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 didnât 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 Gunterâs Skype ID on an old email.
The screen blinked into life and she glared at me.
âIâm sorry!â I said. âIâve had the worst journey.â
âItâs nearly 11pm, Ben. Iâm getting ready for bed.â
I peered closely at the screen and realised she was wearing a nightie.
âI was held in a little cubicle at JFK for four hours,â I pointed out.
âSpare me the excuses, Ben,â she said. âI get excuses all day, every day.â
âWow, youâre really snippy,â I said.
âIâm sorry to hear youâve had a tough time,â she said tiredly. âBut, Ben, you canât leave it this late tomorrow, OK?â
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.
âFine, so I have officially checked in,â I said wearily. âCan I go and have my dinner now?â
âPlease do,â she said, yawning. âSay hi to your parents, wonât you.â
She hung up. Not before I caught the final volume of the
Fifty Shades
trilogy face down on her bedside table.
Sheâs a dark horse, that Ms Gunter.
My parents and I finally ate at a diner opposite the hotel called Dinoâs. 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 didnât 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.
âHurry up, Rain Man,â Mum called. In the end I had to go and drag him across while a yellow taxi honked at us.
âThey have a friendly sound, American car horns,â Dad said, waving at the driver, who gave him the finger in response.
After weâd 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 thatâs 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 didnât seem to notice though, just scribbled everything down and stumped off, bashing into a pot plant as she went.
âI wonder where Gex is?â I said.
âHeâs probably texting you,â Mum said.â Only you donât have your phone.â
âDonât remind me,â I said. âI think Iâll buy a new one tomorrow.â
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 otherâs eyes, playing footsie under the table and giggling like school children. When the double entendres started it was the final straw.
âFancy a munch of my burger?â Mum asked him.
âMaybe later,â Dad said, smirking. âWould you like to try my wonton?â
âNot here, please,â I hissed. â
âWeâre just sharing food,â Mum said innocently.
âYeah,â Dad agreed. âLighten upâ
âLook, itâs great that youâre all  â¦Â into each other at your age,â I said. âBut just tone it down, OK? Itâs not like youâre on honeymoon or something.â
Mum gave me a tender look.
âSorry, Ben. You must be wishing Megan was here. Canât be much fun making do with a couple of gooey old fogeys?â
âNot at all,â I said, through gritted