Page 42 of The Missing Ingredient

“Hunky-dory, John. Just been confirmed. New York’s very first Old Country has its official opening the week after next.”

“Oh, Marcus, that’s wonderful news,” said Moira.

“Are you going to have to be there?” asked Tom quietly. Marcus knew exactly what he was thinking. Was Marcus going to be deserting his best friend again?

“Of course he has to be there,” answered Moira before Marcus could speak a word. “It’s the launch, for goodness’ sake. They’ll want the maestro there.”

“How long for?”

“No more than a week,” said Marcus. Tom’s sullen nod had Marcus smiling. When Tom finally looked up and saw Marcus’s reaction, he sighed and smiled back.

“Well done. Good for you.”

“Thing is, it’s over half-term, Tom. Tina’s not going to be there, and to be honest, I could use some moral support. I don’t suppose you could get some time off work? So you and the girls could come too? I mean I’d have to spend a couple of days and evenings at the restaurant, and you’d have to come and support me by dining there as my guests on the evening of the launch. But they mainly want me on call after that, so I’d be free to join you for outings and fun. And besides, there’s plenty for you and the girls to do. Katie always wanted to ride the Staten Island Ferry.”

As Marcus spoke, Tom sat up straighter and straighter in his chair, the transformation on his face priceless.

“Oh, I think that’s a wonderful idea,” said Moira. “But what about flights?”

“We’ll transfer Tina’s ticket into Tom’s name. For the girls, I have so many points I’m never going to spend, might as well put them to good use. And the sponsors always put me up in this huge two-bedroom apartment. So accommodation would be taken care of.”

“Two bedrooms?” asked Moira. “How would that work?”

“One for the girls. One for Tom,” said Marcus. “And there’s this humungous couch in the living room that I’ll sleep on.”

“That I’ll sleep on,” said Tom.

“Yes, well,” said Marcus, looking directly at Tom but keeping a straight face, “I might have to toss you for that. At the end of the day, Moira, it’s more a case of whether Tom wants to come or not.”

“Of course he wants to come, don’t you, Tom?”

At that moment Tom smiled slyly and sat back in his chair. “I’ll have to think about it,” he said, making Moira huff in annoyance and Marcus laugh aloud.

“Book the bloody tickets, Marcus,” piped in John. “No son of mine is going to look a gift horse in the mouth. And don’t your restaurants have English memorabilia on the walls?”

“They do. Not quite Hard Rock Café classics, but some nice British mementos.”

“We still have that shirt signed by Ed de Goey, the Chelsea goalkeeper back then, after their FA Cup win back in 2000. The one you won at auction. That would be a fair trade, son.”

“You kept that?” asked Tom.

“Course we did. It’s not ours to toss. And it’s probably worth a few bob.”

“You’re absolutely right, John,” chipped in Marcus. “These things fetch a fortune on eBay. What sort of condition is it in?”

“Take Marcus up to your room and show him, Tom,” said John.

“No, it’s fine—”

But Tom was already pushing his chair back from the table.

“Come on, Marcus,” said Tom, smiling and heading toward the house. “Think you might be really impressed.”

“I tucked it behind the headboard. Ignore the mess and the boxes on the bed,” called Moira, as house-proud as ever.

Marcus stepped into Tom’s old bedroom first while Tom flicked the light on. Marcus stood there, taking in the setting, a little dusty and neglected now, but with a faint smell of adolescent male. He only stood there for a second, though, before being spun around, pinned to the bedroom door, and kissed. When eventually he came up for air, Tom was beaming at him.

“New York. Could this weekend get any better?”

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