My Great Ex-Scape

by MacIntosh, Portia

  My mum stops dead outside the ladies’ room.

  ‘I just… I wouldn’t hang all my hopes on that,’ she says. ‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’

  ‘Why not?’ I say. ‘Mum, he obviously sent me flowers…’

  I don’t know how he found my address, but he’s a man of means, there are websites for this sort of thing, his mum is still in touch with my mum…

  A cold wave worthy of the Atlantic Ocean washes over me.

  ‘Mum…Mum, I’m only going to ask this once, OK?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did… Did you…’ I pause for a second. I can’t believe how stupid this is going to sound. ‘Did you send me those flowers?’

  ‘What? No! Of course not! Rosie Jones, how could you even ask me that?’

  ‘Shit, I’m sorry, Mum, I don’t know, I'm not thinking straight.’

  Before the words had even left my lips I knew that they were stupid, but my mum’s reaction is more than confirmation that she’s telling the truth because my mum can’t hide anything. She’s ruined every surprise party she’s ever tried to throw me and unless that was all in anticipation of needing to tell me one big lie (and have me believe it without question) one day, then I’m certain she’s telling the truth.

  ‘That’s OK, but try not to swear,’ she says. ‘Are you going to the loo?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ I say. ‘I just wanted to drag you away to tell you to stop trying to set me up with Clive.’

  ‘OK, let’s head back,’ she says as she takes me by the arm. ‘But, remember, you can do a lot worse than Clive.’

  ‘I can also do a lot younger, Mum, I’m not going to start dipping into divorcées just yet.’

  As we sit back down at the table, my mum’s words about me doing a lot worse than Clive bounce around in my head. He might only be fifty-two years old, but I’d assumed he was older when I met him. It’s his bottle-brown hair that I’m sure was intended to make him look younger, but somehow the extra effort just makes him look like he’s trying to hide his age. I like to think that I’ll grow old gracefully, but I’m thirty-one years old and slathering myself in anti-aging creams and lifting my breasts with super bras and I know that within seconds of spotting a grey hair I’ll be running to the salon, but that’s how we’ve all been programmed to think, isn’t it? Societal standards make us feel like it isn’t OK for a woman to age – for a man, it’s practically a badge of honour, getting that hot dad, salt-and-pepper, distinguished look. If I were Clive, I’d cash in on that and make the most of it. Just one of many ways in which my life would be better if I were a man. Less worry about growing old, no need to be concerned about biological clocks (which, recently, if it’s quiet enough at night, I hear ticking sometimes), no more pesky periods popping up when I don’t want them to (or not popping up when I do want them to because it turns out a tendency to be late can affect all aspects of life sometimes), no need to cake make-up on every day, I might even have been promoted at work already, although you can’t always just blame all of your problems on the patriarchy, can you?

  ‘We were just saying how romantic these cruises are when you have someone to share them with,’ Karen says, bringing me and my mum up to speed. Oh, great, we’re still on this.

  ‘Yes, no offence, Clive, but I’d much rather have a female companion,’ Colin says with a wiggle of his eyebrows in the direction of either Linda, Karen, or probably both.

  ‘You do have to be careful not to get carried away though,’ Karen warns. ‘I could tell you a story from when I worked on a cruise that you wouldn’t believe.’

  ‘Now this I’d love to hear,’ Colin says. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure we can all agree that cruise ships are great places for making love – but that the thrill of doing it outdoors is also an appealing concept,’ she starts, looking around the table for nods of agreement. I abstain. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ve all realised how thin the walls are on these ships…’

  Karen is so sure of so much.

  ‘Go on,’ Colin prompts, getting impatient.

  ‘We had this young couple – maybe in their mid-twenties – who decided to pop out onto their balcony for a bit of how’s your father. Must have been so romantic, out there at night, looking at the stars… except she falls overboard during the throes of passion.’

  ‘Oh my gosh, what happened to her?’ my mum asks.

  ‘He only goes and bloody jumps in after her, the daft git,’ Karen continues. ‘Sixty-foot drop from their balcony to the water. It was only once someone realised they were missing that we had to turn around, go back and look for them with the big searchlights on. We find him, naked as the day he was born, eventually, and we find her forty minutes later – he’d jumped in after her and not even bloody found her. Anyway, neither of them was seriously injured.’

  Wow, Karen is right, I don’t believe her.

  ‘Oh, the things we do for the opposite sex, huh?’ Colin muses.

  I mean, let’s just pretend that this ridiculous tale is true, and isn’t just something someone made up to try and scare people off having sex on their cruise ship balcony, because I’m sure it isn’t a practice that is as discreet as people hope it might be. Why on earth did he jump in after her? What did he think he was going to achieve? He would have been smarter throwing on a pair of pants and running out of his cabin to raise the alarm, that way they could have stopped and searched for her right away, save the two of them bobbing around in the sea for God knows how long. They’re just lucky it wasn’t this cruise because you wouldn’t last long literally chilling in the sea out here, waiting for someone to realise you were missing – however, it’s worth noting that this is also information that I have gathered from the movie Titanic, which, yes, I do regret watching before going on a transatlantic cruise, but I’ve never been on a cruise before so it’s the only real point of reference I have. The only movie that would have been more stupid to watch would have been The Poseidon Adventure, which Colin made sound like an absolute nightmare.

  ‘I’d risk it,’ Clive tells me with a couple of awkward elbow nudges.

  Actually, if the ship could just flip upside down right now, that would be amazing. Anything to get me out of this horrifically awkward situation.

  16

  You know, for an over-55s cruise, most of the guests have a lot of energy. More than I do, that’s for sure. Me, on my best day, after a rare full night of sleep with no hangover, no worries or a post-pizza bloat, still wouldn’t be able to keep up with the ship aerobics. I thought the water aerobics was full-on – it turns out they are for the people with reduced mobility; apparently it’s much easier for people with problems to move around an exercise in water. And I couldn’t even hack that.

  Eli wanted to get up early and go to the gym – because it turns out that, when he meets someone he fancies, his motivation comes surging back – and he somehow managed to talk me into going with him. Not wanting to lift weights or bust my butt on a treadmill, I decided to join in with a little light aerobics, but honestly, I’m knackered now.

  If there’s one thing a Silverline cruise does, it is redefining what it means to be old. These people might be older, but they’re certainly not like your stereotypical old person.

  As I sat at one of the tables at the side of the gym, trying to get my breath and work out how to mainline my bottle of Lucozade, a little old lady in a bright pink tracksuit sat down next to me. Her name was Doris and I was surprised to learn that she has fourteen grandchildren. I was even more surprised to learn that she had broken her hip last year and had it fully replaced because she was probably the person in the class with the most energy. She told me she had been through months of rehabilitation to get to where she is now, with the cruise at the end of it as her reward – it was the one thing that pushed her to get better, knowing she had a holiday to look forward to. I asked her how recently she had finished her rehab and she told me that right now was when she had finished. This was her first proper burst of exerc
ise on her own, not for rehab or with a physiotherapist breathing down her neck. She did this for herself, and now she’s knows that she’s better. Isn’t that amazing? This eighty-something woman who, even after going through so much, never gave up and can still run rings around me. What the hell am I doing with my life that’s so impressive, huh? I’m on a cruise that I paid for with money that was handed to me for absolutely nothing I did right, heading to New York for a man I haven’t seen in years, who may or may not have sent me flowers… I feel pathetic in comparison, and I absolutely should. I need to learn a thing or two from Doris, about motivation, life goals and personal growth. But not right now because I’m starving and, now that we’re showered, we are meeting my mum and dad for breakfast, and thankfully, breakfast is a buffet, which means we can grab what we want and sit where we like, so our table buddies won’t be there.

  ‘You know my mum tried to set me up with Clive last night,’ I tell Eli as I lean over to grab a chocolate chip muffin.

  ‘You can do a lot worse than Clive,’ he jokes as he loads his plate up with all the protein-heavy breakfast foods.

  ‘Oh, stop it, that’s what my mum said,’ I tell him. ‘What was she thinking?’

  ‘She probably just saw – what looks to her at least –a young, successful man who could take care of her baby girl. The second-best one after me, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ I echo. ‘But she knows I’m only taking this trip to go and see Simon.’

  ‘I just wouldn’t put all your eggs in one basket,’ Eli says as he grabs out teapots and cups.

  ‘That’s what my mum said too,’ I say. ‘Why does everyone keep saying that?’

  ‘You just never know, do you? He looks good, it seems like he sent you the flowers, but don’t pin your everything on one thing.’

  ‘That’s easy to say when you’ve got everything you want,’ I point out. ‘But point taken.’

  ‘Speaking of things that I want,’ Eli starts, lowering his tone slightly as we walk past a group of older ladies navigating the breakfast buffet. ‘André… oh my God.’

  ‘You two have a good evening together then?’ I ask.

  Eli got back to our suite last night long after I’d got back from dinner with my parents and fallen asleep watching Sex and the City on Eli’s laptop. I didn’t think he’d get back so late, I figured he’d join me and we could watch it together, just like we used to do when we first started going out. But the next thing I knew I’d woken up to go to the bathroom at 4 a.m. and there he was, fast asleep face down on the sofa, stinking of booze. At first I was a little bit annoyed that he’d stayed out so late getting drunk, but then I felt like the nagging wife getting her knickers in a twist over her seemingly carefree husband going out and doing his own thing while she’s stuck at home watching TV and stuffing her face with the ship-branded chocolate coins she bought from the shop on the way back to her suite.

  ‘I’m glad you had a nice time,’ I say, and I do mean it. Eli is such an incredible man; he deserves to have everything he wants in life.

  ‘It was great – I don’t know if it’s just because I’ve been around old people for too long, but those band kids can party. Most of them drank me under the table.’

  ‘Was Josh there?’ I ask curiously. I immediately kick myself for asking because it makes it sound like I care.

  ‘He was,’ Eli replies simply.

  ‘What about Amanda?’

  Oh, God, now it really sounds like I really care and I don’t. I really don’t. I swear, I don’t. We all keep curious tabs on our exes, don’t we? If not because we want good things for them, then just because it’s a great way to measure our own success as adults, via theirs. With Eli, I have both. I care about him and want amazing things for him, but I can also look at how well he’s doing and see that I have achieved absolutely nothing in my adult life. Seriously, nothing. I’m single, I don’t own my own home, I haven’t done a very good job at maintaining grown-up friendships and now, well and truly hammering that final nail into my coffin, I have bailed on my career. I do keep wondering about that last part, if it really was the best thing for me to do. They say that it’s much easier to find a job when you already have one, don’t they? And that gaps in CVs ought to have reasonable explanations. Telling potential employers that I rage-quit my job, because I hated it, after somehow landing myself on a quiz show, where I not only won a chunk of money but also went embarrassingly worldwide viral, doesn’t sound like a reasonable explanation, does it?

  ‘Yeah, she was there too,’ he says. ‘You think something is going on between them?’

  ‘Do you?’ I ask. ‘You were out with them all night.’

  ‘That’s true, I was… but you only notice these things if you care.’

  ‘Well, I don’t care,’ I say. ‘So I haven’t noticed.’

  ‘Here they are,’ my dad announces as Eli and I sit down at the table with him and my mum.

  I cannot get used to this fun-loving, giddy, enthusiastic holiday version of my dad; it just doesn’t feel right. If this were happening in reverse, they would probably be asking me if I were on drugs before organising some sort of intervention for me. I haven’t seen someone’s temperament shift so quickly since the last time I watched The Shinning (through the gaps in my fingers, admittedly – I really am a big baby).

  ‘Raring to go?’ he asks.

  ‘You know it,’ Eli replies enthusiastically. ‘What’s on today’s agenda, Tim?’

  ‘Luck be a Lady,’ he says, as though we’re supposed to know what that means.

  I blink at him blankly for a few seconds until he realises.

  ‘It’s a special thing at the casino.’

  ‘Yes!’ Eli chirps.

  ‘No,’ I quickly add. ‘What am I going to do in a casino?’

  ‘Gamble,’ my dad says.

  ‘Cheers, Dad, I know that’s what happens in casinos,’ I tell him. ‘But I'm not a gambler – I’m not a naturally lucky person. Never have been.’

  ‘Didn’t you just win £50k on a quiz show?’ Eli asks.

  ‘Yes, and it ruined my life,’ I point out melodramatically. ‘I finally get a blast of good luck and my entire life crumbles around it. I swear to God, that money is cursed.’

  ‘OK, now you’re just being ridiculous,’ my mum chimes in. ‘There’s no such thing as curses.’

  ‘OK, sure, but that money cost me my boyfriend, my job and my anonymity. I used some of it to book a cruise which I absolutely shouldn’t be on, not for another three or four decades at least, and I bought a bunch of clothes I can’t exhale in, thanks to one of the three ex-boyfriends I’ve bumped into so far – all of whom I’ve embarrassed myself in front of, big time.’

  ‘Still, you might be good at blackjack,’ my dad reasons.

  I puff air from my cheeks.

  ‘OK, fine, I’ll come and watch,’ I say, giving in. Sometimes it’s just easier to give in, isn’t it?

  ‘And I’ll come and play,’ Eli says. ‘I love casinos. Love cards, love roulette, love gambling – I’ll happily ruin my life in there.’

  God, I hope he’s joking.

  ‘But don’t people say that the house always wins?’ I ask. Everyone knows that.

  ‘But you know what else people say, right? It’s the taking part that counts.’

  ‘They absolutely don’t say that about gambling,’ I point out. ‘At least if I’m spectating, I can stop you betting away your flat or one of your kidneys or whatever.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ he chirps giddily. ‘Man, I thought this was going to be a dull old folks’ cruise, but I’m actually starting to have the time of my life.’

  ‘It’s fantastic, isn’t it?’ my dad says. ‘Thanks so much for bringing us, Rosie.’

  Seeing that giddy little smile on his face does make the whole thing absolutely worth it, but I can’t say I’m having a fantastic time. For me, the fun is going to start when I get to New York. I’ve always wanted to visit but, perhaps this comes from bei
ng a writer and a huge Sex and the City fan, it just feels like somewhere someone like me should visit. I love the glitz and glamour that comes with life in big cities and New York is certainly a big city – way bigger than Manchester. I could definitely see myself living there, especially now I’m free of basically any and all responsibilities back at home. A new start would be right up my street, not that I’m getting ahead of myself or anything. I think Manhattan life would suit me, if I could bag myself a well-paid newspaper column, a Mr Big and a gang of very supportive, outrageous friends who all enjoy ridiculously active social lives. Gosh, that’s the dream. So dreamy I’m not quite sure it exists.

  This cruise might not be very me, but it’s not exactly an unpleasant place to be, is it? Our suite is gorgeous, the food and drink are amazing. Sure, I’ve got Clive’s advances to contend with now, and an ex-boyfriend I’d really rather not bump into, but that doesn’t mean I’m having a horrible time. Keeping my head down and out of Josh’s way for a few more days shouldn’t be a problem, the ship is huge after all, and I’ll just be civil, if I do see him. I just need to be smart about it and I’ll be in New York before I know it.

  17

  I watched this TV show once – I can’t remember what it was called, but it was a science fiction show about parallel universes. At one point, some of the same parts of the two worlds collide, matching up exactly, and what happens is that whatever is occupying both spots in the same place merge into one – I feel like that’s what has happened here, in the ship’s casino.

  Imagine the glitz and glamour of a big, fancy Las Vegas casino if it collided with the retro day room of a nursing home in Bolton. It’s a jarring combination of two extreme opposites that Eli doesn’t quite know how to process.

  ‘It’s a casino,’ I point out. ‘You said you love casinos…’

  ‘It is… and I do… it’s just so…’