Looking for Andrew McCarthy (30 page)

‘No shit!’ said Edgar. The brothers looked at each other and laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ said Julia. Ellie moved further forward.

‘A couple of years back, Allen and I … we were kind of stuck in a rut. And we thought, who’s the best person to help us with all this? And so we went to LA …’

‘And met Ally Sheedy!’ piped up Allen.

‘What? Why?’ said Julia in amazement.

‘Well, you know, just to see if she had any advice for us, that kind of thing.’

‘Oh. Right,’ said Julia.

‘Was she helpful?’ asked Ellie.

‘Was she ever!’ said Allen.

‘Yeah, you know. She was just really wise. We sat and talked through our lives with her, and you know, just her perspective on things … she really showed us the way.’

‘What?’ Ellie’s mouth was hanging open.

‘She certainly turned our lives around,’ said Edgar.

Allen nodded in agreement.

‘Oh my God,’ said Ellie, trying to take it in.

Julia leaned over.

‘Ehm … seeing as we’re kind of doing the same thing … any chance you can let us off that ticket?’

‘No ma’am. If there’s one thing Ally taught us, it’s that you’ve always got to be honest.’

‘Okay then.’

Julia took the outstretched docket as Arthur and Ellie piled into the car.

‘Incidentally,’ said Ellie, sticking her head out of the window, ‘what jobs did you used to have before Ally Sheedy changed your life?’

Allen twitched. ‘It was mixed up in the supernatural ma’am.’

‘We don’t really talk about it,’ said Edgar, shooting his brother a warning glance.

‘Okay then.’ Julia swung into the car and started up the engine carefully. The cops stood and waved them out of sight as they limped off to the nearest motel, dreaming of warm baths, fluffy towels and, in the case of at least one of the car’s occupants, big hairy policemen. Allen and Edgar stomped back to their car, having narrowly missed an all-points bulletin to be on the lookout for a silver Toyota.

Loxy was looking ahead as he walked. Colin had craned his neck back to vertical and was staring at the sky with his mouth open. If it started to rain, he would drown.

‘Colin, do you want to try and look less like a tourist?’ said Loxy anxiously. ‘We’re here working.’

‘I am working,’ said Colin without dropping his head. ‘I’m looking, aren’t I?’

Manhattan was brisk and chilly. People walked incredibly quickly wrapped in scarves with matching gloves. Quite a few of them were treading on Colin.

‘Now I reckon we should start with hotels,’ said Loxy. ‘Find the cheaper hotels and ask if anyone by their names has made a booking.’

‘Boring,’ said Colin. ‘Why can’t we just find the film star?’

‘Oh!’ he said, as they approached Central Park. ‘We could look for him in a horse and cart.’

‘This is hopeless,’ said Loxy, looking around at the teeming crowds. ‘We’re never going to find them.’

‘Yes we will,’ said Colin decisively. ‘If we just stood here, I bet we’d see them sooner or later.’

‘Statistically speaking, I suppose so,’ said Loxy. ‘In an infinite number of years. Okay. How about we start with the theatrical agencies?’

‘Well, at least we weren’t actually
thrown
out,’ said Loxy three hours later, as they were rearranging their collars. The security guard shot them a filthy look and headed back into the building.

‘That wasn’t as bad as the place where they thought he was a member of N’Sync,’ said Colin thoughtfully.

‘Hmm.’

‘I don’t get it,’ said Colin. ‘Why do you think they don’t want to give out celebrities’ home addresses? Weirdos.’

New York phoned LA.

‘We had two men in here today looking for one of the clients.’

‘Oh God!’ gasped LA. ‘Were they definitely men? Because we’ve got reports of two women this end.’

‘This is New York. Our transvestite detectors are unparalleled. Definitely men.’

‘Something’s going on. There’s obviously a huge revival about to take place.’

‘God. I really hope they don’t hassle the guy. Do you want to …’

‘Write the press release? No problem.’

‘Great! Movin’ on up …’

‘Oh
hi
,’ said Siobhan, suddenly conscious that it was two o’clock in the afternoon and she hadn’t been dressed for three days. Big Bastard managed to belch and scratch his arse simultaneously in his sleep. She watched him fondly.

‘No. No, they haven’t phoned. I haven’t heard from them.’

‘Yes, I know New York’s a big place … look, Lox, I don’t know what you can do until they get there. I’m sure they’ll phone then. Why don’t you just take Colin and try and get some sightseeing in?’

‘Ooh yes please,’ could be heard down the line.

‘I don’t know … it doesn’t seem respectful somehow.’

‘You can’t worry about that,’ said Siobhan practically. ‘You’re doing the best you can, and you didn’t
know Ellie’s dad, so you might as well have some fun. And if you can’t have fun in New York you’re technically dead. Oh! It’s a wonderful place.’

‘You’re very full of the joys,’ said Loxy.

‘I’ve certainly been feeling very full,’ said Siobhan, giggling. Then there was an extremely awkward silence.

Ellie was back in the back seat and keeping very quiet. The radio was playing ‘Missing You’ by John Waites. To cover for her, Julia and Arthur were keeping up high decibel jollity rather in the manner of parents trying to keep their offspring’s mind off the fact that their hamster was last seen three days ago in the vicinity of the back of the fridge.

‘Hey!’ Julia was yelling.

‘Look!’

Ahead of them was the first signpost to New York City.

‘Hooray!’

‘Oh my God!’ said Julia. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do when we don’t have to drive all day long. What do people do?’

‘Eat sandwiches?’ said Arthur. ‘Build cathedrals?’

‘I see,’ Julia nodded her head. ‘Oh my God. Do you think we’re going to make it today?’

‘It’s possible,’ said Arthur. ‘As long as no-one, you know, crashes into anything.’

‘Sssh.’

Ellie hadn’t noticed.

‘Start spreading the news …’ started Arthur.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Julia. ‘Of all the car games we could play, I’m getting really sick of “Sing the Town on the Signpost”.’

This was unsurprising: so far Julia had sat glumly through ‘Sweet Home Alabama’, ‘Nashville’, ‘Georgia on my Mind’, ‘Chatanooga Choo Choo’ and ‘Nutbush City Limits’, which had also prompted loud discussions of whether or not it was the actual same Nutbush. All hollered out by Arthur’s tuneless voice, which tended to jump up or down an octave line by line. Still at least Ellie wasn’t playing, with her habit of inserting made-up words to bits she didn’t know. In fact Julia hoped she didn’t cheer up by New York as, despite being a lifelong fan of Simon and Garfunkel, Ellie still tended to get a ‘come on from the horse on seventh avenue’.

‘Hmm,’ said Arthur considering the alternatives. ‘My mum used to make me and my sisters play “Spot the Diplomatic Plates”.’

‘That sounds very snooty,’ said Julia.

‘Quite the opposite. It was a desperate struggle to keep us quiet. Do you know how many diplomatic plates I used to see between Sheffield and Newquay?’

‘Yes, that’s the kind of thing I would know about you,’ said Julia.

‘NONE. Not once. Ever. In five years.’

‘Let’s not play that then.’

‘And you got one thousand points for no number plate at all, which means that the queen’s driving. Bloody stupid car game.’ He sighed and looked out the window.

‘What about “Botticelli”?’ said Julia. ‘What about that, Ellie?’

‘Huh?’ said Ellie listlessly. ‘What the hell is that? Is this the kind of thing I missed out on by being an only child?’

‘Yes,’ said Arthur. ‘Along with getting stabbed in the bum with a set of compasses and having someone to beat up the football team for you.’

‘Stephanie did that for you?’ asked Julia.

‘Many, many times.’

‘I always wanted a big brother,’ said Ellie dreamily. ‘To bring home lots of his good-looking mates for me to get off with.’

‘What you’ve done there,’ said Julia, ‘is you’ve confused the concept of “brother” with the concept of “pimp”.’

‘What’s “Botticelli” then?’

‘Okay, think of a famous person and give us their initial.’

‘A,’ said Ellie promptly.

‘Maybe we should do famous historical figures,’ said Arthur.

‘Still A,’ said Ellie.

‘Actually, does anyone know any songs about Virginia? And its plains?’ said Julia, indicating the next signpost.

Ellie slumped back. ‘Actually, it was Aristophanes,’ she said to nobody in particular.

Loxy wandered back from the phone with a shrug.

‘She doesn’t know either,’ he said.

‘Hmm,’ said Colin. ‘You know, I’ve always wanted to go on Space Mountain.’

‘That’s in Florida,’ said Loxy.

‘Oh. Can we go there for the afternoon while we’re waiting for them to phone?’

‘No! For goodness’ sake. What are they teaching in geography class these days?’

‘Post-modern cultural relativism and interwoven reference points,’ said Colin gloomily. ‘Can I have another doughnut?’

‘No.’

‘D’oh!’

They wandered south on Broadway, taking in ridiculously familiar sights. A man crossed the road pushing a rackful of clothing. Steam came up through a subway vent. A stupidly well-dressed woman walked
a stupidly tiny dog. New York, reflected Loxy, was a lot more of a film set than Disneyland would ever be.

Pasted up on a wall raked with fire escapes was a flyer that made Colin stop short.

‘A NIGHT OUT IN ADVENTURETOWN!’ screamed the ads.

‘Loxy!’ Colin grabbed him by the arm. ‘Look! Adventuretown!’

Loxy squinted hard at the posters. There were various unidentifiable bits of muscular tanned skin covered in tattoos, rubbing up against other bits covered in black leather. All the bits were male.

‘Uhm, Colin. I’m not sure this is the kind of theme park you’re after.’

Colin came and looked more closely.

‘It looks good to me,’ he said.

‘Oh no,’ said Loxy. ‘Definitely not.’

Colin turned the puppy-dog peepers on.

‘Are you sure you like gay people, Loxy?’

‘What! Don’t be ridiculous! That’s absolute crap!’ Loxy blustered. ‘I just don’t think that … you and me together … I just don’t think we should …’

‘But I’ve got a boyfriend,’ said Colin. ‘They’re not going to think anything. Really. Are you frightened of us? Do you think we’ve all got AIDS?’

‘No!’ Loxy’s PC heart was cut to the core. Honestly speaking, he was indeed a little bit worried about
going as apparently part of a couple to a gay club. Not that he was unsure of his own sexuality, but … well, it was just force of habit, that was all. It would be something very different … but he steeled himself not to be offensive. After all, Julia didn’t mind in the least coming to the clubs he grew up with in Streatham. This was the same thing, he told himself. He was abroad. He should be opening himself up to new experiences. Well, not literally of course.

Loxy scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably.

‘Okay,’ he said finally. ‘Do you really want to go? We can go.’

‘Hooray!’ said Colin. ‘I wonder if they’ve heard of Geri Halliwell here yet.’

Too late, Loxy remembered the good old ‘But I Hate the Music’ defence.

Big Bastard stood on the street corner in front of the alleyway whistling quietly and trying not to look like as much of a plank as he felt. He kept out from under the main streetlights and hoped none of his pals would walk past. It was after eleven o’clock, and freezing, but the streets of Covent Garden were still heaving. He turned up the collar of his jacket and pretended to be Humphrey Bogart.

Finally, at about twenty past, he saw what he was looking for. He stepped out into the pavement.

‘Yes, ex
cuse
me,’ said the drippy-looking man, skinny in his Prada overcoat. He snorted at his emaciated companion, who looked up at Big Bastard with enormous, starving eyes. If she was pregnant, it didn’t show.

‘Patrick Cousins?’ barked Big Bastard.

‘What?’ said the man, startled. He tried to push onwards, but Big Bastard held up one enormous meaty hand and rested it menacingly against his shoulder. It was like trying to walk into a force ten gale. Patrick’s eyes suddenly filled with fear.

‘Come with me, son.’

Big Bastard pushed him into the alleyway. Then he punched him on the nose.

The ballerina gasped as if she was going to faint, and leaned against the side of the alley wanly. Patrick lay on the floor staring upwards and clasping his hands to his nose. He was entirely white, apart from the blood starting to make its way through his fingers.