The Mercury Travel Club: Getting your life back on track has never been more funny!

by Helen Bridgett

  The only thing I’ve been able to do is focus on the business, which I suppose is just as well.

  Bookings have continued to flow in and cruise companies are now giving us fabulous discounts to hand on to people. We’re still working bloody hard to get people on holiday but at least now we have something extra to offer them.

  Charlie returns to us in one piece with no injuries or major catastrophes to report.

  ‘That’s a bit dull,’ I laugh. ‘How will we keep up our notoriety without a disaster or two?’

  ‘Well, this is doing the rounds of social media,’ he says.

  He flicks up a beautiful picture of a very handsome couple enjoying themselves against a backdrop of lovely acacia trees, or it would have been a beautiful picture if a huge baboon hadn’t photobombed them with his big blue bottom.

  ‘That’s ace,’ shrieks Josie, ‘it has to go on our end-of-year round-up.’

  We’ve been working on that end-of-year booklet together, gathering photographs of all the things we’ve done this year. I’d planned it as publicity for next year’s holidays, but I imagine that when we sit down and look through it, we’ll be astonished at just how much we’ve done, and it’s obviously not over yet.

  We’ll also be surprised by how much we’ve moved on. I mean to say, Patty is an entertainer on a cruise ship, Josie has been happily dating Matt since the wine tasting and Charlie? Hmm, I wonder why he hasn’t mentioned the Peter aspect of his trip at all. I’ll ask him when we close up.

  ‘This is the draft itinerary for next year’s travel club,’ I show him.

  I’ve added a few more adventurous activities like hot-air ballooning and by popular request have extended the musical cruise trips through the decades.

  ‘The January and February trips are selling well already,’ I say.

  ‘I’m not going on that rock and roll trip,’ warns Charlie. ‘All that jitterbugging and jiving is another heart attack waiting to happen.’

  ‘No, I didn’t think that would be you,’ I say. ‘I had you down either for a bit of Rat Pack or The Divas of Vegas.’

  ‘A fortnight of Bette and Mariah?’ he says. ‘Pack my linen suit now, I’m already on the boulevard.’

  ‘We need some longer long-haul trips in this. Our customers have the time now,’ suggests Charlie.

  ‘And road trips too – like driving Route 66 or Highway 101. We’ll organise everything and all you have to do is turn up and drive away in your Cadillac.’

  ‘Brilliant idea, very Thelma and Louise,’ I say jotting it down. I’d love to do that.

  ‘I met so many people ticking off bucket lists,’ he continues, ‘sad in a way but inspiring too; at least they’re going for it while they can.’

  ‘Talking of which,’ I say jumping on the opportunity, ‘did you go for it? With Peter?’

  ‘We had a wonderful time,’ he replies, ‘glorious.’

  That doesn’t answer my question and I have to probe further.

  ‘But what happened to “he’s the one”?’ I ask. ‘I half-expected you to come back sporting matching ethically-sourced diamond rings.’

  ‘I crumbled,’ he sighs. ‘I just couldn’t do it. There we were in the most glorious setting overlooking the sea, waves crashing into the cliffs, the night air filled with the scent of jasmine and I looked across at him and thought to myself, this is just perfect.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What if he’d said no and I managed to ruin the most wonderful moment of my life? No it was safest to keep schtum,’ he replies.

  ‘Oh you big soft coward,’ I tease.

  ‘I know, but if it’s meant to be, there’ll be another moment,’ he laments.

  I consider myself their fairy godmother as I got them together through the book-club weekend and I wonder if there’s anything I can do to create that moment for them.

  ‘Whatever you’re plotting, stop it,’ says Charlie, spotting the cogs whirring.

  I exclaim innocence.

  ‘I want the moment to happen naturally,’ he says.

  I promise not to interfere; after all, if I were any good at romance, wouldn’t I have created a successful love life for myself?

  * * *

  The whole country is now well settled into post-holiday work mode, getting on with the routine until the next big event, which is only ten weeks away: Christmas. Like everyone else, every day I battle the weather to get into the shop, I do as much business as I possibly can and then do battle again to prepare a warming ready meal for me and a delicious tin of cat food for Socks. Autumn brings its own sense of peace I always think; because it gets dark earlier, you don’t feel obliged to live outdoors for hours on end. You’re expected to curl up at home and who am I to disappoint?

  The scare of the hot summer is a constant reminder of the need to get next year’s bookings under the belt. I was terrified that the business would go under and having survived one storm, I’m not about to let this ship sink now.

  We produce a mid-year review with photographs and quotes reminding people what a fabulous time they had. I also use this to design an advert for the paper with the free space they gave us. We send calendars to our best customers printed with a Mercury Travel Club suggestion each month and we get a radio station talking to us about the bucket list trips that people take; Charlie’s doing that interview.

  All in all we’re giving it everything we have and customers are calling in. Charlie was right about people wanting to get away for longer. Snowbird trips, where customers go away for the whole of the winter, are our top sellers. Our first Mercury Club adventure is a dog-sled holiday to Lapland. Josie has been nominated to go on that one and is taking Matt; as much as I’d love to see the Northern Lights, I’d like it to happen somewhere warmer. Being Aussie she’s curious to try minus twenty-five-degree weather and three feet of snow. Glad someone is.

  In the midst of all this activity, I get a call from the Entrepreneur of the Year awards telling us that we’ve been shortlisted.

  ‘That’s brilliant news,’ I say. ‘What do we have to do now?’

  ‘Customer feedback is important to any business, so for the next stage,’ says the caller, ‘we’d like to hear what your customers think of you. Can you arrange that?’

  I tell her that I can, I know lots of people who’ll endorse us. I put down the phone and tell the others the news.

  We dance around the shop and start singing ‘We Are the Champions’ at the top of our voices. I hope we’re singing it again for real in a few weeks’ time.

  I Blame Noah

  Although his recommendation alongside the dramatic rescue pictures would be hard for anyone to beat, I can’t ring Alan as he’s entering these awards too. Maybe I should just check that he still is before completely dismissing the idea.

  I don’t get as far as asking him.

  ‘So glad you called,’ he yells down the line as if we’re the best of friends.

  ‘I wanted to invite you to a bit of a gathering at my place. Charlie too, and of course any plus-ones but not your mum if you can avoid it. After the last time she was here...’

  I imagine that was Amanda’s instruction and giggle to myself. I can’t think of a reason to decline quickly enough, so end up accepting. I wish my partner in crime was at home. If she weren’t gallivanting around on a cruise ship...

  a) I’d have a plus one

  b) I’d have something better to do in the first place and could have refused easily

  However...

  c) She’d be so curious as to why he’d invited me to a party we’d have to go anyway.

  I don’t want to turn up alone, so call Zoe to see if she wants to go together.

  ‘I’m taking someone, Mum,’ she practically blushes down the line.

  Blimey, everyone is going in two by two: Charlie is with Peter and Josie is with Matt. So I call Caroline. Fortunately, she is curious to meet the evil home-breaker I’ve told her about so agrees to come along. You can bet he’ll be on the charm offen
sive the whole night.

  Of course, I need to look stunning and yet casual at the same time. I need to look successful and desirable yet unattainable.

  ‘... and it can’t look as if I’ve made any effort,’ I tell the personal shopper helping me achieve this impossible yet much-sought-after standard. I’ve come to the conclusion that only the fabulously wealthy ever achieve it.

  Amanda has gone for the same effect and we greet eachother in matching ‘simple yet flattering’ silk blouses with one piece of statement jewellery. We glance knowingly at each other.

  I half expect the room to stop and stare at me when I walk in, all whispering, ‘What’s she doing here?’ but they don’t. I’m introduced to a couple of people as the woman who saved Alan’s life rather than his ex-wife, which I guess makes it easier on everyone and explains my invitation. I look round at their lifestyle: the apartment is tasteful, the seafood canapés delicious and the wine chilled; just what I expected. Perhaps I should sneak a photo or two for Patty.

  Zoe walks in and I’m surprised to see the man she’s with is considerably older than her. She looks so happy, unlike Alan who cannot hide the glower when he’s introduced.

  ‘Classic Father Figure substitution,’ says Caroline as she watches the scene and reads everyone’s mind.

  I nudge my way through the room to give her a big hug and shake his hand warmly. James heads up a local firm of architects and they’ve been dating for a couple of months now. They want to talk to me about booking somewhere nice for his fortieth birthday next year. It’s a good job Patty isn’t here: a forty-year-old is her definition of a toy boy.

  There are a few people here I know, couples who knew Alan through work and sided with him on the divorce. We talk about the new business, exchange other pleasantries and promise to keep in touch now that ‘the dust has settled’. Yeah, right, you weren’t there when I needed you; there’ll be no mates-rates for you.

  I’m not watching where I’m going and manage to headbutt a very solid torso. I know who it is before I even look up.

  ‘Ed, how are you?’ We air kiss.

  ‘I heard you’d been invited,’ he says. ‘Do you two get on now?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t kill him when I got the chance.’

  I laugh but it sounds far more sinister than I’d intended, so I remind him about the whole heart-attack episode. It dawns on him that I’m kidding.

  ‘I’d probably put Sherlock Holmes on that case,’ he smiles, referring to our joint love of detective novels.

  ‘I’d never get away with it, then,’ I laugh.

  Despite his innocent faux pas and our disastrous night together, he’s a nice guy. I’m about to ask to come back to the book club when Alan gets everyone’s attention by clinking his glass.

  ‘Everyone, could I have your attention for a moment,’ he says.

  The guests turn towards him.

  ‘I wanted to have this little party to celebrate life. As many of you know, hell I think the whole country knows, I had a little heart incident this summer.’

  A ripple starts around the room. Boy is he milking this.

  ‘And it made me realise how lucky I am, a beautiful daughter, great friends.’ He points his glass at me and I nod in response.

  ‘And a wonderful partner,’ he continues. ‘Scares like that make you realise that you may not see tomorrow so make the most of today.’

  He pulls Amanda towards him and kisses her passionately; OK so I’m at the back of the room but I am here. This feels weird.

  ‘In fact, that’s exactly what I’m going to do right now.’

  Oh no; surely not – in front of me?

  He gets down on one knee and grabbing a napkin ring holds it up to Amanda. Everyone gasps, Charlie and Peter move to either side of me and hold me between them.

  ‘Darling, will you marry me?’ asks Alan.

  I don’t hear the response as my knees give way and the guys rush me out to the balcony.

  ‘He didn’t warn you that he was going to do that?’ asks Charlie and I shake my head, which is still attached to my body so didn’t explode with incredulity after all.

  ‘It was obviously an impulsive move,’ says Peter. ‘People don’t think these things through enough. That’s why there’s so much divorce.’

  He checks himself.

  ‘Sorry Angie, I just meant that I think you have to be sure,’ he continues and I can see Charlie’s relief at not having acted on impulse on the trip.

  We head back into the lounge where Alan is standing between Amanda and Zoe for photographs while James stands to the side. It’s one of those new family photographs that I dreaded seeing at the beginning. This will adorn the shelves of their house and will eventually be joined by a wedding photograph and, Lord help us, surely not a christening one? Is Amanda young enough?

  ‘Earth calling Mars.’ Charlie is waving his hand in front of my face, trying to change the subject. ‘James – what do we think?’

  I shake myself from the daydream. Technically, Zoe and Amanda could have babies at the same time. Alan would celebrate his sixtieth with a four-year-old in tow, rather him than me.

  ‘I need to go home,’ I say.

  I make my goodbyes, relieved to see that Caroline is talking to Ed so I’m not abandoning her. Charlie and Peter leave with me.

  ‘He seems nice,’ I answer getting back to the conversation as soon as we’re in fresh air. ‘A lot older than her, but seems nice. I just hope that there isn’t an older wife left behind at his house and that Zoe isn’t a trophy girlfriend.’

  ‘How ironic would that be,’ adds Charlie and then mouths ‘sorry’.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says Peter, ‘there’s no wife at home, I know him. He’s a workaholic, never had time for relationships before. In fact, I’m surprised to see him prised away from his drawing board now.’

  ‘That’ll suit Zoe,’ I reply, ‘but how on earth did they meet?’

  ‘A networking event,’ continues Peter, ‘and if you two want to win that award, it wouldn’t do you any harm to go to one.’

  Maybe so, but my next social engagement will be with my daughter to find out everything I can about the man who seems to be making her smile again. I took a picture of them both on my phone as we left the party and if I want to find out everything then I’ll need an accomplice. I’m sure that my mother will be only too delighted to turn Chief Inquisitor once again.

  Happy Families

  ‘Men my age are still living at home with their mothers,’ explains Zoe.

  Sensible boys I think to myself.

  ‘They’ve got uni debts, nowhere to live and someone still does their washing. They just haven’t grown up, it’s awful,’ she continues.

  ‘And they’ve got them beards now,’ adds Mum helpfully.

  We’re in the bar of Zoe’s hotel; being the grandmother of the manager is still suiting her very well; she heads off to say hello to the staff and no doubt blag some snacks.

  ‘How long have you known him?’ I ask, hoping the generic question brings out the answers to everything else I want to know.

  ‘About three months,’ she answers and I realise that was around the time of the heatwave and my obsession with the business.

  ‘We held a network event for local businesses.’

  Peter was right.

  ‘And he came to that?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ explained Zoe, ‘he’d already been commissioned to do some design work for the hotel so was working on it. He was sitting in a quiet part of the lounge trying to avoid everyone and we bumped into each other when I tried to do the same; two loners together.’

  She smiles reminiscing.

  ‘And,’ I prompt.

  ‘We just talked about his designs, the hotel and about you.’

  I let her continue.

  ‘I told him you’d been thrown lemons after the divorce but had made exceptionally good lemonade with them. I told him I was proud of you,’ she says.

  I’ve never heard he
r say this before and it melts my heart. I take her hands and thank her.

  ‘But stop changing the subject,’ I prod. ‘I want to know all about this man.’

  ‘That conservatory thing is nice.’ Mum returns from her wanderings.

  ‘The atrium,’ corrects Zoe. ‘James designed that; he’s very talented.’

  ‘Is he rich?’ asks Mum, getting to the point.

  ‘Gran, you can’t ask questions like that,’ exclaims Zoe.

  Mum shrugs an ‘I just did’.

  ‘He’s successful, yes,’ concedes Zoe, ‘because he’s very good at what he does.’

  ‘He’s a lot older than you, though. Does he have any kids or other skeletons locked in the closet?’

  Go for it, Mum.

  ‘Yes, he’s thirty-nine and no, he doesn’t have any children or ex-wives or ex-husbands. As far as I know, he’s not an axe-murderer and his gran is still alive so he hasn’t bumped her off either,’ says Zoe.

  ‘In fact,’ she continues, ‘his gran thought I might be a gold-digger preying on her wonderful grandson. Now she’s met me she thinks I’m the best thing since sliced white. Is there anything else, Gran?’

  ‘Gold-digger? My granddaughter? I’ll show her what’s what,’ splutters Mum.

  ‘Well she can’t wait to meet you now, I’ve told her you know all the best cake shops.’ Zoe plays Mum like the old wind instrument she is.

  My daughter is having fun. She’s laughing and smiling like any other twenty-year-old, making fun of her gran and her eyes are shining at last. After everything Alan and I have put her through this year it’s a joy to see her like this.

  ‘I have one question,’ I say. ‘Does he love you?’

  Zoe blushes.

  ‘I know it’s very early but I think he does, Mum, I really think he does.’

  It’s possible to burst with pride; it’s possible to cry with joy and to crush someone you love in a hug of sheer happiness. I know this because I do all three at that moment.

  ‘Then that’s all that matters,’ I say wiping my tears from her shoulder.

  Pressing the Flesh

  Manchester Town Hall is a testament to Victorian pride, vision and skill. It’s also a metaphor for life if you think about it, as I have a tendency to do.