My Great Ex-Scape

by MacIntosh, Portia

  I look up at the stage only to realise he’s not there. His band are currently playing an instrumental piece.

  ‘It’s from Josh,’ I tell my mum and Eli. ‘He says he only has a short break tonight, but he’s asked me to meet him for breakfast tomorrow.’

  ‘You have to,’ Eli insists. ‘I know you’re holding out for allegedly Sexy Simon, but this is your chance to have your weird little debrief.’

  ‘I’m not having weird little debriefs,’ I insist. ‘But I’m definitely going to catch up with him, have a chat, see how he is…’

  I probably will have a low-key debrief with him, just to see if there’s anything he can tell me about what might be wrong with my girlfriend game, although with Josh, I think I might know… Still, it will be nice to have a chat with him. More than anything, there’s just one question on my mind: how the hell did Josh wind up becoming a Michael Bublé impersonator?

  12

  Across a table of pastries, fruit, yoghurt, toast, eggs, sausages and bacon, Josh smiles at me.

  ‘I remembered that you loved breakfast,’ he starts. ‘I just wasn’t sure what you’d prefer.’

  I smile back, finally secure in the knowledge he remembers me, because I do love breakfast, in fact, our first date was a breakfast date, and it was a bit of a disaster to begin with. After my bad break-up with Simon, it was a little while before I even wanted to go on another date – Chris Hemsworth could have got down on one knee and proposed to me in the heart of a flash mob and I still would have said no. Josh and I were friends for a while, before we started dating. He actually helped me through my break-up quite a bit, before he even knew about it. We really were just great friends who turned into something more. It was only once we started dating that I told him what a mess Simon had left me in, but he kept helping me. He’s always helped me.

  So, when we organised out first date and Josh said he would pick me up at 9.30 – double checking to make sure the time was OK – I assumed it was because 9.30 in the evening was a little on the late side. I planned my outfit the day before and stayed up super late doing other miscellaneous date prep before going to bed. The next thing I knew I was waking up to Josh at my front door, at 9.30 a.m., because he was taking me on a breakfast date, not a late dinner date, so not only was I absolutely not ready, but the outfit I had planned was totally inappropriate. I had to throw something together and rush getting ready, without even washing my hair, but in the end none of it mattered. It was an amazing first date. The best one I’ve ever had.

  ‘Any – or all – of this is great, thank you,’ I assure him.

  ‘Don’t thank me too much,’ he says. ‘It’s an all-inclusive cruise, no one pays for food. I just assembled it.’

  ‘Well, it’s well assembled,’ I point out as I make myself comfortable in the seat opposite him, ready to unleash hell on the food in front of me. On the walk here I was so nervous. The thought of seeing Josh after all this time and having a conversation with him terrified me, there was no way I could even think about food… but now I’m here with him, I feel as comfortable as ever – starving too.

  The breakfast room – this particular one, anyway – has a wall of large windows which the morning light pours through. It’s cool and bright and almost impossibly blue from the sea and the sky. It’s sunny, but I’ll bet it’s chilly out on the deck.

  I pour myself a cup of tea from the adorable little Silverline cruise branded teapot on the table.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s you,’ Josh blurts. ‘Here, on a Silverline Cruise. Was that your parents you were with? And… boyfriend? Husband?’

  ‘Yep, I am on a Silverline Cruise with my parents. In my defence, I asked my dad to book me a trip on a cruise – I fancied a trip to New York while I’m off work – and he booked this one so… yeah. And Eli isn’t my boyfriend, I’m single.’

  I think it’s probably for the best that I don’t start banging on about my weird week or so. Josh clearly hasn’t seen the video of me getting dumped on live TV and I don’t exactly want to relive the embarrassment. I’m sure there will be a day, when I’m happily married with a couple of kids, where we’ll all gather round the TV in the family room to laugh at the time Mummy was on TV. Yep, I’m sure one day I’ll be able to see the funny side… but I am absolutely nowhere near that day today. And anyway, if he hasn’t seen the video, and he’s casually assuming Eli is my significant other, then he obviously isn’t the person who sent me the flowers. It never really seemed like something he would do, but I hadn’t ruled it out with all certainty until right now.

  ‘Eli? As in your ex-boyfriend Eli?’ Josh asks, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘The one and only,’ I say. ‘We’re just friends though.’

  He nods thoughtfully.

  ‘Never mind me,’ I start. ‘I can’t believe you’re a Michael Bublé tribute act.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Josh laughs awkwardly. ‘I just sort of fell into it.’

  ‘Do you enjoy it?’

  ‘I love it,’ he says. ‘It might not sound very cool, but I have so much fun.’

  Right on cue, a couple of old dears edge towards our table.

  ‘Good morning, ladies,’ he says, talking in a Canadian accent all of a sudden. I can’t say I don’t dig it, because I absolutely do. ‘How are we doing today?’

  ‘Oh, very good, Michael,’ one of them says.

  ‘Will I be seeing you for Luck be a Lady tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Michael,’ the other one says.

  ‘Well, all right, I’ll see you then,’ he says as he waves them goodbye.

  ‘Do… do they actually think you’re Michael Bublé?’ I ask once they’re out of earshot.

  ‘Nah, I don’t think so,’ he says, snapping back to his gentle Mancunian twang. ‘I think they just like the fantasy, to pretend it’s real… For the regulars on these cruises, the ship is like a world away from the real world. They get way into it.’

  ‘Sounds nice,’ I say thoughtfully. That’s exactly what I need.

  ‘I never thought you’d be a cruise-goer,’ he says as he sips his coffee.

  ‘I never thought you’d be a Michael Bublé impersonator,’ I say again. ‘On a cruise ship!’

  ‘I’ll miss it when I give it up,’ he says. I absolutely believe him. He might not be topping the UK Top 40 singles chart, but on this ship he’s the man. Everyone treats him like he’s a celebrity, he gets to sing fun, catchy songs every day – he’s living the dream in a world away from the real world, just like everyone else on the ship. It’s just nice to see him happy. ‘Still writing?’ he asks me.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Well, no… I suppose I’m between jobs at the moment.’

  ‘Ahh, you’ll find something,’ he reassures me. ‘You’re a brilliant writer.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t being properly utilised at my last job; it was soul-destroying. I just realised, all at once, that I’d had enough so I quit, booked a holiday and here I am.’

  I don’t need to mention the stuff about getting dumped live on TV. In fact, if no one could ever mention it again, that would be great.

  ‘Wow,’ he blurts. ‘That doesn’t sound like you at all.’

  ‘I’m going to keep coming back around to this,’ I warn him. ‘But you being Bublé is still the biggest shock of the day. You were this super cool indie kid with shaggy hair and scruffy clothes and now you’re some clean-cut, super smart manly-man.’

  Josh just laughs. ‘I grew up,’ he says. ‘You…’

  As Josh’s voice trails off, I realise that he was going to return the compliment before stopping himself. Well, someone in her thirties who rage-quits her job before blowing a bunch of money on a carelessly booked holiday isn’t exactly a girl who has blossomed into a grown woman, is she? I must look like such a hot mess, without too much emphasis on the hot part. I might still have youth on my side, but only just.

  I pick at my croissant awkwardly as I wrack my brain for something to say, but Josh beats me to it.
<
br />   ‘I’m sorry for the way things ended between us,’ he says. ‘Don’t think I don’t know this is the first time we’ve spoken since the last time… you know what I mean.’

  ‘I do,’ I reply. ‘And don’t worry about the break-up, we clearly weren’t working and we knew it.’

  ‘Hmm, nope, I’m not having that at all,’ he says, starting out kind of polite before getting more insistent as his short statement goes on. ‘We were great together. If I hadn’t got that job…’

  ‘We probably still would have broken up,’ I point out.

  ‘I don’t think we would,’ he replies.

  ‘We obviously would because, as soon as I realised you were willing to dump me for a job, that was it for me,’ I say firmly. I’ve never told him that.

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ he insists.

  ‘No, it really was,’ I say, unable to hide the frustration in my voice now.

  ‘If I hadn’t taken the job, I wouldn’t be where I am now, I had to take it,’ he says. ‘And I couldn’t have asked you to just sit around and wait for me to come back.’

  ‘You could’ve asked…’ I start, but what’s the point? ‘You know what, I think I’m going to go. It was nice to catch up, but I think we both know we broke up for a good reason. You’re here now. Well done.’ Oh, God, I’m babbling. I really do need to go.

  ‘Rosie, wait,’ he says. ‘Let’s not leave things like this.’

  ‘We had no trouble last time,’ I reply. As I stand up from the table, I somehow clip my teacup with my elbow, knocking what’s left of my cold tea all over the otherwise pristine white tablecloth. ‘I need to get back to my family,’ I insist, hurrying away, not even giving him chance to reply.

  So much for not embarrassing myself again.

  13

  ‘Oh, God, Eli, seriously?’ I ask, shielding my eyes.

  I’ve just walked back into our suite where Eli is still fast asleep on the sofa, except he must have kicked his covers off while I was out. He’s wearing an impossibly tiny pair of white underpants with an intimidatingly big bulge in them. He’s leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  ‘What?’ he asks as he wakes up. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘We need to get you some pyjamas,’ I insist, nodding towards his crotch.

  He’s still half asleep, but he laughs, looking at me through partially open eyes as he pulls the covers back over himself.

  ‘It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,’ he jokes.

  ‘I definitely haven’t seen that before,’ I insist, finally lowering my hands. ‘Either you’re stuffing your pants or you’ve been lifting weights with it.’

  Eli laughs. ‘When did you turn into such a prude, huh?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, calming down. ‘Just a bad morning.’

  ‘A bad morning? It’s not even 10 a.m. And weren’t you having breakfast with Josh?’

  ‘Yep, had it, spilled it on him, bickered with him about our break-up, felt myself getting upset, so I flounced off, probably shouldn’t have – you know me.’

  ‘Oh, Rosie,’ Eli says sympathetically. ‘Throw me that robe.’

  I do as he says. Eli puts the robe on and comes over to give me a hug.

  ‘We don’t care about this one anyway, do we?’ he reminds me.

  ‘We don’t,’ I say. ‘But it was still really embarrassing. At least we know he didn’t send the flowers.’

  ‘Good,’ Eli says. ‘He might be a babe, but I’m sure he’s no Sexy Simon, and if he didn’t send you the flowers, then fuck him – or not.’

  I laugh.

  ‘Ooh, grab me your laptop,’ I say. ‘I’ll see if I can show you what Sexy Simon looks like.’

  ‘Ooh, yes please,’ Eli says excitedly. He grabs his MacBook from the coffee table, punches in his password and hands it to me.

  When I looked Simon up before, as soon as I figured out where he worked, that was that. I had everything I needed. It didn’t occur to me to look much further than that, but, for illustrative purposes, I’m sure I’ll be able to find a picture of him online somewhere.

  ‘That is a nice website,’ Eli says enthusiastically as I scroll through Simon’s site, looking for a picture of him amongst all the snaps of gorgeous models. It baffles me that someone could be around women like this all day and still send flowers to my chunky butt.

  I notice an ‘About Me’ section and click the link before scrolling down to find a picture. There he is, Sexy Simon. It’s a mid shot black and white photo of him posing with his camera. From his chiselled facial features to his slender but obviously toned body, right up to the tips of his blonde hair, it’s safe to say that Sexy Simon is sexier than ever.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Eli says. ‘It’s a good job I put this robe on.’

  I laugh. ‘Out of my league, right?’

  ‘I’d be surprised if we could get him as a team,’ he jokes. ‘Why on earth did you let him go?’

  ‘He dumped me,’ I say plainly. ‘And it was absolutely my fault. I was convinced that he was cheating on me. Absolutely sure of it. I was suspicious for a whole bunch of reasons, so I started checking up on him, going through his phone, following him around…’

  ‘And how did that go down?’

  ‘Not well,’ I admit. ‘Let’s just say, it’s a good job I didn’t grow up to be a private detective like I had hoped, because I was not covert at all. It was frustrating because I could never quite get that smoking gun and a lack of any real evidence only made me more suspicious – like I’d hear his phone going off all night, but when I’d check it while he was in the shower he would have no messages. The lack of messages seemed just as damning as the messages themselves would’ve been, but I could never quite prove anything. Things escalated and by the time I realised he wasn’t cheating on me, that it was all in my head, he’d had enough. He dumped me.’

  ‘That’s rough,’ Eli says. ‘Suspicion changes a person though. Once you’ve been hurt, you’re just waiting for the next time. Do you still have trouble trusting?’

  ‘Not really, not like that. Josh helped me through it. He’d spend hours listening to me talk, he’d always be ready with extra reassurance, he’d be so open about everything – I never got the chance to feel suspicious with him.’

  ‘Wow, he sounds great,’ Eli says, before quickly changing course. ‘But not that great. Not Sexy Simon great. Perhaps now that you’ve got over your issues you won’t fuck it up this time.’

  ‘Thanks, buddy,’ I reply as he gives me a meaningful squeeze. ‘Great encouragement.’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for,’ he says.

  We’re interrupted by a knock on our suite door.

  ‘You’d better get it,’ Eli says, nodding towards his robe.

  ‘Oh, now you’re modest,’ I say with a chuckle as I head for the door.

  I look through the spyhole to see what I’d imagine is my dad’s enthusiastic doppelganger, but when I open the door I realise it is actually my dad… he’s just in full cruise mode. He’s wearing light, pastel colours which is unusual for him – chinos and a smart-casual shirt along with a pair of boat shoes that I suspect he bought for the occasion.

  ‘Now then, you two,’ he says giddily, clapping his hands together with such a force the noise makes my ears ring for a few second. ‘Have you just woken up?’

  I say no at the exact same time Eli says yes.

  ‘You need to get up,’ my dad says, ignoring me. ‘I’ve got such a fun day planned for you two, and Evie, I left her getting ready while I explored the ship. It’s big – it’s huge. It’s got everything.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it, Dad,’ I say. ‘But… can’t we just chill today?’

  ‘I’ve already booked us in for a bunch of stuff. Come on, where’s your holiday spirit?’

  I frown.

  ‘There you are,’ my mum says, sticking her head inside the open door behind my dad. ‘You’ve been over an hour, Tim – where have you been?’

  ‘I was just explorin
g the ship,’ my dad says. ‘It’s massive. It has three spas; can you believe it?’

  My mum laughs as she places a hand over her mouth.

  ‘Oh, Tim,’ she eventually says. ‘It doesn’t have three spas; it has one spa. You must have walked past it three times. Did you get lost?’

  My dad scratches his head. ‘I don’t think I did… God, this ship is big.’

  It feels like role reversal, me taking my parents on holiday instead of them taking me like they used to when I was a kid. I feel responsible for them, but it’s also really, really nice to see them having such a great time. It might be strange, seeing my dad so enthusiastic, but it’s wonderful too. He seems like a completely different person to the man who has, so far, spent the bulk of his retirement locked away in his shed.

  ‘OK, Tim, what’s first on the agenda?’ Eli asks. ‘I can be ready in forty minutes.’

  ‘You can be ready in fifteen,’ my dad corrects him. ‘We’re going to play shuffleboard.’

  ‘I don’t even know how to play,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t worry, they show you,’ my dad insists. ‘Just wait until you find out what I’ve got planned for after.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ I say as enthusiastically as I can.

  I dread to think what my dad has signed us up for, but, as long as it doesn’t involve Fake Bublé, I don’t suppose I mind…

  14

  Earlier this morning, if you’d told me that this afternoon I would be a shuffleboard expert, I’d tell you that you were crazy. And I’d be right. I still have no idea what I’m doing.

  Eli and I played against my mum and dad, who claim they haven’t played before, but I don’t think I believe them. It was a disaster, they absolutely crushed us.

  We all had a joint lesson with the same teacher – a guy called Saul – but somehow they ended up destroying us. I might be mostly to blame for this because there is a bit at the end of the court (the isosceles trapezoid was what Saul kept referring to it as, but I call it the ‘bit at the end’) where, if you land, you can actually end up losing points. So as fast as Eli was somehow scraping us points, I was losing them for us.