Read An English Boy in New York for Free Online

at me.
    â€˜So, I’m going to New York next week  … ’ I began.
    â€˜I LOVE New York,’ she said. ‘So romantic.’
    â€˜Well, it’s only to KnitFair USA,’ I said, playing things down.
    â€˜God, I wish I was going to KnitFair USA,’ she sighed. ‘I’d give anything.’
    â€˜Mum and Dad are tagging along,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘How sad is that?’
    â€˜Brilliant!’ she said. ‘Your dad is so funny.’
    â€˜Is he?’
    â€˜And your mum’s magic tricks! So clever.’ She blinked quickly again.
    Having trouble with your contact lenses?’ I asked.
    â€˜No,’ she said, looking puzzled. ‘I’ve not got them in today.’
    â€˜Anyway,’ I said. ‘I’m going to be pretty busy in New York  …  Media commitments and so on.’
    She gazed at me like I was Harry Styles. ‘Wow. You’re going to be on the telly?’
    â€˜Probably not. Newspapers, maybe. I have my own PR person. Her name is Brandi, would you believe?’
    â€˜Brandi?’ She interrupted the blinking for a moment so she could raise an eyebrow.
    â€˜She works for the Knitting Guild Association of America, or something,’ I explained.
    â€˜People in PR can be a little false, don’t you think?’ Natasha suggested.
    â€˜I’m sure she’s not like that.’
    â€˜Just be careful, Ben.’
    â€˜I will,’ I said, hurriedly paying for my purchases and heading for the door.
    I mentally crossed off the one person on my list who would have bitten my arm off for the ticket if offered. I felt a bit bad about not asking her. But some people just want it too much.
    Who’s next on the list?
    Oh God.
    6.45pm
    Gave Dad his Hamton FC scarf just as he was about to head out on a twenty-mile bike ride. This is how middle-aged men like to spend their birthdays, apparently.
    He held the scarf like it was the Turin Shroud.
    â€˜It’s beautiful, Ben,’ he said quietly.
    â€˜It’s just a scarf,’ I replied, embarrassed by his reaction. ‘And I spelled Hampton wrong.’ He looked up at me, his eyes slightly moist.
    â€˜That just makes it even more special,’ he said. ‘No one else will have a scarf quite like this.’
    â€˜That’s true.’
    â€˜Thanks, Ben,’ he said. ‘I’ll wear it on Saturday. In fact I’m going to wear it now.’ And then he went off on his bike, wearing brightly coloured Lycra, the scarf wrapped three times around his neck. Dad’s obviously at that age where he’s quite comfortable being a figure of fun. He honestly doesn’t care what he looks like. Both he and Mum are either completely unaware of how embarrassing they are in public or else they like it. I think parents get off on embarrassing their children. How else to explain the ridiculous clothes, the awful music, the kaleidoscopic outdoor Christmas decorations?
    Friday 3rd May
    4.12pm
    â€˜You should have come to the party, innit?’
    â€˜Yes, I heard about the party,’ I said. ‘It sounded grim.’
    I’d caught up with Gex in the park, and we sat around there for a while, wasting time watching the younger kids from Gex’s estate throw bricks at passing trains on the Portsmouth line. Now we’d come back to his little house on Ratchett Street (or Ratshit Street as Gex calls it) with the mattress in the front garden. I like to think that if I’m ever down on my luck and reduced to sleeping rough, I know there’ll always be a bed for me in Gex’s front yard. It’s a bit rough round here. If Hampton were New York, Gex would live downtown. Very downtown. Possibly under the town. Today he was dressed as a gangsta-rapper, with shades, a singlet and a huge gold watch. We were eating cheese toasties in his kitchen.
    â€˜It was the nuts, man,’ he said. ‘It really kicked off.’
    â€˜I