Page 28 of From LA to London, With Love

“Hello, is this Isabel Torres?” I asked in Spanish.

“Sí,” she replied.

“We have a package for you.”

Chris and I looked at each other in anticipation.

We both exhaled as she buzzed us in. There was no elevator in the building, but thankfully, she only lived two floors up. Her package was heavy—I guessed books—so Chris carried it up the stairs while I held Elliot.

I knocked on the door, and an elderly woman answered. My heart sank. It was definitely not the woman we’d seen pick up Alfie’s crate. But perhaps a friend or relative had picked it up for her? I peered over her shoulder, trying to inconspicuously look for signs of a dog, but all I could make out was a blue couch and a rug. No dog toys, water bowl, or half-chewed shoes.

Chris handed her the package.

“Oh, thank you! I meant to pick this up from the airport today, but my leg was playing up. I didn’t realize the airline did home delivery.” She looked Chris up and down with approval, completely oblivious to the fact he was a movie star, and then looked at me and Elliot with confusion.

Presumably it wasn’t common for delivery men to be accompanied by women and babies in Spain.

I had to come clean. “We actually aren’t from the airline. We’re looking for our dog who we think was accidentally picked up from the airport this morning. We saw your package hadn’t been collected and thought we’d drop it off to you and check that you hadn’t picked up our dog by mistake.”

She looked taken aback. “I’m sorry, I don’t have your dog. But I hope you find him soon.” With that, she closed the door.

* * *

My stomach fluttered again as we drove to Laura Suárez’s apartment in the Gothic Quarter. Had I sent us on a wild goose chase? We could be relaxing at the hotel right now and letting the private investigator do his job, instead of being a parcel delivery service.

Manuel weaved his way through the narrow cobblestone streets until we arrived at Laura’s apartment block. She buzzed us into the dark, musty foyer dominated by a dilapidated staircase. I looked at it with some trepidation. Laura lived on the sixth floor, and there wasn’t an elevator. At least her package, while bulky, wasn’t as heavy as Isabel’s—or Elliot for that matter—so Chris carried Elliot up the stairs, which creaked ominously under the weight of all his muscles, and I carried her package. I was panting by the time we reached her floor. Chris, who offered multiple times to carry both the package and Elliot, didn’t break a sweat, patiently waiting for me to catch up at each landing. I thought I was in pretty good shape due to my regular walks on the Heath, but they hadn’t prepared me for this.

We heard noises coming from the apartment as we approached–sneezes, crashes, and yelps that sounded like a dog. Chris and I exchanged excited looks, raising our eyebrows. This was promising, if slightly concerning.

A woman in her twenties, with long brown hair and red, watering eyes, opened the door, looking stressed and holding a tissue. My heart jumped. She looked like the woman from the CCTV footage.

A chaotic scene lay behind her. Ripped up paper and socks were scattered on the floor. A bowl was upturned in a puddle of water. There were a few other puddles around the apartment which may or may not have been water. Chris had mentioned Alfie struggled with toilet training.

The woman started speaking quickly in Spanish, which I struggled to follow.

“I’m so sorry. My boyfriend just gave me a puppy, and he is out of control. My boyfriend moved to LA for six months and told me he’d sent me a package to cheer me up. I went to the airport this morning, and this poor dog was waiting for me. My boyfriend must have thought I needed company. I don’t know what he was thinking! I can’t even keep a houseplant alive, let alone a dog. And apparently, I’m allergic to dogs too.” She stopped suddenly, as if remembering she was speaking to two complete strangers. Well, three if you counted Elliot, who seemed to be experiencing a sensory overload, his eyes so wide it looked like his eyeballs might drop out of his head. “Sorry, you mentioned you had a package for me?” She sneezed furiously, as if to prove a point. Elliot jumped in Chris’s arms at the sound.

At that moment, a golden streak shot out the door and tried to climb Chris’s leg.

“Alfie!” he exclaimed, bending down to pat him with his free hand.

“You know this dog?” Laura asked, her eyebrows furrowing with confusion. A shock of recognition flashed across her face as she looked more closely at Chris. “And…are you Chris Trent?”

“Hola,” Chris said, smiling while he continued to pat Alfie. He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain in Spanish.

“Yes, this is Alfie, Chris’s dog. He was put on the wrong flight. We think you may have accidentally picked him up instead of this,” I said, handing her the parcel.

Laura looked horrified. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t read the label properly because it was torn. I just assumed it must have been my parcel since it was the only one left.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I stole Chris Trent’s dog. But I have to say, I’m very relieved he isn’t mine.”

I translated Laura’s words to Chris.

“Please tell her not to worry. I’m just glad Alfie is okay,” he said to me.

I passed on his message to Laura.

“Thank you so much for bringing this to me.” She opened the package, looked inside, and then blushed and slammed the lid down. “I’ll just put this away and get his leash and crate,” she said hurriedly.

“Can you let her know that if Alfie destroyed anything, I’m happy to pay for it?” Chris asked, looking at the mess in her apartment with some trepidation.