An English Boy in New York

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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.
    â€˜I’m sorry!’ I said. ‘I’ve had the worst journey.’
    â€˜It’s nearly 11pm, Ben. I’m getting ready for bed.’
    I peered closely at the screen and realised she was wearing a nightie.
    â€˜I was held in a little cubicle at JFK for four hours,’ I pointed out.
    â€˜Spare me the excuses, Ben,’ she said. ‘I get excuses all day, every day.’
    â€˜Wow, you’re really snippy,’ I said.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Fine, so I have officially checked in,’ I said wearily. ‘Can I go and have my dinner now?’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Hurry up, Rain Man,’ Mum called. In the end I had to go and drag him across while a yellow taxi honked at us.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜I wonder where Gex is?’ I said.
    â€˜He’s probably texting you,’ Mum said.’ Only you don’t have your phone.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Fancy a munch of my burger?’ Mum asked him.
    â€˜Maybe later,’ Dad said, smirking. ‘Would you like to try my wonton?’
    â€˜Not here, please,’ I hissed. ‘
    â€˜We’re just sharing food,’ Mum said innocently.
    â€˜Yeah,’ Dad agreed. ‘Lighten up’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Sorry, Ben. You must be wishing Megan was here. Can’t be much fun making do with a couple of gooey old fogeys?’
    â€˜Not at all,’ I said, through gritted

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