.

  The following morning, Sally woke me at some disgustingly early time for a Sunday and all was normal. Imogen was already preparing breakfast and Sally and I were to go to Maggie’s grave that day. I didn’t want to go out until he had called and was sure he would.

  Sally occupied my time now and she didn’t mention Eamon. I was pleased she had forgotten – I didn’t want to lie to her or say that I had no idea.

  We wandered up to the shops to get the Sunday papers and rushed back but there was no call.

  It was about 11.30 a.m. when Chrissie came over. She was out of breath and her face was flushed.

  “Chrissie, what’s the matter?” I asked when I opened the door.

  “Oh Nick,” she sighed, “I don’t know where to start. Something quite unbelievable has happened to Eamon.”

  I froze.

  “Oh God, you don’t mean ...?”

  “No, no. He’s all right. At least, I think he is.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I think you better sit down before I tell you,” she said as she closed the front door and led me into the living room.

  She told me what she knew.

  “Arrested for smuggling drugs?” I asked. “No, I can’t believe it.”

  “I can’t believe it myself,” she added. “He’s always been totally against that sort of thing but that’s what his solicitor said.”

  “What solicitor?”

  “Apparently,” she continued, “he was allowed to make a call and chose to call a friend in Paris. His name is Pierre Rousseau and he’s the solicitor. He called me a short while ago with instructions that you had to be told as, somehow, it involves you.”

  “Involves me? I’ve never had anything to do with drugs in my life. I swear, Chrissie, I knew nothing about this.”

  I stood up and walked over to the dresser drawer, took out a cigarette and lit it.

  “So what happens now?”

  She sighed deeply; the hardest part was over.

  “Well, at the moment he’s being held in a detention centre until the case comes up in a local court on Tuesday morning.”

  All I could do was stare at her; I had no idea what to say. My life for the previous month had been full of surprise after surprise but this was a real shock and not an enjoyable one. How the hell could Eamon allow himself to become involved in something so seedy? I knew something was wrong but not even in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that. I knew that it was not in his character even though at that time I’d only known him a short while but I needed to get the facts from him.

  “So what’s the next step?” I asked.

  “Well, this is the odd part. His friend asked if both you and I could go over there, to Paris, and to tell you to send Sally away for a few days. He probably forgot you had Imogen here. But I don’t expect you to come and I’m going over there tomorrow to find out exactly what’s happening. I’ll call you when I have the facts.”

  “You won’t have to do that. I’m coming as well,” I announced and stubbed out the cigarette. “Imogen can look after Sally. I need to find out in my own way exactly what this is about.”

  Chrissie insisted that I need not get involved and that she was quite capable of handling it but I was already involved very deeply with her brother and needed an explanation. After Chrissie had left, I told Imogen, who was as baffled as me.

  Later that day I phoned Air France and made the reservations for our flight the following morning at 10 a.m. and Chrissie called Pierre Rousseau. He agreed to meet us at the airport and take us to the detention centre. He was not sure if we would be allowed to see Eamon but he s
uggested that I say I was Chrissie’s husband and Eamon’s brother-in-law which could make things easier. Pierre was an old friend of Eamon’s and well respected in his profession.

  I think I must have smoked a whole packet of cigarettes that day as my mind was racing. I imagined Eamon in a cell and tried to empathise with what he might be going through. Clearly, somebody had planted drugs on him and it was all a terrible mistake.

  I got little sleep that night.