by Lucy Vine
And I meant it. So I’m not sure what he’s doing here now.
‘Shall I get us some drinks?’ I say into the awkward silence.
Mark nods and Dom pipes up, ‘I’ll come with you.’
We wander towards the bar and I half automatically reach for the keys in my handbag. Just in case. Because maybe I’ve misjudged the fuck out of this dude. Maybe he’s actually insane? You never really know someone, do you? You always see these wives on telly being like, ‘I had no clue my husband was holding seventy-two women captive in our basement, I thought it was cats down there and the excessive electricity bill was because of our outdoor heater.’
I spent weeks with this man, day in, day out, but what do I really know about him? Like, does he have seventy-two women in a basement somewhere? Does he have an outdoor heater?
‘Seriously, Uber Driver,’ I clear my throat, stopping just short of the bar. ‘What are you doing here? Did you get an international fare that was too good to miss?’ I say, keeping my tone light, but gripping the keys between my fingers. I’m so glad Mark and Joe are nearby.
‘It’s the big romantic gesture, isn’t it?’ he says, grinning. ‘Like in the movies. I’m here to declare that I’m in love with you and we should be together.’
I laugh, I can’t help it. What the hell is he talking about?
‘You’re not in love with me, you moron! We had a few weeks of sex!’ I say, waving my hand. ‘It’s the chemicals and blue balls talking.’
‘It’s not!’ he shakes his head. ‘I know you didn’t mean what you said in that text, I know you really like me.’
‘Dom,’ I take a deep breath, ‘I wasn’t, like, testing you when I said that I wasn’t interested. It wasn’t me playing hard to get or trying to upset you. It wasn’t a ploy to make you try harder. I’ve realised I hate all those kinds of games, they’re boring and get you nowhere. I’ve spent years doing that with my ex and I hate it. Never again. I sent that message because I wanted to be honest with you. We had a fun time and, sure, I like you as a person – occasional jealous rages aside – but I was only ever there for a month. It was what it was, nothing more. I’m sorry.’
Ugh, I hate that we teach men that persistence will get them whatever they want. That ‘no’ means, ‘keep trying’, and that it is ‘romantic’ to stalk a woman halfway across the world after she’s already said she doesn’t want to date you. I just really want to live in a world where men believe a woman when she says nah.
‘OK, just hear me out,’ he says, undeterred. ‘Alice, I understand what you’re saying, but I think you’re wrong. You must see it too – it’s so obvious that we’re right for each other! I know it.’ Inspiration strikes him and he adds, ‘We’re both 3.5s! Our Uber rating! We are life’s 3.5 types. We will never be rich or famous or particularly cool. We are middle-of-the-road people, average. We are the same level, the same type! And that’s why we should be together. We need each other because we are a 3.5 match. The 3.5s belong together.’
I consider this.
I’m a 3.5? Am I though? Is that how he sees me?
Hold on.
OK, maybe I am a 3.5, but I want to meet someone who sees me as a full five stars. Or more! I want to meet someone one day who sees me as worth more stars than the Uber system is capable of awarding. That doesn’t seem like too low a bar to set. And here is Dom, telling me we should settle for each other because we’re both only OK. I get it, it makes some kind of warped sense – and if this were three months ago, I think I would’ve jumped on the offer. Something in me would’ve liked that he was putting me down and offering to keep me down. But not any more. Getting a 3.5 offer is not enough for me. It shouldn’t be enough for anyone.
‘I see what you’re saying,’ I tell him slowly, kindly. ‘But I don’t want to be a 3.5. If you and me settle for each other, we will always stay at that level. We won’t ever try to be better versions of ourselves. If I’m with someone, I need them to be someone who brings out the best in me – a guy who makes me a five, Dom. And more than that, I want to be a five on my own.’
He looks defeated. ‘But I . . .’
‘Thank you for your interest,’ I add robotically like a sales assistant. ‘But no, thank you.’
He sags but nods. ‘OK Alice,’ he says nicely. ‘I understand, and thanks, I guess, for being honest with me. I’m really sorry for turning up like this. I know I seem all over the place. I just felt like such a fool for the way I acted, and wanted to do the grand gesture thing. I feel a little silly now.’ He laughs nervously.
‘Don’t feel silly!’ I say. ‘It’s nice to see you – as a friend – and if you don’t have to rush off, it would be great to have a catch up. My brother and his boyfriend over there are celebrating, and you’re very welcome to join us!’ I pause and add, ‘Seriously, Uber Driver, I had such a wonderful time with you. I’ll never forget it. You made my LA adventure something really special. Plus . . .’ I laugh, ‘. . . I will always be grateful to you for helping me realise there is more out there than my stupid ex.’
He smiles but it is a thin smile. ‘You know,’ he says sighing. ‘It really hurt me every time you openly texted him in front of me. And the way you would joke about using me to get over him?’
I am stung. ‘Huh? But you always laughed! I thought it was part of what we were doing? It was, y’know, part of our shtick!’
He sighs. ‘I smiled because it hurt, Alice. Don’t you know anything about human behaviour? We smile through our pain. We laugh when we are hurt.’
Well that is true enough. And stupid enough.
‘Oh my God, Uber Driver, I’m so sorry,’ I say, meaning it. ‘I’ve been realising lately that sometimes I can be thoughtlessly mean and unkind. I’m working on it.’
‘Also, please don’t call me Uber Driver,’ he says a little haughtily. ‘My name is Dom. Calling me Uber Driver is very dehumanising.’
‘Oh, cripes, I’m so sorry.’ I am mortified.
‘And never say “cripes” again,’ he says, but now he is smiling properly. ‘Because that is really embarrassing.’
‘Right, yes,’ I smile back. ‘I don’t know where that came from. Sometimes Americans bring out the British in me.’
‘Yeah,’ he says laughing. ‘I didn’t think Brits ever really said “gosh” until I met you. You are one of a kind.’
‘To be fair, they don’t,’ I confirm. ‘I only say things like “cripes” or “gosh” in America, never in England. It’s like a chat-up line to make the Yanks melt.’
We grin at each other and it is OK. I am relieved. The grip on my keys loosens and I step towards the bar.
‘Let’s get drunk together one last time,’ I say, leaning towards the barman to order shots.
33
AWOL.COM/Alice Edwards’ Incredibly Unimaginative Travel Blog
25 July – 1.47 p.m.
Hello out there, if anyone is listening.
I know I haven’t been posting proper blogs lately, and I don’t really have an excuse. Life? Busy-ness? Intense laziness?
(Copy and paste those excuses for literally everything.)
The truth is, I’m realising blogging is probably just not me. I can’t spell for shit, I use thesaurus.com at least twice a day, and I still don’t know how to upload a photo that isn’t upside down. It’s not me.
Ha.
Not that I know who or what ‘me’ is – does anyone? God, we spend so much time chasing this idea of finding yourself. But aren’t all selves a bit of everything? My me changes every day. Some days I am a kind, nice, happy person. Other days I’m a selfish, heinous, miserable bitch. Just like everyone, surely? I am not one thing, and it was silly to think I could find a box to put myself in.
I also wanted to say sorry for all that pretentious, forced stuff I wrote before. I thought it was what I was supposed to do as a blogger. It was stupid, but
also, most of what I wrote was nonsense. Yes, this trip has been fun and an adventure, but it’s also been rubbish at times. I’ve been bored and disappointed a whole bunch – just like I was at home – and all my problems were still waiting for me at the end of it. I’ve realised that travelling is great as an experience in and of itself – a great distraction – but it can’t fix you. It can’t fix problems when the problems are inside.
So anyway, this is my last post on here. I’ll go back to Instagram, where I almost post something every day and then chicken out because at the last second it doesn’t seem worth posting. Yay.
In the meantime, me, Hannah, Mark, Joe and Mum are off up the east coast for some scuba diving. Hannah and Mum have lived here for years and never visited the Great Barrier Reef because they are clearly straight up monsters. I feel fairly confident my first time underwater I will hyperventilate, run out of air, get a nose bleed, and be eaten by a shark. So this was probably going to be my final blog either way.
Bye everyone. Thanks for listening, look after yourselves.
Alice x
15 Comments · 385 AWOLs · 326 Super Likes
COMMENTS:
Mark Edwards
| I’m going to push you off the boat at the first hint of a shark nest.
Alice Edwards
Replying to Mark Edwards
| Obviously my official party line is: please don’t do that. But off record: omg how cool would that be as a way to die.
Karen Gill
Replying to Alice Edwards and Mark Edwards
| Finally. Me and mammy have been waiting months for this.
Hannah Edwards
Replying to Mark Edwards
| there’s a boat?? no 1 told me there was a boat???? i am not going on a boat
Alice Edwards
Replying to Hannah Edwards
| Hannah, what did you think a reef was?
Eva Slate
Replying to Alice Edwards
| Isn’t it marijuana????
Alice Edwards
Replying to Eva Slate
| You’re thinking of a reefa, and only if this was 2003.
Fiona Edwards
| Hello Alice. And hello @DanniiMinogue and @kylieminogue. Any advice on what to see in Cairns? We will be staying in the area for a week if you are free for a coffee. Love, Fiona Edwards xx
Clara Weber
| If you’re diving, swim on back to Thailand please. Miss you.
Hollie Baker
| G8 barrier reef is supposed to be really pretty!
Ayo Damiunse
| Tourists like you are ruining nature and killing the wildlife.
Isabelle Moore
| Have fun! Just don’t trust anyone during your travels because you’ll only get betrayed.
Alice Edwards
Replying to Isabelle Moore
| u ok hun :(
Noah Deer
| When are you going to be back in the UK already?!
Alice Edwards
Replying to Noah Deer
| Soon enough Noah. Now stop trying to flirt with me on AWOL, it’s too attention seeking and my mum is watching.
Oh my God, Mum is screaming at the top of her lungs. It is seriously eardrum-perforating levels.
It’s the karaoke staple, You’re So Vain, and she is off-key in the extreme. She is so into the chorus – her eyes screwed up and sweat beading her forehead – that she forgets the song has a whole other verse. The music bops along nonetheless and she looks around her, suddenly helpless. Off stage, the karaoke compere hisses the next bit of the song at her.
Joe bounces up on stage to save Mum and they find the words just in time for the final chorus to pick up again. The pair of them fully howl the final ‘don’t-yous’, looking down happily at me, Mark and Hannah who are dancing like mad. We are all grinning our heads off.
I have to say, this is a side of my mum I was not expecting to discover during my time here in Australia.
It’s been a busy, family-filled couple of weeks in Sydney. Lovely, full-on, intense, exhausting, meaningful, combative, annoying, important family time.
Mum and me have already had a couple of minor-league squabbles over important things, like which dishcloth I’m meant to use for hand washing, which one is just for drying plates and which ones are purely decorative. But I think it’s a good thing. It means we’re starting to feel comfortable with each other. Comfortable and secure in our new-found – old-found – relationship. We’re able to risk disagreeing without being afraid. I don’t know that we’ll ever be fully normal, but I’m OK with it if this is our new normal. We are happy to be back in each other’s lives and we’re hugging a lot.
She’s also delighted with her new son-in-law, Joe, who she’s treating like he is Prince fucking Harry. I am actually feeling a bit huffy about it because I was meant to be the big-ticket item during my time here ferfuxache. But, no, apparently Joe is the favourite and all Mum does is fuss and preen over her darling ‘new son’. Mark and I bitch about them together in corners, while Joe sucks up, helping Mum make endless cups of tea for everyone, as Hannah reads us alarmist propaganda she finds on the dark web.
The five of us have become quite the #squadgoals (Mum is Taylor, I’m Lena, Joe is Selena, Mark is Gigi), and we decided for my last two weeks in the country – the final stage of this life sabbatical – that Mum would take time off work so we could all travel up to Cairns together. We agreed we could book ourselves on a boat trip, learn to scuba dive around the Great Barrier Reef, and – apparently – all get tipsy and do unprovoked karaoke.
The hospice told Mum she should go, she needs the break. Steven is awake now, and he’ll be coming home in a few weeks. He can’t walk or talk properly and is going to need a lot of looking after. There will be professional carers and support, but this is still going to be a big thing.
I still haven’t seen him. It is a life loose end that I haven’t been able to tie up neatly. I want to want to forgive him, but my feelings are too complicated to boil down and examine just yet. Maybe it will be forgotten in time, or maybe Steven and I will never resolve things fully. Maybe it will remain a pebble in my shoe for the rest of my life. But existence is complicated and family is even more so. And I think it’s OK to leave that question unanswered for the time being.
Joe and Mum climb down from the stage, people slapping them on the back jovially. They are buzzing and giggling.
‘Did you hear me up there, Alice?’ Mum says as if literally anyone between here and Papua New Guinea could’ve missed it. I nearly make a joke about how pieces of Ayers Rock are currently crumbling into oblivion thanks to the vibrations, and then I stop myself.
‘You were brilliant, Mum,’ I say. Because I’m totally kind now.
She beams. ‘I always sing that song for karaoke, I love Kate Hudson,’ she says and I cock my head at her.
‘Kate Hudson?’ I am bewildered. ‘The actress?’
Mum nods, ‘Yes, but she’s a singer, too, isn’t she? I saw her sing it on Top of the Pops years ago. She was wearing a yellow dress.’
It takes me a minute.
‘Mum, I think you’re thinking of the film, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, starring Kate Hudson. She sings “You’re So Vain” in it, but the song is by Carly Simon.’
‘Oh,’ she looks stumped. ‘Is that right? Well, she was very convincing playing a singer though.’
I smile widely. ‘You’re awesome, Mum, you know that?’
She smiles back, delighted. ‘I think you’re the awesome one.’ She sighs, a little sadly. ‘I really don’t want you to go home, but I know I can’t keep you here for ever. You’re sure it’s OK to visit over Christmas? I’m booking my flights tonight. You won’t be able to get rid of me that easily, my wonderful girl.’
‘I can’t wait,’ I s
ay, beaming back and meaning it.
I feel so sad that my trip is coming to an end. But also, secretly a bit excited. I feel ready for things. Ready to embrace my life a bit more. I even feel ready for a full-time job. I’ve been thinking about it and decided I was actually pretty good at that last temping role (faux-sexting my boss aside). I like fixing things and shouting at people, so I’m going to start applying for things in that same area. Maybe PR? Maybe marketing? Maybe there’s even a job out there called ‘Troubleshooting for your deviant boss’? It’s been a while since I had a proper look at the job market, but it feels like that is a role this world would need. The gaps on my CV will be fine because I will just lie. That is the honourable thing to do.
I feel so tingly about the possibilities of my life now.
I know it sounds cheesy, but I feel different, I really do. And it’s not just making up with my mum – although that has been such a huge weight off my mind – it’s everything.
The thing is, things have changed. And it’s not because of travelling. Honestly, it’s not like this journey has helped me discover who I am and fix myself, because the truth is, I’ve always been able to see my own flaws and problems. It’s just that before, I thought those flaws defined me. I thought that was just who I was. I’ve spent my life telling myself over and over that I am not that great. That there was no point trying to escape people like TD because he was who I deserved. I told myself I was too weak to walk away and there was no point fighting it. I told myself that was just who I am – that they are entrenched personality traits – and I just had to live with disliking that side of me. But I think this is a problem we have as humans. We get bogged down telling ourselves something over and over until we can’t see anything else. I got stubborn about staying where – and who – I was in life.