Katy Carter Keeps a Secret (20 page)

Once we’re through security, where Guy’s steel toecaps set off every alarm going, I heave a sigh of relief. Apart from one hairy moment when Guy had his fisherman’s knife confiscated and another when his pasty was flattened, we seem to have made it through in one piece. Guy might be as gutted as the fish his knife had dealt with in the past, but at least we haven’t been arrested.

Yet.

“That was a bloody good knife,” Guy grumbles as we head into Departures. “How am I going to fillet a cod now?”

“We’re going to New York to see Pinchy,” I remind him. “You’ll be far too busy sightseeing and being filmed for the documentary to fillet a fish. Besides, why would you need to?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just what I do. Not going to sea for ten days is going to be bloody weird.”

“No it isn’t! It’s going to be so exciting!” I say, going into full Mary Poppins mode and clapping my hands. “This is the chance of a lifetime! We’re travelling the world.”

“But I’m happy at home with Holly. Like you are with Ollie.” His eyes narrow. “You are happy with Ollie, right?”

“Of course I am!” I say firmly. “It’s just that things are a bit complicated at the moment.”

Guy shakes his head. “Sounds like an excuse to me. Things are only as complicated as people make them. What’s so bloody difficult about that? You love him and he loves you. It’ll be fine.”

Oh. My. God. He’s right! He really is. I should just tell Ollie everything.

And I will. I really will.

Once I’m back from New York.

“So there you go then, you daft cow,” says Guy, settling into his new and unlikely role as an agony aunt and regarding me kindly. “All solved. Just stop overthinking it, like I’m about to stop overthinking this flying crap.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a blister packet of tablets. Popping several out, he knocks them back and then proceeds to lay himself along a row of seats in the departure lounge, with his head pillowed on his smock.

“Hang on! Where did you get those?” I ask.

Guy winks. “Why do you think I was so keen to carry your tray?”

Even at the time I’d thought this sudden chivalry totally out of character, and now it makes perfect sense. He was stealing the tranquillisers.

“Should you take that many?”

He shrugs. “I’ve got to get through this somehow. If I’ve got to fly, then I’d rather do it high as a kite.”

Guy faces rough seas that make those in disaster movies look feeble, but I can see how terrified he is. Right now I think he’s being the bravest I’ve ever seen him.

“You’ll love New York,” I promise. “This is an adventure.”

But Guy just looks sad. “Every day that I’m on my trawler is an adventure, and I love it in Tregowan with Holly. Your sister and Turpin are the biggest adventure I could ever have. I knew I should have sold that lobster. If it hadn’t been for you, Katy Carter, it would have been someone’s dinner five years ago and we could all have stayed at home. Thanks a bloody lot.”

He closes his eyes and that’s the end of the conversation. Personally I’m planning to give Pinchy the biggest hug a lobster ever had (if a lobster has ever had a hug, of course). Claws and water aside, I don’t care because I owe him! Thanks to my old crustacean friend, I’ve had a reprieve from the demands of Throb
and am safely out of the country while I try to think how to disentangle myself from the whole mess. And I get to visit the coolest city in the world too!

No, as far as I’m concerned the day I refused to let Ollie cook lobster thermidor was a very good one, and not just for Pinchy. Even Guy’s miserable face and lack of excitement can’t dampen my spirits. Leaving him to snooze, I set off to check out the perfume and designer handbags.

New York and Pinchy – here I come!

Chapter 16

Oh my God! I love New York! I mean
seriously
love it! This has to been the most exciting city on the face of the earth and I can’t believe I’m really here, in the back of a real live yellow taxi, crawling through the Manhattan traffic while a proper New York cabbie swears at the other drivers and snaps his gum. And everything looks exactly like it does on the telly too! The buildings really are so tall you can’t see the sky, and there’s the subway and horses pulling carriages round Central Park and everything!

This is amazing!

The sun’s even out too and the pavements, or do I mean the
sidewalks,
throng with cool New Yorkers dressed in sharp suits and trainers. As we cross over the Brooklyn Bridge the Hudson glistens and sparkles just as brightly as the Tiffany’s window display. River cruisers are gliding up and down, full of tourists taking in the city, while helicopters buzz above us – and I’m sure I’ve just seen the Statue of Liberty out of the corner of my eye as well.

I have! I have! Oh my God! I really have! And it’s pea-green in the bright sunshine! How amazing is that? The real live Statue of Liberty! It’s over there!

“Look, Guy!” I squeal, grabbing his arm. “It’s the Statue of Liberty!”

Guy grunts but doesn’t look up. In fact, he doesn’t even open his eyes. He’s been like this ever since we arrived yesterday evening. The monster dose of diazepam he’d taken before the flight, coupled with several sneaky lagers on the plane, meant he snored his way across the pond and throughout the journey to our hotel, oblivious to my shrieks of excitement when the iconic Manhattan skyline loomed on the horizon and we drove past streets with names as familiar to me as my own. Madison Avenue, Fifth Avenue and Times Square passed him by; all the excitement of seeing the city was lost on Guy. Somehow he managed to stumble to his room though, where he remained until I knocked for him this morning.

“Leave me alone” he’d growled when, after much hammering, the door finally swung open. “I’m jet-lagged.”

Unshaven, with his hair on end and still wearing yesterday’s clothes, Guy had looked more like the undead than the jet-lagged. I was worried because according to our itinerary we were due at the aquarium for ten-thirty. Somehow I needed to persuade him to leave his hotel room.

“It’s breakfast time,” I’d said brightly. “It smells amazing and there’s pancakes and maple syrup and bacon!”

Guy had glowered at me. “Maple and bacon? What the fuck’s wrong with cornflakes?”

“Nothing,” I’d replied, gritting my teeth and doing my best to bear in mind what my sister had said about Guy’s noise being an indication that he was freaked out rather than genuinely irritated. “But you can eat cornflakes any old time. Come on, Guy! We’re in America so we need to eat what the Americans eat. Come on! It’ll be fun!”

“I don’t think I’m well. Maybe I should just stay in my room and sleep it off?”

“Not today, Guy,” I’d said in my best bossy teacher voice. “The documentary crew have left a message and they’re sending a car at ten to take us to the aquarium. This is your big chance to make an impression, remember? Be the Jamie Oliver of the fishing world?”

At that point there’d been a wailing of sirens and a blast of horns from outside, and Guy had winced. “Am I allowed to change my mind on that?”

“Nope.” I’d given him a little shove. “Come on! We need to get going. After that, you can sleep as much as you want. Go and get ready.”

“Yes, Miss,” Guy had muttered before retreating into the gloom of his hotel room. I’d waited outside, hardly able to contain myself because I was in New York – home of the Empire State Building,
Sex and the City
and some of the best shopping in the world. I couldn’t wait to see it all. By the time he’d emerged I was ready to combust with impatience. He’d chosen to wear his usual fishing smock and rigger boots rather than the smart suit Holly had packed, and he still hadn’t bothered to shave, but I wasn’t about to start complaining. The main thing was that he was up and ready to go. All I had to do was get him fed, into a taxi and across New York to the aquarium.

How hard could that be?

Now, as our cab crawls across this most amazing of cities, I notice that Guy’s big hands are bunched tightly into fists and reflect that maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Guy’s shut his eyes not because he’s jet-lagged or in a bad mood but because he’s too scared to look. The sheer volume of traffic, pulsing energy and surging tide of humanity are beyond anything he’s used to in sleepy Cornwall.

Oh, who am I kidding? They’re beyond anything
I’m
used to! But I love it!

I look out of the window and blink because now we’re heading through Brooklyn and down towards Coney Island, with its famous boardwalk and rollercoaster and pier. I feel like I’m on a movie set and I shake my head in disbelief.

This morning we’ve got the aquarium visit to enjoy – and as our bright yellow cab draws up outside, my stomach pancake-flips. I know it probably sounds ridiculous to be so excited about seeing a lobster, but this particular lobster and I go way back and we went through a lot together! Pinchy knew me when I was still with my ex, tosser James, and was one of the reasons that Ollie and I got together. Pinchy accompanied me to Cornwall and, like me, survived living with the Reverend Richard. Just. We have a past! We have history!

Do lobsters recognise people and, if they do, will Pinchy recognise me?

“I can’t believe Pinchy made it all this way!” I say proudly to Guy as we walk to the reception area. “What a swim! I’m so proud of him for being a transatlantic lobster!”

Guy looks as though he can’t quite believe it either, but before he has the chance to reply a woman with bright scarlet hair is bearing down on us. She’s waving like crazy and she’s followed by a film crew. Hang on. Are the cameras rolling?

“Guy!” she calls. “Guy Tregarten! Hi there! I’m Helen Wales from ACC Productions. Welcome! We’re so pleased to see you!”

Guy can’t even draw breath because she’s kissing him on both cheeks while beaming at the camera. Wow. I didn’t know necks could bend quite that far. She’s like Mrs Incredible!

“What do you think of New York?” Helen Wales is asking him. “Isn’t is awesome?”

Guy considers this for a moment.

“Driving on the wrong side of the road is bloody weird and what the Hell are grits?” he asks. “Something for the road when it snows?”

Helen and her team squeal with laughter as though he’s just said something hilarious, and Guy looks perplexed.

“What did I say?” he asks.

“Oh my gawd! I just love your accent,” pipes up the blonde who’s wielding the boom microphone. “It’s adorable!”

“Say something else!” urges a skinny boy in very tight trousers. At least I think it’s a boy. “I love the way you speak!”

“So cute!” agrees another.

“Do you know Hugh Grant?”

“Have you met the Queen?”

“Or Princess Kate? Oh my God, I just adore Princess Kate!”

Guy looks at me wild-eyed and for an awful moment I really think he’s about to bolt. I’ll never find him again if he does; he’ll have to swim the Atlantic to get back to Cornwall, like Pinchy in reverse.

“Apart from our driving and our breakfasts, I hope you’re enjoying the city so far?” Helen says to us both. I nod and am just about to reply, but she turns her attention back to Guy.

Oh. OK then.

“I just love your outfit, sweetie! It’s so authentic. You look just like a fisherman.”

“I am a bloody fisherman, that’s why,” Guy says and his brow wrinkles. “What am I supposed to look like? A bloody ballet dancer?”

Helen claps her hands and laughs delightedly as though he’s just said something amazingly intelligent. “Just wonderful!”

“Do you have those yellow trousers too? And a yellow hat? I’d just adore to see you in those and I know our audience would too,” trills a man wearing so much make-up he makes Boy George in his eighties heyday look understated.

Guy looks confused. “Oilskins?”

“If you say so!” giggles Boy George. “You cheeky money!”

“No one wears oilskins on land,” Guy tells him scathingly. “Or only if they’re a total harris anyway. Fuck me, what a stupid question. Can I go home now please?”

“Oh my God! He’s better than Chef Ramsay,” Helen breathes. Her eyes are wide and she looks alarmingly like the Reverend Richard giving a sermon – I recognise that fanatical expression. “And those muscles too and that designer stubble. Absolutely wonderful. Just wonderful. TV gold!”

He is? I can’t see it myself but then again I’ve known Guy for a long time. Still, she’s the docudrama maker and must know what she’s on about. It’s certainly true that Guy and Gordon share a love of colourful language, but there I’m afraid the similarities end; according to Holly, Guy’s idea of cooking is pouring boiling water into a Pot Noodle.

An hour later and my head is spinning. So far we’ve both been interviewed, filmed alighting from another taxi (for cutaways, apparently), met the crew and glugged so much mineral water that my poor bladder is about to go on strike. Then we’ve talked to the sustainable fisheries team and Guy’s droned on about fishing at quite some length. But now, at long last and finally, we’re on our way to see Pinchy.

Pinchy!

I can’t believe how nervous I am – which is ridiculous, because Pinchy was supposed to be dinner, not my pet. But he’s swum all the way to the United States, which is pretty darned impressive. I’m actually rather proud of him. This must be how parents feel when their kids pass exams.

I’m also feeling proud of my prospective brother-in-law. If I hadn’t seen first-hand just how terrified he was of flying to the States and finding himself in a huge city, I’d never know now. He’s risen to the occasion like an utter star. He’s answered questions, cracked jokes, given sound bites and been hugely entertaining – however unintentionally – and with every minute that passes Helen Wales looks more and more as though she’s going to pop. There was one rather awkward moment when Guy said he could murder a fag, but once the Americans realised he only wanted a cigarette everything was fine. I even heard Helen ask the cameraman whether he’d caught that line because it would be a great teaser.

I wonder if Guy’s next career is closer than he thinks?

Anyway, never mind Guy’s new-found talents in front of the camera; I’m looking forward to seeing the real star of the show now. We follow Adam, a marine biologist, along a hot and airless corridor, then down a flight of steps and into a vast room lined with glass tanks and which is heavy with a cloying fishy smell. Various species swim leisurely laps while crabs chill on rocks and seahorses jig about, but there’s only one tank that catches my eye – and when it does I stop dead in my tracks.