I went to my case and pulled out the folder we’d assembled, containing the most recent photographs we had of Nicky, a copy of his college certificate that Rick had found in with Barbara’s things, and a copy of that letter.
We spent the next hour going over everything we knew or surmised about Nicky: the kind of job we thought he’d be doing, most likely a motor mechanic, given that he’d only ever wanted to be one, his height, and any identifying marks; this meant telling her about what our father had done to him, and that he may well have been extensively scarred.
Melanie made copious notes, asked some sharp, insightful questions about our relationship with him, and asked us how we wanted to approach him if and when the agency located him. We decided Yaz and Shari should make the initial contact. Nicky would have no reason to balk at them, as he’d never met them.
Once Melanie left, having left a cell phone keyed to the agency number, in case we needed to contact them or came into possession of any further information, we ordered room service, ate a light meal, and collapsed exhausted into bed. There was no wild thing that night; I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, as was Shari, and I knew Yaz and Rick were dragging as well, so our first night in America we slept the sleep of the truly exhausted.
I woke to bright sunshine pouring into the room, rolled-up in the warm bedclothes with Shari spooned up tight against me, and my arm around her. I looked around the unfamiliar room in slight confusion before memory reasserted itself, reminding me where I was; I was in America, actually in America, how bloody amazing was that!
I stretched as unobtrusively as possible, trying not to disturb Shari, but that little movement was enough to wake her. I saw her eyes flutter open, then her beautiful coral lips curved in a smile as she too stretched.
“Good morning baby!” she whispered, and burrowed down even further against me.
“Mmm! You’re lovely and warm; don’t move for a while, please, this feels so nice!” she murmured, her voice still blurred and scratchy with sleep. Of course I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her closer so I could soak up some of the sleep-warmth radiating off her.
I don’t know how long we lay huddled together like that. It was so nice to just be warm and loving and quiet together. I was just beginning to get drowsy again, when there came a knock on the interconnecting door.
“Come in, Yaz, it’s open!” I called, and Yaz came in, followed by Rick.
“Up guys, up, it’s our first morning in America, I want to explore, but first, I want to eat a real, genuine American breakfast!” grinned Yaz, bouncing on the edge of the bed and shaking Shari and me around.
“Wakey-wakey, hands off cocks, on with socks!” she sang, being approximately 50% correct. “Come on Sleepy and Dopey, I want breakfast!”
“Who are you calling ‘Sleepy’?” I retorted with a grin, getting a jab from Shari’s elbow when she realised what I’d left her.
“If we’re Sleepy and Dopey, what are you two then?” I grinned, and Yaz smiled adorably as she perched on the end of the bed.
“After the ‘Welcome to America!’ present I gave Yawning-Boy last night, he’d bloody better be ‘Happy’!” she giggled, and even Shari grinned at that. I looked mock-disapprovingly at her.
“You’re a bad girl and a very bad influence, no wonder my mum said I shouldn’t play with you anymore!”
Yaz stuck out her tongue and bounced some more, jumbling Shari and me even further.
“Come on, get up you pair of old farts, breakfast awaits, chop-chop!”
I lunged over and grabbed her, making her squeal.
“Old farts, eh? Now you’re going to pay!”
Yaz is ticklish, especially her sides, so I poked my fingers in her sides, making her squeal and giggle breathlessly as she squirmed.
“No, no, no, no, Bobby, Bobby, please, no, no, please, Shari, make him stop, no, no, please, Ricky help me…!”
Shari looked at her coolly.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I could have sworn you called us ‘old farts’, in fact, I’m sure that’s what you said, so no, I think I’ll let Bobby teach you a lesson. Suffer, little sister!”
I tortured her for a few more breathless seconds then let her go; she immediately reared back and slapped me on the arm, then squealed as I grabbed her again.
“No, no, no Bobby, no, don’t you dare, I’m sorry, Bobby, I’m sorry, no…!” she gabbled as I threatened to tickle her again, so I hugged her and let her go. Rick gave her his hand and she slid over to him, slapping him on the arm as well.
“You could have helped me, you know…!” she grumbled. Ricky grinned at her expression.
“Yaz, Yaz, darling, sweet, simple little Yaz, how many times must I tell you; you messed with Big Ugly Bobby; when you mess with the bull, you get the horns!”
Yaz looked at him and snorted.
“You are so full of shit! Now you owe me a big ‘Sorry’ after breakfast. Are you up for it… stud?”
Rick coloured as Shari and I both tried without too much success to hide our own snorts of laughter. Eventually we stopped, Rick was now a deep plum-colour, and Yaz was smirking happily. Shari grinned and flapped her hand at the pair of them.
“Okay you two, out, I want to get a shower and get dressed. We’ll meet you in your room in 10 minutes, order whatever you like for all of us, but I only really want a coffee.”
Ten minutes later, we were sitting around the table staring in awe at what an American breakfast looked like.
“Bobby, what is it? Where do we start?” whispered Yaz, unable to take her eyes off the stacks of pancakes, tureens of scrambled eggs, mounds of bacon and sausage patties, a stack of toast at least six inches high, a huge jug of orange juice, a pair of coffee carafes in a double coffee maker, and another trolley loaded with various cereals, jugs of milk, pats of butter, and bottles of maple syrup.
“Yaz, what did you order?” I asked, and she looked at me in round-eyed wonder.
“When I called down for breakfast, the girl asked what we wanted, I didn’t know whether they had any cereals or anything from England, so I asked her for a typical American breakfast for four; this is what arrived!”
Rick grinned at me and picked a plate up off the warmer, one eyebrow raised as he surveyed the mountain of food.
“Dash it all, Carruthers, we can’t just stand here staring, I’m going in… it’s a far, far better thing I do now, I do this for Queen and Country, etcetera, etcetera, tell mother my last words were of her…”
So saying, he piled his plate with pancakes, bacon and sausage, poured maple syrup over it all, and dug in. Yaz leaned over and tried a tentative forkful, and her eyes lit up, so she grabbed a plate and started piling food onto it, doing her best to catch up with him. Shari shrugged at me, slid some scrambled eggs onto two slices of hot buttered toast, and poured herself a coffee. I followed suit, although I couldn’t resist the sausage patties, which were delicious.
Breakfast took about an hour, as we tried to work our way through that mound of food, but in the end it defeated us.
“Now that was what I call a breakfast!” declared Rick, leaning back blissfully in his chair, his plate polished clean, and I had to agree; I was stuffed. I’d just put away enough cholesterol, saturated fats and protein to founder a rugby team, to Shari’s frank admiration, although I had a strong feeling I’d be skipping lunch; another meal like that and I’d explode…
Once we’d recovered sufficiently, we began to think about our plans for the day. As we now appeared to have some free-time on our hands, Yaz wanted to investigate the malls in town; the hotel had given us some shopping guides, and Yaz and Shari were eager to do some serious mall-raiding. Rick and I wanted to explore Albany a little; this was the only other city I’d ever been to in my life (eight hours in Liverpool getting our passports didn’t count).
I was pretty sure one mall is much like another, no matter which part of the world it’s in, but Albany was bound to be different from Carlisle, and I wanted to actually put my feet on a foreign city’s pavements, to walk down a street on the other side of the world.
We compromised eventually; we’d all go to the places the hotel Concierge recommended, the Colonie Center, and Crossgates, and once the girls found a mall where they could let their urge to shop express itself freely, then Rick and I were free to explore as much of Albany as we could find without getting lost or into trouble. That suited me fine; Shari was in the habit of hauling me into women’s clothing stores, and asking my opinion of various frilly underthings, then disappearing to try them on, leaving me stranded in the lingerie section like some weird fetishist, getting strange, disgusted looks from the women pawing through the racks. I wasn’t looking forward to that here; in England I just got odd looks from the shop assistants; over here I’d probably get arrested!
We took a cab to the first mall on our list, The Colonie Center, and once we walked in, Shari looked around happily, taking in the store directory in a kind of trance.
“Oh yes, at last, I have found my true home, you should go, Bobby darling, I might just be a while!” she beamed. Yaz was in a similar, blissed-out state, so Rick and I arranged a place and time to meet them, and beat a retreat, clutching the maps of Albany the hotel had provided.