Islands

                                    Islands
                                  (1st draft)

         I’m one of those odd people who actually enjoy airports.  Not the check-in queue, or the long lines at security, but that hour or two after you’ve checked in and are waiting to board.  I usually find a spot in a bar to watch the comings and goings. I like trying to decide which businessman is taking his secretary away for an ‘all-expenses-paid’ trip on the company, or identifying those families with children I really didn’t want to sit near on the plane.  But what I really enjoy is the feeling that I could be anyone, going anywhere.  And for that short space of time anything is possible.

         But not this time.  While I waited at Heathrow to board the flight to Majorca, I was unusually tense and anxious.  Not about the flying - I love that - but about what awaited me when I finally arrived in the Balearics.  The flight from Bangkok had seemed longer than usual, and Heathrow has to be the worst airport in the world. 

         The phone call from George had come out of the blue two days ago, and whenever George said he wanted to see me as soon as possible, I jumped on the next available flight.  Sometimes, like now, it hadn’t been a convenient connection, and tiredness simply added to my anxiety.  A couple of drinks in an airport bar didn’t really help.

         George’s driver, Frederico, was waiting at Palma airport, and we were soon heading east towards George’s villa near Cala Millor.  Back in the 1990s, when many of Ireland’s so-called ‘drugs barons’ were feeling the heat at home and moving to the glitzy resorts around Marbella and Puerto Banus, George had opted instead for this quiet little corner of Majorca.  That was typical of the man.  Although one of the most powerful men in the Irish drugs business, he wasn’t one for attracting a high profile. Most ordinary Irish people had probably still never heard of him.

         We managed to get stuck behind a tractor for the last couple of miles and it took almost a half hour longer than it should have to reach the villa.  By the time Frederico opened the automatic gates, I was ready for another stiff drink.

         The house was a sprawling single storey affair which wasn’t really my style, but George - or more correctly his Thai boyfriend - had made it work somehow.  On the side nearest the road was just a small terrace area with lots of exotic plants in huge pots - most of the land was on the seaward side of the house.  The large entrance hall led through to a square living area with one side completely made of glass overlooking the sea.  Only the subtly lit pool area was visible now through the vast window.

         “Sawatdi, John”, said Kwan, bringing me a large vodka without being asked.  “George is in the shower and will be out in a few minutes”.

         “Sawatdi, Kwan!” I replied, smiling.  It was always a pleasure to see Kwan, whom I’d first met ten years before on my first trip to Thailand.

         “How was your flight?  We expected you long time ago.”

         “The flight was long and Heathrow was awful. How are you?” 

         While we had known each other a long time, and I’d introduced George to Kwan, I wouldn’t dream of asking him why I’d been so urgently summoned from Bangkok, although I was sure he had some idea.  George had a great way of keeping the many different areas of his life separate but Kwan had become a real confidante over the years.  Still, we continued making small talk for a few minutes while we waited for George to emerge.

                For all his low key public persona, George could be quite flamboyant in private. When he came into the livingroom, he wore a black silk kimono with an enormous dragon embroidered in red. He had the look of a well-nourished barrister. It would be easy to imagine him swanning down the corridors of the Four Courts in Dublin with some hapless Junior Counsel laden with files struggling to keep up. Indeed he had spent many days within the precincts of the Four Courts, and was quite proud of the fact that the only thing he'd been convicted of was speeding in a 30mph zone.