An English Boy in New York (21 page)

‘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 door, 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.

11.15pm

So. It's late. I'm back at the hotel. Brandi could see I wasn't in the best mood after the phone call to Megan so we grabbed a cab and she dropped me back.

Gex and Keith are still out. I have no idea where they are but they've clearly been ordering food off room service because there was a tray outside the room with the remains of two meals. None of the vegetables had been eaten off one plate. Inside the room there are empty beer cans and crisp packets everywhere. I'd have to talk to Keith and make sure he paid for all of this. I'm certainly not, Gex doesn't have any money and I can't ask the Knitting Guild to cover the tab. I should have just come to New York on my own. I wouldn't be any lonelier and there'd be a lot less clutter. Though I wouldn't have the contents of Gex's suitcase to plunder either. I took another pair of clean boxers from Gex's case by way of revenge.

9.12am

I woke early and took advantage of the continuing absence of Gex and Keith to get on with Fat Tony's cerise Hoopie. I did about twenty minutes before the headache got too bad. After a brief internal struggle I got up and found the Bloomingdale's bag. Rummaging in the bottom I found what I was looking for. The blister pack of Canadian paracetamol. I took one and went and had a shower. By the time I'd finished the headache was pretty much gone and I felt mildly floaty. I sighed happily and got back to the knitting, only to be interrupted again by a phone call from Gex, who said he and Keith were having breakfast in Dino's and would I like to join them?

‘I'm busy, Gex,' I said. ‘I have to do this Hoopie. Then I'm off to KnitFair.'

‘You have to come down and have breakfast wiv us,' Gex said.

‘Why?'

‘Cos both of us is skint, innit,' he informed me.

The BlackBerry went off just as Denise brought my waffles

Uh oh. Surely I should say something to Brandi about this? But she'd made it clear she didn't want to know about G's texts any more. What had she said?
It's just too painful to think about
. Even allowing for the tendency of New Yorkers to overstate things, it seemed clear she didn't want anything to do with the guy. Against my better judgement, I showed Gex and Keith the most recent text.

‘The guy's in bits,' I said. ‘I'm worried about him.'

‘He shouldn't of messed her around then, innit? Gex said.

‘What do you think I should do?' I asked. ‘Should I tell Brandi?'

‘Nah, man,' Gex said. ‘I think you should hit reply, tell him where to go.'

I raised my eyebrows doubtfully but Keith nodded his head. ‘Yeah, good plan.'

‘Is it really a good plan?' I asked. They nodded enthusiastically, in synch.

I pressed reply and stared at the screen, thinking.

‘What are you gonna say?' Keith asked.

‘I don't know. I'll let him down gently, I suppose.'

‘Ben's good with words,' Gex said. I glanced up at him, surprised by the unexpected compliment. ‘He's a spod,' he went on, righting the universe.

I texted.

Taking a deep breath, I pressed send.

‘There,' I said. ‘It's done.'

‘Do you Brits not get the idea of a balanced diet?' Keith asked, nodding at my waffles. ‘Waffles for breakfast, Philly cheesesteak for lunch and dinner.'

I shrugged. ‘I like it.'

‘I can see that,' Keith said, looking at my belly. I just happened to be slouching a little so maybe my shirt was pulled a bit tight.

‘You saying I'm fat?' I asked.

Keith pulled a face. ‘Listen. You eat nothing but waffles and Philly cheesesteak, you're gonna pile on the pounds. Law of nature.'

‘Look here, Jamie Oliver,' I said. ‘I'm not taking dietary advice from a citizen of the country that invented bacon milkshakes.'

The BlackBerry buzzed on the table. We all watched it for a moment. I glanced nervously at Gex before picking it up.

‘It's him,' I said. ‘G.'

‘What's it say?'

‘It says, “I can't believe you got in contact. I'm so happy. We WERE great together. When can I CU?”'

‘What?' Gex asked. ‘Did he not read the part about it being over?'

‘I told you not to do it,' Keith said through a mouthful of egg.

‘No you didn't,' I said. ‘You both said I should do it.'

‘Well, looks like you made the wrong call,' Keith replied.

I agreed. I was beginning to think I'd made a terrible mistake.

‘What should I text back?' I asked.

‘Nothing,' Keith said. ‘You'll only make it worse.'

‘Since when are you the Textmaster?' I asked him.

‘You shouldn't screw with other people's relationships,' he said.

‘They're not having a relationship,' I said, fuming at the fact that Keith had completely reversed his position. ‘She's not even getting his texts. I am.'

‘Ignore them,' Keith said.

‘He won't be able to,' Gex said. ‘This is Bellend Ben you're talking about. He always sticks his nose in.'

I stared at Judas, my mouth open. ‘Firstly, no I don't,' I said. ‘Secondly, you said texting back was a good idea. Both of you did.'

Gex took a mouthful of sausage to avoid having to respond. I texted back as Keith shook his head.

‘There,' I said. ‘That should do it.'

But the BlackBerry buzzed again, almost immediately.

‘What the hell is wrong with this guy?' Gex said, leaning over to see. ‘He's a nutjob.'

‘Oh God. What have I done?' I said. ‘What if he turns up at Brandi's office?'

‘Do you know his name?' Keith asked. ‘Maybe I could pay him a little visit, along with a couple of pals.'

‘Thanks, Scarface, but that won't be necessary.'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘I think I'm going to take your advice and stop responding.'

‘You wanna come downtown with us today?' Gex asked. ‘We're going on a
Gangs of New York
walking tour.'

‘You're paying to go on a walking tour?' I asked.

‘Nah. We're just going to follow them around,' Keith said.

‘I'm going to KnitFair today,' I said. ‘But thanks.' I was touched to be asked.

‘Do you have any tickets left for KnitFair?' Gex asked.

‘You want to go to KnitFair?' I asked, surprised.

‘Maybe,' he said, chewing on a piece of toast. ‘It's free at least.'

‘Not today, though?' I said. As nice as it would be to have some company, I wasn't sure I wanted Gex following me around making stupid jokes.

‘Maybe tomorrow?' Gex said.

I shrugged and pulled out my wallet. I'd given my parents tickets for the Sunday but had a few comp tickets left. I handed one to him.

It's great that Gex is showing an interest. So why do I have such a bad feeling about this?

11.43am

I stood for a moment, gazing out across the cavernous hall. Katniss couldn't have felt more excited the first time she saw the arena. I'd thought the Knit Fair at Olympia had been something special. I was wrong. At Olympia there had been rows of stands. Here there were streets. Olympia had a narrow mezzanine level for sales meetings and a café. Here there were three wide suspended boulevards with conference suites, lounge areas, bars and restaurants.

I was glad I'd come alone to this bit. No one else would have understood. I didn't have any meetings arranged for today. They were all tomorrow and Sunday morning, on the Priapia stand. Today was just a chance for me to look around and soak up the atmosphere.

I wandered the crowded streets for a while, listening to the conversations. Time flew and before I knew it I had to rush to get to lecture theatre 3 to listen to a Fabrice Gentile Master Class in which he revealed his new pattern for a Ruffled Dropped Stitch Neck Warmer. He is such an inspiration.

Later on I attended a workshop on Demystifying Set-in Sleeves. As I was leaving the lecture room, who should I bump into but Gex! Following close behind him was Keith.

‘I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow,' I said.

‘The
Gangs of New York
tour people chased us away,' Gex explained.

‘We think they may have been genuine wiseguys,' Keith said quickly.

This didn't sound likely to me.

‘Where did he get his ticket from?' I asked, pointing at Keith.

‘He doesn't have one,' Gex said. ‘He tailgated through the turnstiles.'

I gasped. ‘You gatecrashed KnitFair?'

‘Sure did,' Keith said proudly.

‘Why?'

‘I was interested in the crochet stuff.'

‘Sure you were,' I said sarcastically.

‘Ben,' Gex said. ‘Why is it only you who can like craft? You're stereotyping us.'

‘Whatever,' I said. ‘So do you want to come to the buttons and ribbons lecture with me?'

‘You're joking, innit,' Gex said, looking aghast.

‘Fine, please yourself,' I said. ‘Just stay out of trouble, OK?'

1.01pm

OH MY GOD, it is amazing here. Madison Square Garden is massive. This makes the London Knit Fair look like a Wednesday afternoon knitting circle at Liss community centre. There's an entire pavilion devoted to socks. I've also seen the crocheting monkey. I had to join a long queue and we all shuffled past as this tiny monkey put the finishing touches to an antimacassar. I'm no expert, but some of the flanges looked a little sloppy.

2.15pm – coffee break

Interesting.

I've just spent quite a while observing the KnitMaster stand. They were demonstrating the KnitMaster 2000 which is the model they have on sale at present. There were half a dozen white-coated boffins scurrying about adjusting machines and answering people's questions. They're not unveiling the KnitMaster 3000 until Sunday, when it goes head-to-head against yours truly. After ten minutes of watching the 2000 I was convinced there was no way I would have a chance. It was knitting a pair of trousers with an exquisitely tight weave. Quite impressive really, but all I could think of was the forthcoming humiliation of losing to this machine in a head-to-head DeathMatch. What had I been thinking, even considering the idea? Publicity was all well and good, but if you end up looking like a trash-talking lunatic then it's going to backfire, surely?

I suppose from Priapia's point of view they don't care. If the machine buries me then they get into the papers and the money they've invested in KnitMaster will bring them a good return. If a miracle happens and I win, then they'll have an option on my Hoopie design and will cash in on that.

I guess that's how you do business. Maybe I'm not cut out for that world.

I was just about to turn away when something odd happened. The 2000 suddenly stopped and let out an urgent buzzing noise. One of the technicians hopped over and started prodding and poking in the innards. Finally he bashed it on the top and it started working again, to a round of applause.

I swung by the Knitting Guild Association of America's stand after that to catch up with Brandi, who'd been quiet lately. She was in the middle of a meeting, so I hung around waiting until she'd finished, looking through brochures and catalogues.

‘Hi, Ben,' she said. ‘It's like Stressville, Idaho, here.'

‘I was hoping you'd have time for a cup of tea,' I said.

‘She shook her head. ‘Sorry, today is my busiest day. I'll have more free time tomorrow, and Sunday of course.'

‘Oh, OK.'

‘Can I take a raincheck on that tea?'

‘Sure thing.'

2.55pm

Have just sat down for a well-earned cup of tea on my own. There's an email I need to send. I had toyed with the idea of leaving Joz in the dark but my inherent good nature won out in the end.

That done, I sighed happily, able to relax for the first time in ages. I was looking through some of the catalogues I've picked up when I heard the most almighty crash somewhere in the hall, followed by screams. I hope Gex isn't involved. I'm on the mezzanine, so should be able to get a good view.

3.15pm

Gex
is
involved. A brightly coloured marquee has been brought down over on the far side. I can see Gex remonstrating with a group of security guards. What is he like? I'll have to go over and sort things out.

3.30pm

I made my way over to the collapsed marquee, which turned out to be the Andean Weavers' Collective stand. Mostly alpaca wools in reds and browns, now squashed. From somewhere in the wreckage, slightly muffled pan flutes could be heard, still playing. I could also hear a faint squeaking noise.

When Gex saw me he waved me over.

‘I had nothing to do with it, innit,' he said. Keith stood to one side, trying to look innocent.

A security guard looked at me sternly, then he saw my VIP badge. ‘You two know each other?'

I sighed. ‘Yes I do.'

‘Can you vouch for him?'

Hmm, let's see. I can vouch for the fact that trouble follows him wherever he goes. That it's always me who seems to land in hot water afterwards. I can vouch for the fact that he's self-obsessed, rude, unsupportive, misogynistic and likes to shoplift.

‘Yep, I can
vouch
for him,' I said, with feeling.

The guard pointed his walkie-talkie aerial at Gex. ‘I'll be watching you, son.'

‘OK, Dad,' Gex replied, unable to stop himself from inflaming the situation.

‘Thanks,' Gex said when the guard had gone. The Andeans had managed to raise the canopy of the damaged tent now, the pan flutes seemed much healthier and the squeaking sound I'd heard was revealed to be a cage full of guinea pigs. Surely they don't shear guinea pigs in the Andes? How many guinea pigs does it take to knit a scarf?

I pulled Gex and Keith over to a quiet corner.

‘What the hell were you doing?' I asked.