by Mark Robson
‘I’m just glad that I didn’t offer to lend him my book when Sam made that fuss earlier,’ Callum said.
‘Why?’
Callum closed his book and turned it face up on his lap to reveal the distinctive black cover. It was a copy of Gone by Michael Grant.
CHAPTER TWO
Sam Cutler was quietly amused at his friend’s reaction to the turbulent approach into Miami. Callum’s face turned a deathly shade of grey as the pilots wove between the worst of the heavy showers and battled their way down towards the runway. The majority of the flight had been smooth and predictably dull, but it was clear that Sam’s friend did not share the benefits of his travel experience.
Callum’s fingers were white with the ferocity of his grip on the armrests, and the muscles in his arms and shoulders looked bunched and tight. For the final ten minutes the aircraft bumped and bucked like a wild horse before a clattering thump announced their landing onto the wet tarmac of Miami International Airport.
A spontaneous ripple of applause from other passengers around the cabin was punctuated with the sound of relieved laughter. Sam had felt none of the nervousness displayed by many during the turbulence of the last few minutes. It had felt rather like the lurching, rolling simulator rides at Disney World, and he could remember far worse trips. Niamh had looked similarly calm, reading her book throughout the approach.
‘It’s OK, Cal. You can relax now,’ Sam said, giving Callum a friendly nudge with his elbow as the aircraft began to slow. ‘We’re down. The only thing you have left to worry about is whether you’ll be allowed through customs. The Americans are quite particular about who they let in, you know.’
‘Ha, ha, Sam! Very funny. If they let you in, then I sure won’t have anything to worry about.’
Sam grinned. This holiday looked set to be the best he’d had in years. It would be so good to have Callum along. He was a good mate. Their friendship had begun on the first day of secondary school when they had both earned three days of detention and a reputation with the form teacher before even getting through registration.
Sam had started it, of course, but Callum had been quick to join in, spraying the boys in front of them with water from the high-pressure taps in the chemistry lab, which happened to be their form room. Those three days of lunchtime detention had sealed their friendship. Cal could be a bit serious and sensible at times, but he didn’t take much persuading to join in with some of Sam’s wilder escapades.
It had been something of a surprise to Sam that his dad had agreed so readily to Callum coming on holiday with them and, according to Cal, an even bigger surprise that his mum and dad had allowed it.
‘If it’ll keep you from getting bored and irritable, then great,’ Sam’s dad had said. ‘But if you have someone along this year, it’s only fair that it’ll be Niamh’s turn to bring a friend next time. Deal?’
Agreeing to that had been easy. Some of Niamh’s friends were pretty hot. All Sam had to do was to guide her a little in her choice and he stood to win both ways. He smiled at the thought.
It took about an hour and a half to get through immigration, collect their bags and clear customs. Sam’s father spoke to the man at the car-hire desk and picked up the keys to the car he had leased for the summer.
Moments later, they were out of the cool, air-conditioned airport building and into the hot, muggy depths of the dimly-lit multi-storey car park, their bags piled high on the airport trolley. The combination of the close heat and trapped exhaust fumes in the busy car park was horrid. Sam could taste the oily tang of diesel on the back of his tongue. It tickled, causing him to cough several times before they found their car.
The red SUV was comfortably big enough for the four of them and all their bags. The boys piled the cases into the boot and Niamh climbed into the front passenger seat, leaving the back to Sam and Callum.
Sam could feel trickles of sweat running down the middle of his back as he tried to get comfortable. His shirt was sticking to his body in several places. He lifted the front of it and wafted air up inside just as a loud rumble of thunder rolled around the car park.
‘Can you hurry up and get the air con on, please, Dad? I’m melting here.’ Sam turned to his friend. ‘Don’t worry, Cal. This rain won’t last long. We often have thunderstorms late afternoon when we’re here, but they rarely hang around. By the time we get to the house we should be able to chill out in the pool. I can’t wait. It’s just so hot! What are you doing, Niamh?’
‘Just texting my friend Beth.’
‘Already? What could you possibly have to tell her? We’ve only just landed.’
‘Stuff,’ she said cryptically, and after poking her tongue out at him for a second, she returned to tapping at the screen on her mobile.
‘How long will it take to get to the house?’ Callum asked, looking as uncomfortable in the heat as Sam felt.
‘It normally takes a couple of hours from here, Callum,’ Mr Cutler answered. ‘But we have to make our traditional stop at Denny’s on the way. What do you think, kids?’
Sam rolled his eyes at his father’s use of ‘kids’, but was quick to add his ‘yes’ to Niamh’s.
Callum looked confused. ‘Denny’s?’ he asked. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s an American diner,’ Niamh told him. ‘There are loads of different diner chains over here, way more than in the UK. Denny’s is sort of an all-day breakfast place, but there’s Red Lobster, Chili’s, Dunkin’ Donuts, Frankie & Benny’s, TGI Fridays . . .’
‘We’ve got TGI Fridays in the UK,’ Callum interrupted.
‘Yeah, but nowhere near as many as they have out here,’ said Niamh.
‘And IHOP,’ Sam said. ‘Don’t forget IHOP.’
‘IHOP?’ Callum asked, feeling more confused than ever.
‘International House of Pancakes,’ Sam explained, licking his lips. ‘Mmmm! It’s a shame our house is so out in the sticks. The nearest IHOP to Summerland Key is nearly twenty miles away at Key West.’
‘Key West has most things,’ Niamh agreed.
‘OK, OK, kids. Cut it out,’ Mr Cutler warned. ‘I’m sorry if Summerland Key doesn’t fit your idea of civilisation, but I didn’t buy the house for its proximity to American diners, or shopping malls, or anything else commercial for that matter.’
‘We weren’t complaining, Dad,’ Niamh protested. ‘We were . . .’
‘Well, perhaps it would be better to change the subject before I begin to think you are,’ he interjected, giving Niamh and Sam a pointed look. He put the car into gear and swung out of the parking bay. ‘Do you think Callum will be up to the Denny’s challenge?’
Sam and Niamh both instinctively looked at Callum and then burst out laughing.
‘Not a hope!’ Sam said, grinning as he looked across at his friend.
‘Denny’s challenge?’ Callum asked. ‘Is this something else I should have heard of?’
‘It’s something we started years ago for a bit of fun,’ Sam told him. ‘The challenge is to get through ordering your food and drink without the waitress asking you a single question.’
‘That doesn’t sound too hard.’
Sam exchanged knowing glances with Niamh and his dad.
‘We’ll see,’ Sam said. ‘We’ll see.’
* * *
The roads around the airport were busy, but they made steady progress southwards until they started seeing signs for the Overseas Highway. Sam inwardly marvelled that it felt so natural for his father to be driving on the right-hand side of the road again. It was as if he had flipped a switch in his head from left to right. No sooner had they joined the dual carriageway that would take them hopping from island to island for the next one hundred and sixty miles to Summerland Key than the sun came out from behind the clouds and the tall yellow and red Denny’s sign became visible on the left. Mr Cutler eased the car into the slip lane and crossed the opposite carriageway. The car park outside Denny’s was about half full.
As they climbed out of
the car, the air felt thick with moisture and even the few paces from the car to the door were almost unbearable.
‘Is it always like this?’ Callum asked, goosebumps instantly rising on his arms as they entered the comparatively cold, air-conditioned environment inside.
‘Pretty much,’ Sam replied. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.’
A stern-faced waitress showed them to a table by the window. Sam glanced at her name badge, which identified her as Delores. Something about the way she moved around the restaurant told him she had worked here a while, which would make the challenge all the more difficult. Delores would know all the questions to ask.
‘Good afternoon,’ she said, her voice bland. ‘Can I get you any drinks before you order?’
‘Regular coffee for me,’ Mr Cutler said. ‘With plenty of creamer.’
‘A large orange juice, please,’ Niamh said.
‘Two,’ Sam added.
‘Make that three, please,’ Callum said.
The waitress nodded, thanked them and moved away.
‘Playing it safe?’ Sam teased.
‘Totally,’ Callum replied, turning his attention to the menu. Sam knew what he was going to order, but he scanned through the pages of his menu anyway, curious to see if there was anything new that might tempt him away from ordering his favourite. There were a vast number of choices on offer with typically hyped-up descriptions.
‘Oh, look,’ he said, pointing at the menu. ‘The Grand Slam just got grander!’ he read, doing his best impression of a southern drawl. ‘Don’t you just love the descriptions? How about a “New Super Grand Sandwich”? Two scrambled eggs, sausage, crispy bacon, shaved ham, mayonnaise and American cheese on potato bread grilled with a maple spice spread. Served with crispy hash browns. Sounds amazing, doesn’t it? The problem is I’ve always found the reality behind the description a bit of a disappointment.’
‘So are you going to break the habit of a lifetime then, Sam?’ Niamh asked.
‘Nope,’ he replied. ‘It’s steak and eggs for me. One of the best things about coming to America is the meat. The steak over here just tastes better somehow. How about you, Cal? Seen anything that grabs you?’
‘Think I’ll try the “Awl A-mare-ican Slam”!’ Callum said, making a reasonable attempt at copying Sam’s previous drawling accent.
‘It’s ten o’clock at night back home!’ Sam protested. ‘How can you eat bacon and eggs at this time of day?’
‘It’s never too late for bacon and eggs.’
‘Fair enough.’
The waitress returned bearing a tray of drinks. ‘Are y’all ready to order?’ she asked.
‘I think so,’ Mr Cutler said. ‘Go on, Callum. You first.’
‘I’d like the All American Slam, please,’ Callum said, pointing at the picture on the menu.
‘And how would you like your eggs today?’
Sam could barely keep from laughing at the confused expression on Callum’s face.
‘Medium?’ Callum offered tentatively.
Sam, Niamh and Mr Cutler all burst out laughing. The waitress looked on, clearly bemused by the hilarity.
‘Sunny side up? Scrambled? Over easy?’ Sam offered, giving his friend a few options that the waitress would understand.
‘Oh, sunny side up, please,’ Callum said, flushing red with embarrassment.
‘Hash browns or grits?’
‘I’d go for hash browns if I were you,’ Sam suggested, delighted to see his friend fall for the usual question generators. ‘I don’t know how anyone can eat grits.’
‘Hash browns then, please.’
‘White or brown toast?’
‘White, please,’ he replied.
Sam raised three fingers on his right hand. Callum ignored him.
‘Any sauces?’
Sam raised another finger.
‘Ketchup will be fine, thanks.’
‘That’s great,’ the waitress said. ‘And will there be anything else at all?’
‘No, that’s it, thanks,’ Callum said.
Mr Cutler was smiling openly. Niamh had her hands over her mouth to hide her grin, but her eyes were laughing louder than any smile.
‘Nice one, Cal,’ Sam chuckled. He turned to face the waitress. ‘I’ll have the steak and eggs, please. Steak medium rare, eggs over easy. No toast. Ketchup and a side of mushrooms, thanks.’
The waitress nodded. ‘Anything else at all?’ she asked, seemingly by reflex.
‘No, that’s it, thanks,’ he said, pursing his lips and shaking his head as the others all took obvious delight in his failure.
The only person who managed to order without being asked a single question was Niamh. Sam noted she looked suitably smug as she sipped her orange juice afterwards. ‘So what’s it to be, sis?’
‘Oh, any soft rock station will be fine,’ she said.
‘The winner of the Denny’s challenge gets to choose the radio station for the rest of the journey,’ Sam explained to Callum. ‘It could have been worse. If Dad had won, we’d have been subjected to Mozart, Bach and Handel for the next two hours.’
The food came quickly and it was not long before they were back on the road. Once off the mainland and out on to the Keys, mangrove trees lined both sides of the road for much of the route between the more densely inhabited islands. Occasional views of the sea became progressively more frequent the further they drove. Just seeing the turquoise shallow waters and the darker blue beyond brought a forgotten excitement to Sam.
To his surprise, he found he was looking forward to his summer holiday here with eager anticipation. It would be good to show off what the Keys had to offer to Callum. Just having him along brought a feeling of freshness to the place. Sam hadn’t felt this way about their summer holiday in the Keys for ages.
The mood in the car was light, with much laughter at the advertisements, both on billboards and on the radio.
‘Avoid scurvy – eat Key lime pie,’ read Callum, laughing and pointing at a sign.
‘Don’t miss out on this amazing offer. Be shopper-tunistic!’ urged an advert on the radio.
‘Shoppertunistic? What sort of a word is that?’ Mr Cutler asked, shaking his head with apparent disbelief. ‘As you can see, Callum, people on this side of the Atlantic have little regard for the Queen’s English. What do you think, Niamh? Are you going to be shoppertunistic while we’re here?’
‘Of course I am, Dad. It’s top of my priority list,’ she replied. ‘Right above having a tantastic time.’
They all laughed, and for the next ten minutes everyone took turns in making up words that ranged from outrageous to ridiculous, and, as they found more and more things to laugh at, the journey to the house seemed to fly by. Sam was genuinely surprised when he saw the sign for Summerland Key ahead.
‘Wow!’ he said. ‘That was a quick run.’
‘No traffic to speak of,’ his dad agreed, turning the car into the road that led to the house. ‘Here we are, Callum. Welcome to our home from home.’
CHAPTER THREE
The first few days had been fun. Sam had enjoyed showing off the house to Callum. Compared to the average house in the UK, it had plenty of ‘wow’ factor. The open-plan living area was enormous. A luxurious, cream-coloured carpet covered the main floor area, giving way to similar-coloured floor tiles in the kitchen area. There were two soft leather sofas, a large glass-topped dining table, a gigantic flat-screen T V, a breakfast bar and a kitchen area with every convenience imaginable.
Each of the three large bedrooms had their own en suite bathroom. Sam and Callum were sharing one bedroom, while Niamh and Mr Cutler had a bedroom each. Two sets of patio doors opened from the main living area on to the poolside. The kidney-shaped swimming pool was not enormous, being about ten metres by four, but it was clean, inviting and plenty big enough for the four of them to enjoy splashing around in. After the long journey, the three teenagers had barely got through the door before they were changing into their swimming
gear and racing to relax in the refreshingly cool water.
Later, Sam had shown Callum around properly. His friend had wandered after him as if in a daze, trying to take it all in.
‘Wow!’ Callum had exclaimed on entering their en suite for the first time. His eyes were wide as he took in the huge sunken corner bath and the large separate shower cubicle. ‘This bathroom’s bigger than my bedroom back home! Is your dad one of those secret millionaires or something?’
‘Kind of makes you realise why some Americans are inclined to go on about things being bigger and better out here,’ Sam agreed, dodging the question. He grinned at his friend. ‘You’ve got to hand it to them. They know how to make their homes comfortable.’
‘You’re not kidding!’
Not five paces from the poolside was the canal that led out to the Atlantic side of the Key. Apparently, the boat moored there had even more ‘wow’ factor to Callum than the house. It was a beauty: nearly ten metres long with twin Yamaha 225cc engines.
‘Jeez!’ Callum had exclaimed, leaning over to look into the cuddy cabin. ‘How far do you go in this thing? Satnav, VHF radio, an autopilot . . . and I don’t even know what that screen is for.’
‘It’s a side-scanning sonar,’ Sam had told him, unable to keep from smiling at his friend’s enthusiasm. ‘They’re normally used for finding fish, but Dad’s always been more intent on looking for other things.’
Callum had not asked what sort of things, but Sam had overheard some of Niamh’s conversation with Callum during the flight out and he was certain his friend was sharp enough to work out what he was talking about.
The temperature was steaming hot – in the thirties every day. Clear blue skies in the mornings became studded with white puffy clouds around midday that bloomed rapidly into huge scattered thunderstorms by late afternoon. Although the storms did not always hit Summerland Key, flashes of lightning and the grumbling of thunder became an expected part of the late afternoon.
To Sam’s surprise and delight, his dad had been more fun than usual. He had taken them out in the boat several times to go snorkelling, fishing and waterskiing. He had even taken them across to the little airstrip on Summerland Key one morning, hired a light aeroplane and taken them on a flight along the Keys. The moody behaviour that Sam had come to expect from his father when they came here had remained hidden for the most part. The only strange outburst occurred after a shopping trip to Key West.
