by T. S. Easton
I was knitting smoothly, trying not to go too fast for fear of making mistakes. There was no point completing the garment quickly only to find it riddled with holes. Even with care, though, I dropped a couple of stitches.
I was dimly aware of the technicians getting the machine going again but I was almost totally immersed in the job. It seemed just an instant later that the buzzer sounded and the floodlights flicked on again. I looked up, dazed, realising this was the half-time break. I would have preferred to just carry on but I didn’t have much choice. The crowd stood to stretch their legs, buzzing with excitement. The pit crew surrounded the KnitMaster, tinkering, cleaning out stray strands of wool. Brandi scuttled over to me, Gavin following.
‘Ben,’ she said, the pile of hair on her head backlit by the floodlights and wobbling a little. ‘You were amazing.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘But the machine’s well ahead of me, even with the breakdown.’
‘You gotta keep going,’ she said. ‘Don’t give up.’
I peered over her shoulder at Gavin, who stood there watching me back. Seizing his opportunity he leaned forward and stuck out a hand.
‘Gavin Rogers,’ he said, crushing my hand.
‘Ben Fletcher,’ I said.
‘I like your design,’ he said. ‘You’re a great knitter.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. He seemed really nice. Not quite the axe murderer I’d expected. Anyone who appreciates the simple beauty of the Hoopie must have his head on straight.
We walked over to a trestle table with drinks and biscuits and Brandi got a Hobnob for me out of her bag. Mum came over to offer her support. Then I noticed Fat Tony standing behind her.
‘Hello, Tony,’ I said.
‘Hi, Ben,’ he said. ‘Can I have a word?’
‘Sure,’ I said, checking my watch.
We walked off to one side, the bulge man following a few paces behind. The fair was being packed up. The clanking of chairs being stacked was mingled with the popping of corks. It was all nearly over. Just another half an hour then I could go home, beaten, but having done my best.
‘Ben,’ he said. ‘I know a couple of guys who work here at the Garden.’
‘OK,’ I said, wondering where this was heading.
He looked around. ‘Guys who owe me, you know what I mean?’
‘I think I can guess,’ I said, remembering Keith’s story about the man dangling from the window.
‘Guys who know where things get plugged in,’ he said.
Plugged in? I tried to translate this. Some kind of gangland slang? Tony must have noticed my confusion.
‘I mean I know some people who have access to the electricity supply for that machine,’ he said slowly. ‘You understand what I’m saying?’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Oh! You mean you could ask them to turn it off?’
‘Now you’ve got it,’ Tony said.
I did get it. I got what he was offering me. The chance to beat the evil Kevorkian. Imagine what would happen if I actually won today. Fame, publicity for the Hoopie. Financial security for me and my family. I’d return to England a hero, having conquered America. In fact, maybe I could stay here. Take that job with Priapia. Take the job with Fat Tony himself! Move my family to Long Island and drink highballs with Leo DiCaprio. Go see a Miley gig with Melanee Chang.
All I had to do was nod.
But what else? I’d be indebted to the Mob. I’d damage KnitCorp. And maybe Priapia. Kevorkian would survive, but think of all the orders that would be cancelled, all the jobs that would be lost. And I’d have to live with the fact that I’d cheated. No. I wouldn’t take the paracetamol, I wouldn’t use stolen needles, and I wouldn’t call in a favour from the Secondi crime family.
I shook my head. ‘I’m very grateful for the offer, Tony,’ I said. ‘And I’m tempted. But I want to play this fair and square.’
‘You sure?’
I nodded.
‘You know what you’re turning down here?’ he asked.
‘I do.’
‘Cos you’re getting your ass handed to you in there, you know?’
‘I know.’
Tony nodded. ‘You’re a good guy, Ben.’
‘Thanks.’
‘An idiot. But a good guy.’
‘Well, thanks again.’
He pointed a fat finger at my chest. ‘You got a talent. And you work hard. You’re gonna be a success even if you don’t win in there today.’
‘Ben,’ Brandi said, rushing up. ‘It’s time.’
I shook Tony by the hand.
‘Kill ’em,’ he said.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I replied before walking back out onto the stage.
Craig called out my name again as I entered the KnitDome and this time the cheers went to the rafters. The crowd wasn’t going to miss the opportunity this time. My spirits surged and the hackles on the back of my neck crackled with electricity. I ignored Kevorkian and the pit crew and sat, picking up my Hoopie and my needles.
I looked up into the stands to check everyone was there. Brandi and Gavin had moved up to sit with my parents, Gex, Keith and Trey. Alanna and Marie, Fat Tony and the bulge man sat in the bottom tier now. Tony gave me the thumbs up. Bulge man yawned, he reached into his jacket, to where the bulge was and pulled out …
… a Kindle. He began to read.
I smiled. I was ready.
‘You may knit,’ said Craig.
And boy, did I knit.
For the next half-hour I wasn’t just in the zone, I was the President of the zone. They named the zone after me. I don’t know if anyone filmed it, but I just knew I was even faster than I had been at the AUKKC. The needles were a blur, the wool a molten stream. I knew the Hoopie so well, had knitted so many before, I hardly even needed to visualise. Every stitch just sprang into place, as if pre-formed. I felt good, I felt strong, I felt relaxed.
I even found time for the occasional check on the machine. I was interested to see two technicians were hovering about it, picking out clogged-up bits of wool, trying to keep the machine going. Dr Kevorkian stood in the background like an evil overlord.
Like I said, I was fast. But I wasn’t fast enough.
The machine disgorged the completed cardigan a good ten minutes before the hour was up. The KnitCorp boffins carried it over to a display table and laid it out triumphantly. I carried on knitting, I only had a few rows to go and I was determined to complete the Hoopie within the hour.
As the seconds ticked down, the crowd had gone quiet. I stood and carried the Hoopie over to the table to a moderate round of applause. I heard Mum give a lone whoop but it was all a bit of an anti-climax. It was a fine Hoopie. Not my best, but it was fine.
Suddenly I felt exhausted. It was over. The adrenalin drained from my system and I was left with the knowledge that I’d lost. That I’d let everyone down. That it was over between me and Megan. That the rise of the knitting machine was unstoppable.
Craig something was cock-a-hoop as he presented the big cheque to smug Kervorkian. I shook the hand of my nemesis but he didn’t even look me in the eye.
I felt a little better as I came off stage though and my friends and family gathered around to clap me on the shoulder.
‘They cheated,’ Dad said. ‘That ref needs a white stick.’
‘You were amazing!’ Melanee said, giving me a hug and a kiss which made me blush to my roots. I saw Brandi watching with pursed lips. ‘This will be such a boost for the European style.’
‘Please tell me you’ll do another interview for Knitwits!,’ Alanna said. ‘You are an inspiration, Ben Fletcher.’
‘Anytime you need a job, look me up,’ Fat Tony said.
Mum just gave me a squeezy hug and that was best of all.
As we left the KnitDome, I saw a team of technicians stripping the KnitMaster 3000 and pulling out clumps of tangled yarn. They looked thoroughly miserable.
Maybe, in a way, I did win after all.
After leaving Madison Square Garden
for the last time, we said goodbye to Alanna, Marie and Keith, who seemed to be getting on quite well with Marie. I watched them walk off down 33rd Street, Keith carrying Marie’s sample bag while she talked at him animatedly about crocheted owl cushion covers. Some of us went to a restaurant on 32nd Street. Gavin knew the owner and we got a private room.
‘Do they do Philly cheesesteak here?’ I asked him.
‘The best Philly cheesesteak in the country,’ Gavin said.
I’ve noticed everything here has to be the best something in somewhere. ‘These are the best highballs in Manhattan. That place does the best cheeseburgers in the Tri-State Area. This is the best loose-meat sandwich on the Atlantic Seaboard.’
‘Well,’ I replied. ‘One more time can’t hurt.’
Trey was there, Mum and Dad, Gex of course. Brandi and Gavin. Not Melanee. She’d slipped off straight after the contest with a smile and a wink. Fat Tony and Mr Kindle had also made their exits.
‘You was bricking it in there,’ Gex said.
‘No I wasn’t,’ I replied. ‘That was one of the only times in my life when I was feeling completely relaxed.’
‘You looked like you was bricking it,’ he said.
‘Well, I wasn’t!’ I snapped. Trust him to ruin the moment.
‘OK, OK,’ he said. ‘You know what?’
‘What?’
He leaned in closer and whispered so as not to be overheard.
‘I was proud. Like that you’re my mate.’
Then he looked away and asked Gavin if he was allowed a beer. I was glad he had because at that moment I found I had something in my eye.
Then Brandi was there, giving me a huge hug. I hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to her immediately after the DeathMatch.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you’re going home tomorrow.’
‘I’m really going to miss you,’ I said.
‘You’ll be back,’ she said.
‘Definitely,’ I replied.
It was time to sit then as the waiter came around for our orders.
‘Beer, Ben?’ Gavin asked.
‘No thanks. No alcohol for me,’ I replied.
‘Really? We’re celebrating. What about a cocktail? They do good cocktails here.’
I hesitated. ‘Actually,’ I looked at the waiter. ‘I don’t suppose you do … tea?’
‘Long Island iced tea?’ the waiter asked.
‘No. A nice cup of tea. English breakfast, ideally?’
He blinked. Then shrugged. ‘Sure, no problem,’ he said.
Trey came to sit next to me over dessert. Gex had needed to visit the ‘can’ as he’s taken to calling it. ‘So maybe she wasn’t into you after all,’ Trey said, nodding towards Brandi, who was all over Gavin.
‘Of course she wasn’t into me,’ I said. ‘She’s gorgeous. Out of my league.’
‘What about your girlfriend back home,’ he said. ‘Ain’t she gorgeous?’
‘Yes, but … ’
‘Yeah but what?’
‘Megan’s not into me either,’ I said. I filled him in on the incident with the BlackBerry and Brandi’s knickers.
He laughed for a long time.
‘I’m glad the end of my relationship is amusing you,’ I said.
‘If I were you,’ he said, wiping away a tear. ‘I would stop assuming I know what girls think. They like to keep you guessing.’
I watched Brandi laugh at something Gavin had said. She touched him on the arm. Trey was right. Girls were hard to read. But some were worse than others. Maybe I didn’t always know why Megan did what she did, or said what she said. But I had a suspicion that had less to do with her being contradictory and more to do with me being a total idiot. If only I’d realised how lucky I was to have someone like Megan. Now I’d gone and messed it up.
Gex came back from the loo, walking gingerly.
‘I need to get back to Hampton, innit?’ he said. ‘The food here don’t agree with me.’
‘Eat some vegetables!’ I said, exasperated.
‘No chance,’ he said.
After the meal, we walked slowly back to the hotel. Brandi and Gavin fell into step on either side of me.
‘So what are your plans, Ben?’ Gavin asked. ‘What’s next?’
I shrugged. ‘I’ll go home. I’ll take my AS exams. I’ll knit scarves, I’ll knit Hoopies.’
‘But what about what Mr D’Angelo said?’ Brandi asked. ‘What about your business plan?’
‘No point having a business plan without investment,’ I said.
‘You need to think big,’ Brandi said.
‘Brandi,’ I said. ‘Were you not there today? I lost. The machine won.’
‘So what?’
‘So Mr D’Angelo doesn’t want the Hoopie now. No one wants the Hoopie.’
‘I want the Hoopie,’ Gavin said.
‘You want the Hoopie?’ Brandi asked.
‘I want the Hoopie.’
I peered at him in the bright street lights. Jolly taxis whizzed by a few metres away. Gavin seemed perfectly serious.
‘I’ll buy the Hoopie,’ he said. ‘Give you some start-up cash. You can get some machines, start a production line.’
‘And what cut would you take?’ I asked, the Dragon’s Den having rubbed off on me a little, it seemed.
‘Fifty per cent of profits,’ he said.
‘Net or gross?’
‘Net.’
I stood and thought this over. Is this what I wanted? Is this what I’d been fighting for? Handed to me on a plate.
‘Think it over,’ Gavin said. And we kept on walking.
10.42pm
I stood in the doorway of the hotel room, staring, trying to comprehend what this thing was that had appeared in my room.
‘Come on, Ben,’ Gex said, pushing past me. ‘What’s the hold-up? I’m touching cloth.’
I let him in and he rushed into the bathroom, ignoring the alien object that had somehow transported itself into our hotel room. On the outside, it looked very much like a suitcase. One with two wheels and an extendible handle. I used to have a suitcase just like it, I thought to myself. Aeons ago. Before a warp portal had opened up at Heathrow Terminal 5, and sucked it into another dimension, never to return.
And yet here it was. Or more likely an alien shape-shifter which had taken on its form. The chances of BA having found the actual suitcase and brought it here to my hotel room were too remote to be seriously considered.
I approached the being.
‘Do you speak English?’ I asked it.
It didn’t respond, so I slung it on the bed and opened it.
My clothes! My Stiletto! My knitting!
Throwing caution to the wind, I took out the half-finished Hampton FC scarf and fondled the weave affectionately. My phone was low on battery but turned on OK. I had a few messages, and a text from Freddie saying Mr McGavin and his dad both wanted a Hampton FC scarf just like Dad’s. There was a text from Megan too, sent before I’d destroyed her family.
Just to let you know that I’ll be thinking of you every day. And every night. I wish things had been different. I would have loved to have eaten Oreos with you up the Eiffel tower and drunk thunderballs in St Peter’s Square and seen a drag show on the Sunset Strip and all the other things you wanted to do. Can we do it next time? That’s if you’ll still want me to by then. You’ll probably meet some gorgeous American blonde and never come back. P.S. Sorry for all the dumb jokes. It’s just my way of coping. Me xx
I’m such a bellend.
Monday 20th May
6.56am
We went to Dino’s for one last stack of waffles the next morning. Gex was very unhappy about being awake so early. Trey and Brandi were coming around at 7.30 to collect us in a big car to take us to the airport.
‘So are you going to take the money?’ Mum asked.
‘That’s the smart thing to do, I suppose,’ I said.
‘But?’
‘What mak
es you think there’s a but?’
‘I can hear it in your voice.’
‘The but is this,’ I began. ‘I hadn’t meant to get into this Boy vs Machine DeathMatch. It wasn’t my idea. But all that stuff I said about wanting to reclaim knitting. You know, reclaim hand-made and take back knitting from the machines? It all made real sense to me. I actually do believe that.’
‘You feel you’d be a hypocrite to go and buy a knitting machine now?’
‘It’s more than that,’ I said. ‘I don’t want the Hoopie to be knitted by a machine. I want it to be knitted by hand.’
‘You like the imperfections.’
‘I like imperfections,’ I agreed. ‘I like flaws.’
I thought of Jessica Swallow’s wonky teeth, compared to Brandi’s magnificent dental showpiece. I thought of Hampton FC trudging around a muddy pitch, compared to the glamorous professionalism of the Mets. I thought of dusty old Pullinger’s on the high street, compared to the retail heaven that is Bloomingdale’s.
‘I love it here, Mum,’ I said. ‘Don’t get me wrong. But it’s time to go home.’
We met up with Trey, Brandi and Gavin in the lobby of the hotel. While Gex and Dad went up to get the bags and Mum chatted to Brandi and Gavin, Trey came over to talk to me.
‘It’s been good to know you, Ben,’ Trey said. ‘I had a lot of fun.’
‘Me too,’ I said. And the thing was, despite everything, I meant it. It had been an amazing week.
‘Could I have a word, Ben?’ Gavin asked, coming over. We retired to a quiet couch.
‘Have you thought any more about my offer?’ he asked. ‘I’m totally serious.’
‘The thing is –’ I began.
‘Sell me the US rights to the Hoopie,’ Gavin cut in. ‘I can’t pay as much upfront, but you’ll still get a cut.’
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘Here’s the deal,’ Gavin said. ‘I’ll give you a thousand dollars, in cash right now, for the US rights to the Hoopie design. If it goes into production. If we can firm up those orders you got. If we can make a profit, then you get five per cent of that.’