by T. S. Easton
‘I hadn’t really thought it through, I suppose,’ I said.
Jack appeared then, carrying a Styrofoam cup of coffee. He set the coffee down on the floor, then crouched down and took the lid off.
‘Do you think you can knit a flak jacket out of … wool?’ Roberto continued.
‘No, probably not,’ I admitted.
‘Can you crochet a tank?’
‘You can’t,’ I admitted.
He shook his head. ‘You socialists make me sick.’
‘Jesus Christ, Robbie,’ Jack said, tearing open a sachet of sugar. ‘Let the kid go already.’
Robbie held up the landing card. ‘He lied, Jack. He’s a member of a proscribed … ’
Jack reached up and took the card from Roberto, tearing it into shreds.
‘What the hell? Roberto cried, looking like he might punch Jack. ‘Do you know how many federal regulations you just broke, Jack? You’ve gone too far this time!’
I glanced over at the armed officer standing against the wall. He looked bored, like this happened all the time.
‘Sorry about this,’ Jack said to me. ‘You’re free to leave, sir.’
I didn’t need to be told twice. I stood, leaving the incandescent Roberto picking up shreds of landing card as I legged it.
‘Hey, kid,’ Jack called as I reached the door. I turned.
‘Welcome to America,’ he said.
Then he winked.
5.12pm
I’ve been allowed to enter mainland United States after a few hours of cross-Atlantic extradition treaty discussions between the Deputy Director of the Department of Homeland Security and Livvie Hutton, Ms Gunter’s junior assistant at West Meon Probation Services.
For all Claudia Gunter’s efforts to clear this trip with the Home Office, you’d think she could have called the Americans and let them know I was coming. The really galling thing is that Gex just sailed right through without a problem while I was sat in Gitmo on the Hudson for four hours.
My problems didn’t end there, either. I got through to find Mum sitting in the arrivals lounge, on the phone, laughing. She saw me and quickly ended her conversation.
‘Oh, Diablo. Ben’s here. Got to go,’ she said. ‘See you on Wednesday.’
‘Ben, are you OK?’ she asked, putting her phone away.
‘I’ve been better,’ I replied, feeling like Cool-Hand Luke. I really wished Megan could have been there to see how icy I was, rather than Mum. Still, she gave me a hug and I felt better.
‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked.
‘He and Gex have gone to the hotel.’
‘Charming.’
‘They’re both very, very excited about being here and frankly, they were doing my head in, so I told them just to go. There didn’t seem any point in us all waiting.’
‘Have they taken my suitcase?’ I asked, looking around for it. Mum’s suitcase was there, but not mine.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘That’s the other thing. No one can find your suitcase.’
‘You’re kidding.’
I knew it. I knew it, I thought. I knew that worrying wasn’t for nothing.
Mum shook her head. ‘Sorry. Brandi’s over there now trying to sort it out.’
Brandi! I’d forgotten about Brandi.
‘The airline people said they think your bag was left at Heathrow,’ Mum went on. ‘They’ll send it to the hotel when it turns up.’
‘Oh great, when will that be?’
She shrugged. ‘Tomorrow maybe?’
‘But my knitting’s in that suitcase!’
‘Look, here’s Brandi.’
I looked up and did a perfect double take. Walking towards us in heels came a girl, who looked a few years older than me. She was pretty. And she had a lot of hair. Layer upon layer of it. All swoops and waves and fringes. I’d like to be able to describe her hair better but I really don’t think words could do it justice. Just take it from me. There was a lot going on.
‘You must be Ben!’ she cried, noticing me. ‘I’m so sorry you were held up for so long.’
‘No problem,’ I said casually. ‘Just doing their job..’
‘The thing is,’ she said. ‘We had a very big terrorist attack here a few years ago. And everyone’s been really careful ever since.’
‘You mean the attacks on the World Trade Center?’
‘You heard about that? We call it 9/11.’
‘Yes. It was a fairly significant global event.’
‘Even in England?’
‘Yes. Even in England.’
She smiled at me and I had to fight not to do another double take. Her teeth! They were amazing! So white, so straight. I found myself pursing my lips so as not to horrify her by the state of mine. Just as well Miss Swallow hadn’t come as my chaperone. Her teeth aren’t exactly her best feature, as I think I might have mentioned before. Personally I don’t mind her crooked canines but I fear they might be a bridge too far for some Americans. I immediately felt guilty for the unfair comparison. Teeth aren’t everything, I reminded myself. Jessica Swallow is the most beautiful woman in the world, even with her dental deformities. But then Brandi smiled again and I’m afraid to say I went into a bit of a daze.
‘Any luck with the case?’ Mum asked her.
‘What? Oh no,’ she said, face back to sad mode again. ‘They say it will probably be here tomorrow. They’ll send it to the hotel in a cab.’
I sighed.
‘Did it have important things in?’ Brandi asked.
‘Just my clothes,’ I said. ‘Oh, and my phone. And my knitting!’
‘Just relax,’ Mum said. ‘You can survive twenty-four hours without your knitting.’
‘I’m not sure I can.’
‘Let’s just get to the hotel,’ Mum said. ‘You can have a shower and some food.’
‘What am I going to change into?’
‘You can borrow some of your father’s clothes.’
‘No way.’
‘Or Gex’s?’
‘OK, I’ll borrow some from Dad.’
I felt a bit better once we were in a cab and racing through the weekend traffic towards the Big Apple. I snuck a few covert glances at Brandi. In addition to having extraordinary hair and spectacular teeth, Brandi smells amazing. She talked a lot as we drove, telling me things I already knew. ‘Many people think that New York is the capital of the United States, but it isn’t. That’s a city called Washington.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘That river there is called the East River,’ Brandi said. ‘On the other side of Manhattan is the Hudson. Manhattan has water pretty much all the way around. It’s a bit like an island.’
‘Manhattan is an island, isn’t it?’ Mum whispered to me. I nodded.
‘That pointy building over there?’ Brandi went on. ‘That’s the Chrysler building. It was built a long time ago. It’s very famous … These are traffic lights here.’
‘Uh huh,’ I nodded. ‘Traffic lights, OK.’
* * *
The hotel is on West 38th Street, close to the Hudson and just a few blocks from Penn Station and Madison Square Garden, which is where KnitFair is happening in just a few days. Brandi didn’t come into the hotel. She said she was already seriously late for her date that night, but before she headed off in the cab, she gave me a folder with media engagements in it. She promised to come and collect me in the morning.
When we arrived, there was no sign of Gex. Dad came down to the lobby as I was checking in and told me Gex had dropped off his bag in the room we were sharing, and then immediately gone out.
I sighed. ‘Where did he go?’
Dad shrugged. ‘He turned left.’
‘This is not good,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you stop him. You know he’s got the wits of a toddler?’
‘Nah. He’s a big boy,’ Dad said. ‘He can look after himself.’
‘Have you met Gex?’ I asked.
Dad seemed distracted though. A bit agitated, too. He was grinning and sweating a
bit.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked as we walked to the lift.
‘Jet lag, I suppose,’ he said. ‘And I took some codeine for my knee. And I drank a bottle of your sister’s car-sickness medication for the flight. Feel a bit funny, actually.’
‘Maybe you should go and lie down.’
‘Yeah, maybe just for a bit,’ he said, and we headed for the lifts. Or elevators, as they’re called here.
‘Don’t think much of this hotel,’ Dad said, as we waited for the next elevator to arrive.
‘It’s three star,’ I pointed out defensively.
‘Out of how many?’ he asked. ‘Twenty?’
We got into the elevator.
‘Fourteen,’ I said, but Dad had already pressed 11 for some reason. Then he hit 15 by mistake, and then, in trying to correct his error, he lurched against the wall and accidentally pressed 3, 4 and 5 with his good knee.
‘Sorry,’ he said, blinking furiously. Mum watched him calmly as the doors closed, then reached across and pressed 14.
‘Thanks, Mum.’
The room I’m sharing with Gex is quite nice. Tidy and clean. This is probably because Gex hasn’t been in it much.
There’s a small bathroom, two single beds and a little kitchen area with a sink and a minibar. The prices of the items in the minibar are eye-wateringly expensive. Apple juice for $8. Small cans of beer for $13. A Hershey’s chocolate bar for $6.50. I’ll have to watch Gex to make sure he doesn’t get stuck in. I had a shower, and watched a bit of CNN, and I felt a bit better. Brandi had given me a fold-out map of Manhattan and I checked where all the important places were. KnitFair USA at Madison Square Garden. The Priapia offices on 5th Avenue. Bloomingdales on 59th and Lexington. I was so excited. I wished Megan was here.
OH MY GOD I forgot to skype Ms Gunter! This is what happens when you rely on phones to remind you to do stuff. (Note to Megan Hooper.)
I raced down to reception to ask if they had a PC I could use, and they directed me two blocks down to an internet café. By the time I got there, I realised I didn’t have any money, ran to a cashpoint and back again, it was 6.43pm NY time, or 10.43pm in West Meon. Luckily I had Ms Gunter’s Skype ID on an old email.
The screen blinked into life and she glared at me.
‘I’m sorry!’ I said. ‘I’ve had the worst journey.’
‘It’s nearly 11pm, Ben. I’m getting ready for bed.’
I peered closely at the screen and realised she was wearing a nightie.
‘I was held in a little cubicle at JFK for four hours,’ I pointed out.
‘Spare me the excuses, Ben,’ she said. ‘I get excuses all day, every day.’
‘Wow, you’re really snippy,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry to hear you’ve had a tough time,’ she said tiredly. ‘But, Ben, you can’t leave it this late tomorrow, OK?’
I was too tired to argue with her, despite the fact that it was her incompetence that has made this day such an unmitigated disaster.
‘Fine, so I have officially checked in,’ I said wearily. ‘Can I go and have my dinner now?’
‘Please do,’ she said, yawning. ‘Say hi to your parents, won’t you.’
She hung up. Not before I caught the final volume of the Fifty Shades trilogy face down on her bedside table.
She’s a dark horse, that Ms Gunter.
My parents and I finally ate at a diner opposite the hotel called Dino’s. We were a bit freaked out by an old tramp who rattled a cup at us after we came out of the hotel. Mum gave him a quarter but he didn’t seem happy with that. So Mum and I ran across the road to escape. Dad had a bit of trouble crossing the road, though. Talk about a rabbit in the headlights.
‘Hurry up, Rain Man,’ Mum called. In the end I had to go and drag him across while a yellow taxi honked at us.
‘They have a friendly sound, American car horns,’ Dad said, waving at the driver, who gave him the finger in response.
After we’d been seated in a booth, I ordered a Philly cheesesteak sandwich. Mum had mac and cheese and Dad had wonton soup, which was an unusual choice for his first meal in a Manhattan diner, but that’s my dad for you.
Our order was taken by an exhausted-looking waitress, wearing a name tag which told us her name was Denise. She was quite pretty in a tired kind of way, and I made sure I placed the order, just in case Gex had been right about American girls liking English accents. She didn’t seem to notice though, just scribbled everything down and stumped off, bashing into a pot plant as she went.
‘I wonder where Gex is?’ I said.
‘He’s probably texting you,’ Mum said.’ Only you don’t have your phone.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll buy a new one tomorrow.’
The Philly steak was fantastic, but I was put off my food slightly by Mum and Dad, who had suddenly gone completely mushy with one another. They were staring into each other’s eyes, playing footsie under the table and giggling like school children. When the double entendres started it was the final straw.
‘Fancy a munch of my burger?’ Mum asked him.
‘Maybe later,’ Dad said, smirking. ‘Would you like to try my wonton?’
‘Not here, please,’ I hissed. ‘
‘We’re just sharing food,’ Mum said innocently.
‘Yeah,’ Dad agreed. ‘Lighten up’
‘Look, it’s great that you’re all … into each other at your age,’ I said. ‘But just tone it down, OK? It’s not like you’re on honeymoon or something.’
Mum gave me a tender look.
‘Sorry, Ben. You must be wishing Megan was here. Can’t be much fun making do with a couple of gooey old fogeys?’
‘Not at all,’ I said, through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve never had so much fun.’
Monday 13th May
There was a knock on my door at 8am. I pulled on the robe I’d found in the bathroom and shuffled to the door. Peering through the spyhole I was almost blinded by the sight of white teeth filling the view. Squinting, I opened the door.
‘Hi, Ben,’ Brandi said. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘No,’ I lied. I had in fact managed to get off to sleep sometime after 3am. Gex had still not returned and I woke a few times during the small hours, worried. I hoped he was with his cousin but without my phone there was no way of telling. Why on earth had I put it in hold luggage? It had of course occurred to me, soon after my bag disappeared into the bowels of Heathrow airport, that the check-in man and I had been talking at cross purposes. He’d thought I meant a stiletto knife. Not a Stiletto phone. The older generation doesn’t keep up with phone trends, clearly.
‘Would you like me to wait downstairs for you?’ she asked. ‘While you get ready?’
I stared blankly at her.
‘Your media commitments? We have two newspapers and three magazines to see this morning. So, up and at ’em!’ she said cheerily. There was a note of panic in her voice. She was clearly wondering what kind of media-illiterate knitting weirdo she’d been lumped with here.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m nearly ready, come in. Excuse the mess.’
I led her into the room and kicked a pair of Y-fronts under the bed.
‘Sit here,’ I said, indicating an armchair. ‘There are no tea-making facilities, I’m afraid.’
She gave me a funny look. ‘You want tea?’
‘Well, I usually have a cup in the mornings,’ I said.
‘So phone room service,’ she said, looking puzzled.
‘Oh, I don’t want to cause a fuss,’ I said. ‘No time anyway. Interviews to do and all that. I’m going to have a quick shower. I’ll be right with you.’
I was back out in ten minutes, still in my gown. It was only when I’d dried off that I remembered I didn’t have any clothes, other than the clothes I’d worn the day before. I couldn’t put those on again. I’d done a fair bit of sweating in that interview room. And I might have dropped a bit of the cheesesteak down my front.
I’d have to bite t
he bullet and borrow some of Gex’s gear.
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I told Brandi, dragging the suitcase back into the bathroom again. ‘Make yourself at home.’
Brandi gave me a quizzical look, then picked up the remote and got stuck into Judge Judy.
Inside the bathroom I opened the suitcase.
It was worse than I’d feared. I was greeted by the strong smell of Lynx Africa body spray. On the top of the pile of clothes was a new Adidas tracksuit. White with black piping. Under that was a selection of Burberry caps, then a pair of low-slung jeans. A couple of hoodies, some long rapper-style T-shirts, another tracksuit, this time in gold with red piping, then some bling, pants and socks and at the very bottom, a belt with studs. Sighing heavily, I grabbed the jeans, the belt and one of the hoodies. After another moment’s hesitation I took a pair of boxer shorts.
I didn’t want to wear white socks with my brown shoes and that stumped me for a while, until I remembered the orthopaedic stockings. Of course! Thank God I’d used a charcoal wool for those.
Now. Could I be sure the boxers were clean? Gex wouldn’t have packed dirty underwear, would he? But did I dare sniff them to find out? Eventually I put them on back-to-front, just in case. The idea of my boy band touching an area of fabric that had first touched Gex’s boy band made me gag.
Next, the jeans. By tightening the belt I could make the jeans ride higher on my hips but that left my ankles and too much of the orthopaedic stockings exposed. So I let the jeans drop a little and covered my hips with the longest hoodie. If I didn’t lean forward I wouldn’t be revealing my underpants. Sorry. Gex’s underpants.
I made my second entrance of the morning and if Brandi thought my look was anything but suavely sophisticated, she didn’t show it.
There was a knock at the door.
‘That’ll be room service,’ she said, moving to the door and opening it. A waiter pushed a trolley in. Thankfully Brandi slipped a note into his hand, relieving me of that terrifying duty. So you did tip room-service waiters. Good to know. I didn’t see how much she’d given him though. All the notes are the same colour here, frustratingly.
‘I got you a cup of tea,’ she said. On the trolley was a tray with a pot of tea and three metal cloches. ‘And a little breakfast.’