‘I’m so sorry,’ I told Eli after the game was over. He’s never liked to lose.
‘It’s fine,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘It’s an old person game anyway, I’d kill them on a GTA game.’
Hopefully he didn’t mean that too literally.
Now, in what I want to call a change of pace, but the pace is still oh-so slow, we’re doing water aerobics with my mum and dad – yep, Eli too. My dad nagged us both to take part, so, in the end, for a laugh, we agreed to do it if the other person did. It’s so much fun having Eli around, he feels like the sibling I never had. On all those family holidays growing up, or even at Christmases and birthdays at home, when I could have done with an ally but didn’t have a brother or sister to have my back… here, now, with Eli on my side, I know what it feels like and it’s amazing. It turns out I don’t mind doing lame, goofy crap when I have a buddy to do it with me and have a laugh with.
Thankfully the swimming pool is indoors, because I went outside for a stroll earlier and I was positively freezing. It’s more than just ‘indoors’ though, it’s like indoors but outdoors. The ship boasts an absolutely stunning atrium – a subtropical paradise – with a huge pool, lots of greenery, a bar with lots of tables and chairs. It feels a little bit like being at the beach, which is very odd and jarring given how freezing it is outside.
‘Oh my days, it’s like being at Center Parcs,’ my mum exclaimed as we walked through the door.
It is definitely much nicer than Center Parcs – we’re on a five-star cruise, for crying out loud.
It’s so strange, being so warm, surrounded by so much greenery and water when you’re in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, in April. You walk into the pool like you would the sea, there aren’t any steps and, bizarrely, people are seemingly sunbathing on sun loungers around the edges of the pool, lying back with their sunglasses on, or reading books, enjoying cocktails. So, so bizarre.
Not as bizarre as water aerobics though.
It seems strange that this is exercise. I mean, we’re in a swimming pool – swimming would probably be way better exercise.
‘It’s so the old dears don’t put their hips out,’ my mum tells me when I complain under my breath.
‘I think it’s exhilarating and relaxing,’ my dad says as he navigates a foam noodle, although navigates is perhaps too optimistic a term.
‘You look like you’re making a low-budget remake of Tremors,’ I tell him before turning to Eli. ‘You almost look like you’re having fun.’
‘It is kind of fun,’ he says as he lifts his knees up, one after the other, over his foam noodle. ‘But maybe that’s just because I’m good at it.’
‘Implying I’m not?’ I reply. ‘Fine, and I know you think you’re using reverse psychology on me, and you might be, but the fact that I recognise it cancels it out, so there.’
‘And yet there you go, playing with your noddle in front of all these people,’ he says.
God, it’s actually quite tiring, now that I’m trying. The water makes it somehow easier and harder to move my limbs, especially my legs. On the one hand, my body wants to float, which is great on the way up, but on the way back down it’s a battle. You’ve got to take your dorky mandatory swimming cap off to everyone in this pool giving it their all, I’m knackered.
‘OK, now, I hope you’re ready to make a splash,’ our bright, bubbly instructor tells us via the headset sitting on her ear which pumps out through the sound system. ‘We’re going to take it up a notch.’
As she leads us into some kind of high-energy water dance, with lots of arm flapping and jumping up and down, I find myself having a blast, mucking around on the edges with Eli. Well, if a serious businessman like him can let his hair down, then so can I. I laugh, I sing along to the Abba medley we’re working out to, I flail around in the water with all the grace of a sea lion (and potentially the figure to boot) even though I’m wearing a slightly too small two-piece that Eli talked me into on our shopping trip. If I’m honest, I bought the bikini completely sober because I didn’t think I’d be using it except for maybe in the spa, where there wouldn’t be too many eyes on me. Still, I'm styling it out here in the pool in front of all these people, I just keep having to give my boobs a courtesy grab to stop them popping out during the moves that involve the most movement.
As I bounce in the water with Eli to the tune of ‘I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do’, we serenade each other. With one boob grasped firmly in each of my hands, I look to the side of the pool. The music goes quiet for just me, as Josh and a pretty young woman with honey blonde hair walk past in what seems like slow motion. I notice them a split second before they notice me, but it doesn’t give me enough time to take off my swimming cap, put down my boobs and stop Eli singing and dancing with me, even though I’ve stopped.
Josh gives me a wave and an amused smile. The woman must realise we know each other. She just laughs. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like an age. They don’t stop to chat – thank God.
‘Oh look, it’s lover boy with a girl,’ Eli says. ‘You don’t need him. You don’t, you don’t, you don’t, you don’t, you don’t.’
He sings this in time with the music, which makes me laugh, but I can feel my face all flushed with neat embarrassment.
As the intro to ‘Does Your Mother Know’ plays, I make my way towards the ‘shore’ of the pool.
‘That’s it, my boobs can’t take it,’ I tell Eli. ‘This one is too fast; it will be full indecent exposure.’
‘Wait, I’ll come with you,’ he says.
We walk out of the pool and in the direction of our table, where our things are – including our towels. It feels like one of the longest walks of my life, hugging my body to hide how self-conscious I feel in my bikini.
‘Cardio kills your muscles,’ Eli explains to me as we walk. ‘I really ought to get to the gym – I’ll go in the morning, maybe.’
‘Mmm, yes,’ I say, not really listening as I pull off my awful pink swimming cap. ‘Wait, what? Exercising is bad for your body?’
‘Cardio kills your gains, everyone knows that,’ he tells me. ‘These are what I like to call vanity muscles. I don’t want to exercise, I just want Tom Hardy to s—’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ I blurt, interrupting him before he can tell me exactly what he wants Tom Hardy to do to him. ‘They’re sat at the table next to ours.’
‘Oh,’ he replies. ‘Hmm, well, I’ll just go and get your stuff if you like?’
‘Would you?’ I say. ‘Thank you.’
‘Yeah, no worries,’ he says. ‘Oh, wait, he’s seen you.’
‘Oh, great, now it will look weird if I walk away, won’t it?’
‘It will definitely look like you’re avoiding him,’ Eli replies. ‘Balls to him. You don’t need to hide from him. Go and get your shit with your head held high.’
‘Yeah, except I feel self-conscious in my itsy-bitsy teenie-weenie red-would-make-a-porn-star-blush bikini,’ I say.
‘OK, you look incredible, for the record, but if you feel that awkward, just walk behind me. I’ll block their view of you while you grab your towel.’
‘It’s worth pointing out, you are the love of my fucking life,’ I say, hoping it shows my gratitude.
As promised, Eli walks just enough steps ahead of me to block their view of me. As we reach the table, he casually tosses a towel back to me, which I quickly wrap around my body. After giving me a few seconds to get covered up, Eli steps out of the way.
‘Hello, Rosie,’ Josh says.
‘Oh, Josh, hi,’ I say as though I’ve just seen him. I'm not sure he’s buying it.
‘Enjoying the water aerobics?’ he asks with a cheeky glint in his eye.
I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks again. I suppose it’s good that he isn’t being awkward with me after I bailed on breakfast. He’s always been so chilled out.
‘Oh, she just does that for me,’ Eli says as he places a hand on my arse, pulling me close to him.
‘The one and only,’ Eli tells him with a wink. ‘We’re… casual.’
Oh, God. Now I’m blushing for a different reason.
‘Who’s your friend?’ Eli asks him.
‘This is Amanda,’ he says. ‘She’s one of the other singers.’
‘Hello,’ she says in a strong North London accent.
‘Hey,’ Eli says. ‘Are you a tribute act too?’
‘I am,’ she says, all smiles. ‘I’m the ship’s answer to Adele. I used to be an Amy Winehouse tribute, once upon a time, but it didn’t feel right after she passed away… so, I adapted, dyed my hair, and now I do Adele.’
‘I suppose with your accent…’ Eli points out.
‘Oh, you don’t have to be a cockney to be an Adele tribute, but it helps,’ she jokes, ramping up the accent. ‘I don’t sing with it, obviously, but it helps with the on-stage persona.’
‘Fab,’ I say. ‘Fab, fab, fab. Well, we’re off for lunch, aren’t we, Eli?’
‘We’re just meeting our band for a quick drink, chat through our set. We’re the first ones here,’ Josh points out. Old habits die hard, I guess, it’s like he doesn’t want me to think he’s here alone with Amanda.
Right on cue, a twenty-something man with dirty blonde, blown-back hair approaches their table.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he says.
‘This is André, our cello player,’ Josh explains.
With all the speed and ease that Eli pulled me close, now he sharply pushes me away before André looks over in our direction.
‘This is my friend Rosie and Eli her—’
‘Friend,’ Eli interrupts Josh. ‘Her friendly neighbourhood Eli.’
For the first time since we got reacquainted, super buff, super rich, super cool Eli doesn’t seem all that cool at all. Take that dorky joke, for example. I can practically see his cringe ripple through his muscles.
‘Nice to meet you both,’ André says.
‘Anyway, we were going for food, right, Eli?’ I say, gesturing away from the bubble of awkwardness we’ve found ourselves in.
‘Us? I don’t think so,’ Eli replies. ‘That’s later. Right now we said we’d sit at the table here and have a drink.’
‘You’re welcome to join us,’ Josh suggests. I want to throw him in the pool. Him first, then Eli, I just might need someone to help me shift him. The only thing bigger than Eli’s muscles is his ego, apparently.
‘We’d love to,’ Eli says, pulling up a chair. ‘Wouldn’t we, Rosie?’
‘Oh, God, yes, love to,’ I say. With each word, my faux enthusiasm grows, but my overcompensation just makes me come across as sarcastic.
As a few more members of the band arrive, I sink into my chair a little. This is made all the worse by the fact that everyone here looks lovely and then there’s me, in my towel, with damp hair and I daren’t even think about what my make-up must look like after being repeatedly splashed in the face during water aerobics.
I know what you’re thinking, isn’t Eli soaking wet and wearing a towel too? Well, no, Eli hasn’t bothered with a towel, that would cover up his ‘vanity muscles’. And he looks amazing soaking wet, like Daniel Craig fresh out of the ocean. I look like a wet mutt.
‘We’re sharing a set tonight, if you’d like to come along,’ Josh tells me, trying to pull me into the conversation.
‘We’d love to,’ Eli says with the most enthusiasm of anyone I’ve ever witnessed.
‘I can’t tonight, I have plans with my mum and dad after dinner,’ I say. ‘But you should go, Eli.’
‘Don’t you need me for moral support?’ he asks me quietly.
‘Nah, I’ll be fine, you go and have fun.’
‘You’re a star,’ he tells me, patting me on the shoulder.
I frown at him.
‘Well, I was going to kiss you on the cheek, but I don’t want André thinking I’m straight.’
‘Straight guys don’t kiss me on the cheek,’ I point out.
‘They don’t kiss you anywhere,’ he jokes. ‘Zing.’
I don’t say much, trying to keep out of the conversations as best I can. Instead, I wait until my mum and dad show up at our table to get their towels.
‘Oh, that’s my mum and dad, I’d better go,’ I say.
‘Josh Pearson,’ my mum says, before I get chance to make my escape. ‘Look at you all grown up.’
Josh hurries to his feet to give my mum a kiss on the cheek.
‘See,’ Eli whispers to me under his breath.
‘Oh, that doesn’t count,’ I say. ‘You’re allowed to kiss up a generation.’
‘That’s always been my experience,’ he jokes.
‘I was grown up the last time you saw me, Evie,’ Josh tells her with a smile.
‘Oh, I know, but you’re all manly now,’ she points out. ‘Just like Eli. What is it with your exes, Rosie, getting all manly?’
I look at Eli, who looks at André to see if he’s heard that. He has.
‘I’m not just an ex… I’m like an ex-ex,’ he babbles, whatever that means. ‘I went out with Rosie before I realised I was gay.’
Oh, so that’s what that means.
Everyone falls silent.
‘Would you look at the time,’ I say, with no plausible way of knowing what the time is. ‘I’d better go and start getting ready for dinner.’
‘Oh, I’ll come with you,’ Eli says. I think he knows he’s said the wrong thing – well, not the wrong thing, but the wrong thing for me in this situation.
‘No, no, catch me up later,’ I insist as I hurry off.
I don’t know if it’s from cringing too hard or the water aerobics, but I get a cramp in my leg all of a sudden. It’s so painful and the tightness makes it hard to put my foot down. Still, I carefully turn on my heels to walk away.
How on earth am I supposed to live that little display down, huh? So much for my ‘Rosie Outlook’. It’s really letting me down at the moment.
15
Something isn’t right this evening; I can feel it…
I started feeling a little bit anxious when Eli announced that he was bailing on dinner to go and hang out with the band. Having already announced that I was busy this evening (and still not wanting to hang out with Josh and Amanda), he left me with no choice but to go for dinner alone. Well, I knew that I wouldn’t technically be alone, I’d be with my parents and our fellow diners, but I – the only young/sane person – would be all alone for sure.
I slipped into one of my new dresses – a long, black number, because I’m mourning my dignity, apparently – and headed for the dining room, where my parents, mother-daughter duo Linda and Karen, and ship bachelors Colin and Clive were already seated, except this time everyone was positioned just a little differently. Rather than leave two spaces next to each other as you would expect, the two spare seats were separate, one between my dad and Linda, and one between my mum and Clive.
‘Sit with me,’ my mum insisted, so I did. We ordered our drinks and then our food, and it all seemed fine… until now.
‘Clive is divorced,’ my mum tells me.
‘Sorry to hear that,’ I tell him.
‘Oh, don’t be,’ he says through a mouthful of whitebait. ‘Better off rid. She was bleeding me dry – or trying to at least.’
‘Got to protect the old bank balance,’ Colin chimes in. ‘I won’t enter into anything without a signed agreement.’
God, I really hope he’s talking about business, or marriage at least. Anything else doesn’t bear thinking about.
‘And, Clive is only fifty-two,’ my mum says.
‘Oh wow, only fifty-two,’ I repeat back to her, but it goes over her head. She’s being weird, but I can’t quite work out why.
‘Yep, retired early,’ he says.
‘We all do, in the oil biz, you know,’ Colin adds. I don’t know.
‘I reckon that makes me the you
ngest bachelor on board,’ Clive tells me smugly. ‘Well, after your friend, of course. Your mum did tell me the two of you were just friends.’
‘What a terrible shame, that a strapping young lad like that can’t seem to get a girl,’ Colin adds.
‘Oh, for sure,’ I say. ‘I’m sure Eli would absolutely agree with you on that one.’
My mum gives me a semi-subtle nudge that is most likely designed to silently tell me to cut it out.
‘So I’m single, you’re single,’ Clive says. ‘Your mum thought it might be nice if we got a drink sometime, had a chat, got to know each other, just us.’
I choke on my drink.
‘Oh, did she really?’ I eventually reply.
‘Yes,’ he says hopefully. ‘I’m game if you are, just putting that out there.’
‘Speaking of my mum… Mum, I could do with popping to the loos, fancy coming with me?’
‘OK, darling,’ she says.
Oh, wow, she’s oblivious. She has no idea I’m going to try and lock her in a cubicle and leave her there until we get to New York because she’s trying to set me up with Clive. Oh my God!
‘Don’t be too long, ladies, I know what you lot are like with your gassing,’ Colin says – I assume he’s talking about chatting and not some other bathroom complaint. ‘They don’t give you long between the starter and the main.’
Well, when many of your guests are north of eighty years old, I don’t suppose there’s much time to waste.
‘Mum, what the hell are you doing?’ I ask her the second we are out of earshot. ‘Are you trying to set me up with Clive?’
‘I just thought it might be nice if you got to know each other,’ she says. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘He’s literally old enough to be my dad,’ I point out.
‘He’s a good man, he looks good, dresses nice and he could take care of you.’
‘I don’t need taking care of, Mum. I don’t care if he’s the most eligible bachelor on the RMS Over 55. Plus, I’m going to see Simon, remember? Simon who must have sent me the flowers because none of my other exes did.’
My Great Ex-Scape Page 9