“Do you have a forwarding address?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Said his daughter was stopping by next week, to clear things out. I can ask her.”
“Could you?” I say eagerly. “I’m Becky Brandon; this is my number.…” I get out one of my business cards and hand it to her. “If she could ring me, that would be great, or maybe you could ring me. Or …”
The woman shrugs again and tucks the card into her jeans. Immediately the small boy pulls it out and throws it on the ground.
“No!” I leap forward. “I mean … let’s not lose that. Shall I put it somewhere safe for you?”
The woman shrugs yet again. I really don’t have high hopes that she’s going to talk to Brent’s daughter. All the same, I tuck the card safely into the window frame of her door.
“So, I’ll look forward to hearing from Brent’s daughter,” I say as brightly as I can. “Or you. Whichever. I’d be really grateful. Anyway … er … lovely to meet you. I’m Becky, by the way.”
“You said.” She nods but doesn’t volunteer her own name.
I can’t keep babbling on at this woman, so I give her one last friendly smile and turn on my heel to leave. I still can’t believe this is where Dad’s friend has ended up. It’s such a shame.
As soon as I’m on the road again, I dial Dad’s number.
“Dad!”
“Darling! Did you see him?”
“Not exactly.” I wince. “Dad, I’m afraid you were wrong. Brent Lewis has been living in a trailer park, and now he’s just been evicted because he didn’t pay his rent. I couldn’t get an address.”
“No. No!” Dad gives a short laugh. “Darling, that’s not right. It can’t be the same Brent Lewis. I’m sorry you wasted your time, but—”
“Well, it was the address I got from his sister. It must be him.”
There’s a longish silence.
“He lives in a trailer park?” says Dad at last.
“Yes. I mean, his trailer’s quite nice,” I say hastily. “Not broken or anything. But now he’s been evicted.”
“This can’t be right.” Dad sounds almost angry. “You must have got it wrong, Becky.”
“I haven’t got it wrong!” I say, nettled. What does he think I am, an idiot? “I saw the eviction notice myself. Brent C. Lewis. It didn’t say what the ‘C’ was for.”
“Constantine. He had a Greek mother.”
“Well, there you are.”
“But …” He exhales. “This is impossible.”
“Look, Dad,” I say kindly. “It’s been a long time. Who knows what happened in Brent Lewis’s life? He could have gone into business, he could have had six divorces, he could have turned into a criminal—”
“Becky, you don’t understand,” he says hotly. “It shouldn’t have happened. This shouldn’t have happened.”
“You’re right, I don’t understand!” I exclaim. “If he was such a close friend of yours, why didn’t you stay in touch?”
There’s silence, and I sense I’ve touched a nerve. I feel a bit mean, confronting Dad like that, but, honestly, he drives me mad. First he won’t use Skype or Facebook or anything normal. Then he sends me off on a wild-goose chase to see his friend, and then when I report back, he doesn’t believe me.
“I’ll text you his sister’s number if you like,” I say. “But honestly, I’d just forget about it if I were you.”
My screen starts flashing with the word Aran and I realize I’ve got a call waiting.
“Dad, I have to go,” I say. “We’ll talk later, OK? I’m sure Brent Lewis is fine,” I add, trying to sound reassuring. “I wouldn’t worry about him anymore.” I ring off and press ANSWER. “Aran! Hi!”
“Becky.” His easy voice comes down the phone. “How’re you doing? You shaken off the paparazzi yet?”
“Just about!” I laugh.
“So, that was quite the photo-call you had this morning. Cute outfit. Great sunglasses. You made a splash. Good work.”
“Thanks!” I beam. I knew Aran would appreciate my efforts.
“As a result, the phone has been ringing off the hook.”
“Really?” I feel a tweak of excitement. “What, like, journalists? Fashion editors?”
“Journalists, producers, all kinds of people. Like I said, you’re hot. And I have a great offer for you. I took the liberty of dealing with it myself, although if you like, I can hand over everything to Luke—”
“No,” I answer a bit too quickly. “I mean … he’s my husband. He’s a bit too close, don’t you think?”
“I agree. So, the offer is a segment on Breakfast Show USA. The producer just called, and she’s very anxious to have you on the show. I told her you’re a stylist and she said great. They’re very happy for you to film a styling segment. New trends, new looks, whatever. We’ll work out the details.”
“Oh my God.” I feel breathless. A styling segment on Breakfast Show USA. This is huge. This is mammoth!
“Now, you’re going to need an agent,” Aran is saying. “I’m going to set up a meeting with our friends at CAA. My assistant will call you with the details, OK?”
CAA! Even I know that CAA is the biggest name in Hollywood. They represent Tom Hanks. They represent Sting! I feel giddy. Never in a million years did I expect to be catapulted into all of this.