by T. S. Easton
‘Oh, so to make them look glossy and bright on screen.’
‘Yeah, because people like to flick through magazines, y’know, casual like? And he tried to make the e-reader experience feel the same.’
‘Cool.’
‘Yeah, and you know how in magazines you have to flick through most of the advertisements before you get to the articles?’
‘I sure do,’ I said. ‘It’s annoying! So his software makes it easier to find the articles?’
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘The software makes it so you have to flick through all of the ads before you can read the articles.’
‘Isn’t that quite irritating for the reader?’
‘Not really, have you ever read the articles in a fashion magazine?’
‘Fashion, no. Just knitting magazines, mostly.’
‘Well, let’s just say that the ads are usually a lot more interesting.’
‘I’m confused now,’ I said.
‘Welcome to my world,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’m confused all the time.’
I looked sideways at her. I was getting used to her hair by now, and the spangly white top really suited her.
‘But seriously,’ she said. ‘Would you mind not telling me if he texts again?’
‘Of course, I’m sorry.’
‘Just delete the messages please. It’s just too painful to think about.’
‘I will.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What sort of restaurant is it we’re going to?’ I asked, thinking it was time to change the subject.
‘I chose it specially for you,’ she said. ‘It’s British cuisine.’
‘It’s what?’
‘British cuisine?’
‘What’s British cuisine?’ I asked.
She looked at me, confused. ‘Aren’t you from Britain? I thought England was in Britain. Where is it? It’s in France, isn’t it? I’m such a dummy.’
‘No, you’re right. England is part of Britain,’ I confirmed. ‘I’m just not quite sure what British cuisine is. Roast beef, I suppose. Lancashire hotpot. Stilton? Terry’s Chocolate Orange. Vimto?’
‘They all sound delicious,’ she said.
I suppose, on reflection, we do have a cuisine. I decided not to tell Brandi I was trying to avoid British food on principle while I was here. A bit of Stilton wouldn’t hurt and maybe they would have Hobnobs. And Vimto.
The restaurant was a cool affair. Floor lighting, everything in shades of red, white and blue, with stylised Union Jack flags all over the place. Even though Brandi had booked, the thin maître d’ kept us waiting for ten minutes or so while other people were seated before us.
‘That’s a bit rude,’ I huffed. ‘We can go somewhere else if you like. There’s a diner next door. I think I saw a guy eating Philly cheesesteak in the window.’
‘This is quite normal,’ she said. ‘You always have to wait.’
‘Not at Dino’s,’ I said.
‘At good restaurants you have to wait.’
‘Even if you’ve booked?’
‘Yeah, that’s how you know it’s a good restaurant.’
‘So if they’d seated us straight away you’d have been unhappy?’
‘Oh yeah,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘Though having said that, if we don’t order soon I’ll miss my window.’
‘Your window?’
‘My two-minute eating window.’
‘I really do not want to miss that,’ I said.
I didn’t think they would have Vimto, after all. It was too classy. Ribena, maybe.
While we waited, the BlackBerry buzzed. A Skype call from Joz.
‘Do you mind?’ I asked Brandi. She shook her head.
Joz had a strange look on his face.
‘What?’ I asked, my heart pumping furiously. ‘Did you go to Megan’s house?’
He nodded, swallowing.
‘Did you see something?’
He nodded again and took a deep breath.
‘What, what did you see?’
‘I don’t want to tell you. You’ll be upset.’
A sick dread crept across me.
‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘You have to tell me. Was it Sean?’ Of course it was Sean.
But no. Joz shook his head.
‘So what? Another boy?’
He shook his head again.
‘What is it, Joz, for God’s sake!’
‘You said I had to check out her house, see what she was up to,’ he said.
‘Yes, so what was she up to?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘She was getting changed.’
I was silent for a moment, taking this in.
‘You peered through her window?’
‘I snuck into the garden,’ he said. ‘You know, they live in a bungalow. There was a chink in the curtains and there she was.’
I groaned.
‘You said to check her out,’ he protested. ‘I mean, check up on her.’
‘I didn’t tell you to perve on her,’ I cried.
‘There was a chink!’
‘What else did you do, hide in her cupboard? Set up a hidden camera?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘It was your idea, Ben.’
‘What did you see?’ I snapped.
And there it was, the give-away smirk.
‘You saw her naked, didn’t you!’ I gasped.
‘Not entirely,’ Joz said.
I could hardly breathe. It was unthinkable that Joz should have seen more of her than I had.
‘How much?’ I asked, not really wanting to know the answer, but knowing I couldn’t bear it if he didn’t tell me.
He shrugged.
‘Knickers?’
He nodded. Good, at least she’d had her knickers on.
‘Bra?’
He nodded again. Phew.
‘The bra was on the bed,’ he said.
I closed my eyes, feeling faint.
‘I looked away instantly,’ he said quickly. ‘Almost instantly.’
‘Joz,’ I said. ‘I’m in great pain.’
‘I had to make sure she wasn’t with anyone,’ he pointed out.
‘And was she?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘There was definitely no one else in that room.’ That was something at least.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I said.
‘What about the electricity?’ he asked.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I said and ended the call before he had a chance to protest.
We finally got a table, near the kitchen. The tables were all made of glass. Frosted slightly, but not so you couldn’t see through. I tried not to let my gaze slide downwards, because I sensed if I did I’d be able to see right up Brandi’s skirt. Why do they make tables out of glass? Everything’s on show. And they’re so loud. I always find myself putting my fork down really carefully so as not to make a clanking noise. Perhaps because of all the clunks and clanks echoing around the restaurant, the waitress had an amazingly loud voice even though she was physically very small. I bet that was the first thing they asked about in the job interview. ‘Can you talk LOUD? Because we’ve got these glass tables all over the place and it’s like REALLY NOISY.’
‘HERE ARE YOUR MENUS,’ she said. ‘I’LL GET YOU SOME WATER.’
America is a land of contrasts. People tend to be either incredibly tiny, or absolutely massive. Like French dogs. There’s no middle ground. But, when it comes to speaking volume they all seem to be at the upper end of the scale.
I stared at my menu for a while.
‘It’s all in French,’ I said, surprised.
That’s why I picked this place,’ she said. ‘To make you feel at home.’
Baffled, I peered over the top of my menu at her for a while, but she seemed deadly serious.
‘You know, Europe?’ she said brightly.
‘I see. Thing is, my French is a bit rusty of late,’ I said, still baffled.
‘Oh, would you like me to translate? Agneau is lamb.’
‘OK,’ I said, grinning. ‘Wh
at’s petits pois?’
‘I think a type of jello.’
‘Lamb with jello is a traditional English dish,’ I said.
‘Wow,’ she replied. ‘I’m not sure I’d like that. I want fish.’
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Let’s just get morue et frites à deux.’
‘Morue?’
‘It’s cod.’
‘Sounds good,’ she said, putting away her menu. ‘So. I have a question.’
‘Shoot.’
‘So you got England, yeah, and that’s in Britain, right?’
‘Right.’
‘So what’s Great Britain?
‘Britain is the island with England, Ireland and Scotland on it,’ I said. ‘Great Britain includes Northern Ireland.’
‘And what’s the UK?’
‘That’s Great Britain with all the other bits added in.’
‘What other bits?’
‘Er, the Falkland Islands. Gibraltar. Maybe some mouldy rocks in the Atlantic.’
‘And what about New England?’
‘Well … that belongs to you guys. That’s part of the US.’
‘Oh yeah, of course,’ she said, grimacing. ‘I’m such a ditz.’
‘Not at all,’ I lied. ‘It’s confusing. In fact, we used to own New England. Back when we had an empire.’
‘You had an empire?’
‘Biggest empire there ever was,’ I said proudly. ‘Lost it all now, of course.’
‘I never knew.’
Brandi ordered some wine with our meal. I don’t normally drink wine but I thought I’d better keep her company, so I had a few sips. Suddenly I felt a shove in the back as the man sitting behind me pushed his chair back. I spilt wine on the table.
I turned and cleared my throat but he ignored me, so I went all English on his ass and pulled my chair in a bit further to give him more room.
‘Tell him to move his goddam chair forward,’ Brandi said, noticing my discomfort.
‘Oh no,’ I whispered, shaking my head. ‘I’m English, we don’t like confrontation.’
‘Hey, buddy!’ Brandi yelled. The man turned.
‘Do you mind? My friend can’t breathe!’
‘Sorry,’ the man grunted and shifted his chair forward a few inches.
‘No wonder you lost your empire,’ she said.
She had a valid point.
‘So,’ she said after drinking half her glass. ‘Are you excited about doing the event?’
I leaned back and put my glass down. ‘I don’t know, Brandi. ‘I’m wondering if I made the right decision. You do know I can’t possibly win?’
‘You won’t win with that attitude,’ she said.
‘I won’t win anyway,’ I said. I had to make her understand. ‘It’s impossible.’
‘So why did you say you could?’
‘Because that guy wound me up. I’ve been trying to explain ever since.’
She leaned across the table and took my hands, her fingers warm and soft. ‘Ben. You have a special talent. I’ve seen you on YouTube. I’ve seen you in real life. You’re amazing. And remember, Ben. You’re in New York now. Anything is possible here.’
We stayed like that for an elongated moment, our hands entwined. I started to feel slightly uncomfortable but was saved by the ringing of the BlackBerry. I made an apologetic face, pulled the phone out and hit the receive button.
Megan’s face blinked into view on the screen.
‘Hello, Ben,’ she said coldly.
‘Hi, Megan,’ I said, totally discombobulated. ‘I er … er … I wasn’t expecting you to call.’
‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘When I want to find out what’s going on in someone’s life I tend to phone them directly. Or would you rather I’d phoned your sister instead?’
‘Oh, you heard about that,’ I held the phone up, facing it well way from Brandi. I did not want Megan to see who I was having dinner with. She might not understand.
‘Yes, I heard about that,’ she snapped. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’
I was about to apologise, again, when I felt a sudden wave of irritation. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe the jet lag. Maybe I was going a bit New York.
‘Well, what were you thinking of going out with Sean?’ I snapped back. ‘Twice?’
‘What?! I wasn’t going out with Sean!’
‘Marcus said Sean came and picked you up on Monday, and again on Wednesday,’ I pointed out. There, I thought, explain that, Megan Hooper.
She shook her head sadly. ‘And did Marcus tell you what we were wearing?’
‘I’m not sure I want to know,’ I replied primly.
‘Waitrose uniforms,’ she said. ‘Sean works at Waitrose too. He offered to walk me to work and back.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘He thinks about others, you see?’
‘And I don’t?’
She sighed. ‘I know you’ve had your mind on other things, Ben. Your knitting, this trip to New York. But I don’t really feel you’ve been very … sympathetic lately. I’ve been really worried about Gran.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. Her entirely reasonable explanation had taken the wind out of my sails a bit. But I wasn’t prepared to completely wave the white flag just yet. ‘I was disappointed you weren’t coming to New York with me.’
‘Don’t you think I wanted to?’ she asked.
I shrugged.
‘Of course I wanted to go to New York with you.’
‘I didn’t get that impression,’ I said.
‘Well, then I’m sorry.’
I smiled. ‘I’ll be home soon.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘And I promise I’ll think about your feelings more.’
‘Thanks, Ben,’ she said.
A huge wave of relief washed over me. It was going to be OK. We were OK.
‘MORUE ET FRITES À DEUX,’ the loud waitress said, clattering the plates down on the table.
‘Ooh, cod and chips,’ Megan said. ‘Who are you there with?’
Panic!
‘Oh, no one,’ I said quickly. Brandi raised an eyebrow across from me.
‘You’re eating two cod and chips by yourself?’
‘Oh, no. I mean. Mum’s here. I’m eating with Mum.’
‘Oh good. I was starting to get a little worried about your eating habits.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing It’s just that you’re starting to look a little … cuddly.’
‘I am not cuddly.’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it,’ Megan was back to her usual, chirpy self. ‘Put your mum on. I want to say hi.’
Double panic!
‘She’s gone to the loo,’ I said. I was dimly aware of Brandi watching me intently. Maybe I wasn’t so bad at lying after all.
‘Oh, OK. Well, tell her I said hi.’
‘Will do.’
‘Actually. Since you’re alone … ’ she said.
‘Yes?’ I said, looking up at Brandi, who was holding her knife and fork and peering anxiously at her watch. I had to end this call fast or else Brandi would miss her eating window.
‘I wanted to talk to you about … how things have been.’
‘Maybe we should talk when I get back?’ I suggested.
‘I just … well, I realise that I might have seemed a little non-commital,’ she said, carrying on regardless. ‘Not just about saying no to New York.’
I wanted to tell Brandi to go ahead and eat, but I couldn’t do so without revealing her existence to Megan. I had to end the call.
‘Look, Megan, I’ll come and see you when I get back. We’ll talk about this then, OK?’
‘Oh, OK,’ she said, blinking in surprise.
‘Gotta go, speak soon,’ I said.
‘Bye, Ben,’ she said, blowing me a kiss. ‘Nice suit, by the way.’
‘Thanks, bye,’ I said, blowing one back.
I was on the home straight. Columbo was walking out of the doo
r, all his questions answered satisfactorily. I was the escaped British officer about to get on the train in The Great Escape. The finishing line was in sight.
Then the bloke behind me shoved his chair back hard again, this time knocking me forward. The phone fell from my fingers and clattered across the table, coming to rest, face down, on the glass right in front of Brandi’s plate.
I grabbed it quickly, hoping the drop had broken the connection. But no. Megan was still there, a curious look on her face.
‘Whose knickers were those?’ she asked.
‘Mum’s?’ I said. I looked up at Brandi in a panic. She was trying not to laugh.
‘I thought you said she was in the loo.’
‘She’s back.’
‘Can I see her?’
‘You want to see her?’
‘Yes, Ben,’ Megan said coldly. ‘I want to see her.’
I flipped the phone around quickly, keeping it angled down. Maybe in the dim light, she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a nineteen-year-old blonde PR assistant and a forty-six-year-old frizzy-haired magician.
‘My, my, Ben,’ Megan said. ‘How your mother’s breasts have grown.’
‘I know,’ I whispered. ‘I think it’s the menopause.’
‘Who is she?’
The gig was up. The German officer had rumbled me. I’d tumbled in sight of the finish post and they were putting up a little tent around me.
‘She’s my PR agent,’ I said, turning the phone. ‘Megan, meet Brandi, Brandi, this is Megan.’
Brandi peered at the screen, sizing Megan up. ‘Hi, Megan, I’ve heard lots about you.’
‘Hi, Brandi,’ Megan replied coldly. ‘I’ve heard nothing about you.’
‘I like your cardigan,’ Brandi said.
‘I like your knickers,’ Megan replied.
‘It’s not what it looks like,’ I said, turning the BlackBerry to face me again. ‘This is a business dinner.’
‘So why did you pretend you were with your mum?’
‘Because I thought you might not understand,’ I said. ‘You were already cross.’
Megan said nothing, she just shook her head.
‘I can’t deal with this now, Ben,’ she said. ‘I can’t listen to any more of your lies.’
‘Don’t be like that … ’ I began, but she cut me off.
‘Enjoy your business dinner,’ she said and the screen went black.
‘She’s nice,’ Brandi said
‘Yeah,’ I agreed, sighing.
‘What’s knickers?’ Brandi asked.