Katy Carter Keeps a Secret

by Ruth Saberton

  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.

  Oh my goodness! Pinchy’s looking straight at me!

  It’s him! It really is! I’d know that black beady gaze anywhere!

  I’m truly choked. The last time I thought I saw Pinchy was when Ollie took me in his arms and kissed me on the quayside (the same time he sort of proposed, but the less said about that the better). I’d even thought I’d glimpsed a claw waving at me above the sea. This was purely my imagination, of course, but it had made me happy all the same. As had Ollie’s kisses…

  “Bloody hell! That bugger must weigh nearly nine pounds!” Guy says, stepping forward. I can practically hear him working out the market value.

  “Eight pounds one ounce,” Adam tells us. “Not quite the biggest recorded lobster but a beauty nonetheless.”

  I press my hand to the glass. “Hello, Pinchy. How are you?”

  “How are you?” Guy mimics. “What’s this? Downton fucking Abbey? It’s a bloody lobster, Katy. It’s not going to reply, I’m marvellous, thanks, old sport!”

  “Shut up, Guy,” I say mildly. “Or I’ll dump you at the subway and leave you to find your own way home.”

  Guy holds up his hands. “Jesus! I was only teasing. You carry on, Dr Dolittle! Have a little chat with your old lobster pal. Don’t mind the rest of us.”

  Pinchy regards me with his familiar disapproving stare. Take this numpty away, he’s saying, and I couldn’t agree more. But unfortunately for Pinchy and for me, the numpty is the star of the show and also something of an expert, so we’re both stuck with him. While I stroke the glass next to my lobster and wonder how on earth my old friend managed to end up here, Guy talks to Adam about sustainable fisheries and the work of the National Lobster Hatchery in Padstow. The cameras whir, especially when he starts telling a tall story about one drunken night in Rock with Prince Harry and a load of his friends…

  “Why’s Pinchy all on his own? Shouldn’t he have a friend?” I interrupt hastily. The last thing we need now is Guy getting us all sent to the Tower of London.

  “Not a great idea, since lobsters are cannibalistic,” the marine biologist smiles.

  “That’s why we rubber-band their claws up,” Guy adds, neatly distracted from committing treason. “Stops them attacking each other and us. Those claws bloody well hurt.”

  Lobsters are cannibals. All of a sudden I’m seeing Pinchy in a whole new light. Any minute now he’ll be requesting fava beans and a nice Chianti! And where’s the mask?

  “So what will happen to him now?” I ask Adam. “He won’t go to the market will he? Not when he’s done so well to get here.”

  “He’d be worth a mint,” says Guy thoughtfully. “Imagine all the canapés you could make from that bugger!”

  Adam laughs. “We’ve had several enquiries already. I’m told one even came fro
m Donald Trump’s people, although that could have just been a joke, of course.”

  Pinchy holds my gaze. He certainly doesn’t find it funny.

  I run my finger down the glass. It seems very unfair to eat Pinchy now and after all his hard work to get this far. Ungrateful even. Instantly my mind is figuring out how I can rescue him if he’s set to become a billionaire’s brunch. Breaking him out of here could be tricky, and even if I did manage it could I afford to upgrade my hotel room to one with a bath? And where on earth do you buy sea salt and fish food in Manhattan?

  “Don’t look so worried. That won’t happen, I promise,” Adam reassures me. “This lobster is of special scientific interest now. We’ve still no idea how it managed to travel this far, but the fact that it has and its last known location was logged by Mr Tregarten means we have a wealth of important data to explore. Your friend Pinchy could tell us all sorts about the breeding and migratory patterns of this species.”

  “That’s good to know,” I say, relieved. To think that my starter course is now providing scientists with data! It makes my writing career with Tansy and Throb look a bit tame. I’ve been intellectually bested by a lobster, which says it all.

  “We’ll liaise with the hatchery in England too,” Adam adds. “Your lobster is safe because he’s far more interesting and useful to us alive. There are lots of marine biologists very excited about what this could mean for sustainable fisheries projects and breeding patterns. He’ll have a lot of visitors here and feature in scientific journals too. This is his tank for life. Your chap’s about to become famous in the lobster world.”

  Pinchy’s going to be a celebrity lobster. How cool is that? And all because I rescued him from Ollie’s pot!

  “Did you hear that? You’re about to gain stardom, Pinchy,” I tell him.

  “And so are you,” Helen Wales says to Guy. She’s clutching her mobile phone in her hand and beaming from ear to ear. “The New York at Night Show has just called. They love this story because it’s—” she pauses and makes inverted commas with her free hand, “‘quirky and British’ and they want Guy to go on! Tonight!”