What If?

by Shari Low

  What do I do now? Go home and face the music, I suppose. What else is there?

  I get up and head towards the spare room, but as I pass Sam’s room, I can see him lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I change my direction and slip in beside him. More than anything else in the world right now, I want to feel him close to me.

  He looks at me in surprise.

  ‘The spare room is next door,’ he murmurs.

  ‘Yes, well, my sense of direction always was crap.’

  He squeezes me like he never wants to let me go. After a few minutes, I feel his hand move slowly down my back. I can’t believe I’m in the same bed as him.

  ‘Carly,’ he whispers, ‘does this mean…?’

  ‘Don’t take this personally, Sam. I love you, but I wouldn’t touch your privates without rubber gloves and a surgical mask.’

  He’s still laughing when I slip off to sleep.

  The next morning over breakfast, I tell him my story; every last detail. He alternates between laughter, shock, outrage, concern and sadness.

  ‘So, you see, now it’s over and I’ve got a choice – I can either disappear, change my name and go and do missionary work in deepest Mongolia for the rest of my life, or I can go home and start again. Mongolia’s tempting, but I’d miss my pals, so I guess I’ll go home.’

  He thinks for a moment. ‘Or you could stay here.’

  ‘And do what, be your pimp? I haven’t got a white suit or a gold medallion.’

  ‘Cooper, I’m serious. Stay here. You could help me, really. I need someone to organise me and do stuff like pay the bills, take my calls and sort out my finances. C’mon, Carly, think about it. It would be great.’

  I consider the idea. Could I live in the same house as him? After last night’s revelations, my libido is now a ‘no-fly zone’, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Could I handle seeing him coming home every night, knowing that he’d just had sex with a paying customer? I think I’d just refuse to think about that. And then there are the living arrangements. The choice is either sleeping on a camp bed in Kate’s junk room in the British winter or living in the sunshine in a luxury Hong Kong penthouse. Mmmm. Give me two and a half seconds to contemplate that one.

  ‘Tell you what, I’ll stay until Christmas. I need to go home then to spend it with my friends. Kate’s baby is due around then and if all goes to plan we’re having a very swish, extremely elegant millennium party in her back garden that I wouldn’t miss for anything. But I’ll stay until then, okay?’

  He reaches over and cuddles me, spilling my coffee and squashing my croissant in the process. Well, it’s probably a good day to start a diet anyway.

  I call Kate to tell her what’s happening.

  ‘Well, what’s the latest? Should I order a maternity bridesmaid’s dress?’ she asks.

  ‘Sorry, Kate, that’s one treat that you’re going to have to miss. Listen, I won’t tell you what’s happened over the phone because your waters will break, but it’s safe to say that Sam and I won’t be marching up the aisle in this lifetime.’

  ‘Oh, babe, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’

  ‘I am, honestly. I’ll put it all in a letter to you. But I am going to stay with Sam for a while longer. Have you got a pen and I’ll give you his number? Oh, never mind, I’ll put that in the letter too. Have you got any news on your due date?’

  ‘Still Christmas Eve,’ she says, groaning. ‘Although I’m the size of a small planet, so I wouldn’t mind going early.’

  ‘Don’t you dare. I promise I’ll be back by then so just keep your legs crossed, ok?’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘Good. Now go and lie down and tell my new niece or nephew that I love it and it’s never allowed to follow in my footsteps in any way.’

  Her chuckle makes me smile. ‘Oh, we covered that one a long time ago,’ she teases. When she hangs up, I sit down to write the letter I promised her, but then get distracted by a flurry of calls for Sam and I never do get it written. Instead I settle for sending postcards over the next couple of weeks, hastily bought in tourist shops as Sam and I explore Hong Kong together again. That’s the great thing about being an escort – no daytime work. He cuts down his evening shifts to four nights a week to give us even more time for fun.

  We must look like the perfect couple as we wander around, laughing and joking, often with his arm slung casually over my shoulder. Four different people ask us if we’re on our honeymoon. If only they knew. I spend half my time giving Sam messages like ‘Daphne wants to book you for tomorrow night and she says can you wear the black leather thong.’

  Two weeks later, I’m feeling happier than ever. Sam’s great company. He’s everything I remember and more. He makes me laugh (except when he forces me to go on mid-morning jogs that leave me requiring oxygen), he never stops and he’s full of ideas about what we’re going to do next. Life’s just one big adventure again.

  I do have the occasional pang of regret that things didn’t work out differently. But then, knowing me, I’d have messed it up somehow anyway. Let’s face it, this quest has proved that I am to relationships what China is to human rights. When I get home, I’m going to stick with my new lifestyle choice and continue with a celibate existence… until the next man comes along.

  That night, Sam cooks me dinner and puts an envelope in front of me. I open it to find two tickets to Thailand. I stare at him open mouthed.

  ‘Don’t worry, Carly, no strings. I haven’t had a holiday for years and I thought I’d take advantage of you being here to kidnap you for a few weeks. Call it an early Christmas present.’

  For a split second I consider saying no. But what’s the harm? I am his personal assistant now – I have to be there to rub suntan lotion on his back.

  I call Kate to report in, but there’s no answer. I try Carol: no answer. I dial Jess’s number: same result. It must be a girl’s night out in London. I call Sarah in Glasgow. No answer there either. Michael picks up and we have a quick chat, but I can hear lots of explosions in the background so I can tell he’s distracted by whatever video game he’s using to conquer a universe. I feel a pang of homesickness. I miss him. I miss Callum. I miss my pals. If only they were here.

  I call Kate again and leave a message on her machine. ‘Kate, it’s me. Hope your bun is baking nicely. Listen, I was just calling to catch up, so tell all the girls I send my love and I’m missing you all madly. Sam and I are going to Thailand for a few weeks, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a while – I’ll be on a beach getting sand on my arse. And no, I’m not going to be a “kept woman” – I’ve got a couple of grand left on my Amex card so I’m going to blow that. I promise that when I get back, I’m going to be a reformed character!’

  I get a mental picture of Kate’s face as she dismisses that one out of hand.

  Thailand is bliss. We start in Bangkok, before travelling up north to Chiang Mai and then south to Koh Samui and Phuket. We spend long lazy days by the beach, with only windsurfing and waterskiing to rouse us from our sunloungers. At night, we hit the bars before stopping for food and then walking for miles.

  The irony of this situation strikes me – here I am in the land of more brothels than bakers, with a male hooker for company. The Mighty Romano couldn’t have predicted this one.

  Sometimes I catch myself looking at Sam and wondering if we could make it work, but I know we couldn’t. It’s not that I’m being judgemental, but somewhere along the line, all physical attraction to him has vanished. His line of work extinguished that fire and it refuses to relight.

  Sam is true to his word – there are no big seductions, no innuendo and no quick gropes when he thinks I’m sleeping. I guess his tastes run more to high-powered career women these days. No, it’s definitely purely platonic. But does he really have to wear those tiny swimming trunks?

  I wake up one morning and realise that it’s the third week of December. Where has the time gone? The last few weeks have flown by.

  I know it’s t
ime to do some serious thinking. I briefly consider postponing the use of my brain until I’ve had another day in the sun – a kind of mental avoidance strategy – but I can’t put it off any longer.

  The notion of staying in Hong Kong with Sam is tempting, but ultimately crazy. Apart from the fabulous surroundings, it’s no different from selling bog rolls for a living – only the product has a lot better packaging.

  My stomach tightens like a drum as I realise that I have to accept that my adventure is over. I’ve failed. Crashed and burned. So what now? I guess it’s back to the UK to eat enough humble pie to make me clinically obese.

  But do I regret it? I consider this for a few moments, then a smile overtakes my face as I decide that I don’t. Okay, so I’m skint. And yes, I’ve achieved nothing except a bad haircut (when will this bloody grow out????), a suntan and a decidedly bruised arse from landing on it with such frequency. But at least I tried. A wave of consolation sweeps over me. At least I’m not still sitting in my kitchen in an ancient dressing gown, wondering about what might have happened if only I’d given it one last shot.

  Let’s face it – apart from money, I haven’t lost anything except a job that I didn’t like anyway, a flat that was the size of a garden shed and my friends’ confidence in my judgement and maturity. That was always shaky anyway.

  I weigh up the gains. We found Sarah again – this whole escapade was worth it just for that alone. Carol had sex with a man under fifty – another major breakthrough – although I still refuse to think too deeply about that because the man in question is my brother. Jess has made progress in forcing Basil to make a definite decision (no mean feat when we’re talking about politicians) and Kate has had something to take her mind off the fact that she’s now bigger than a fully grown hippo.

  So do I regret it? Not one insane, traumatic, tear-shedding, fantastic moment of it. Now I just need a recovery plan.

  The sun is now streaming in through the window and I’m starting to sweat, so I head for the shower and turn the cold water on full blast. Priorities. From now on, men will be the least of my worries. There’re one or two small issues like gainful employment, a roof over my head and a payback plan to the credit card companies to sort out first.

  January is taken care of. I’ll spend it with Kate, helping to take care of the baby while I lick my wounds and try to avoid anyone who’ll be curious to know about the results of my mission. I’m not quite ready for a full public humiliation yet.

  I’ll apply to prospective employers and I’ll explain my travels by saying I was on a retreat to ‘find myself’. That’s so trendy that it’s bound to get me a job in the City. With the job taken care of, I’ll promise to donate every penny to my debts (except for food, drink and shoes money – that’s completely reasonable). Eventually, I’ll find a flatshare with at least two single guys who belong to football and rugby teams and hold regular parties. I may have failed miserably, but that doesn’t mean life is over.

  ‘Sam, it’s time for me to go home,’ I tell him that morning over breakfast.

  He looks forlorn. ‘I was wondering when we’d get around to that. I was hoping you’d changed your mind. We could just hide out here for ever.’

  Tempting. So tempting.

  But I know I’ve got to go back, I’ve got more battles to fight. Most of them with credit card companies and the small claims court.

  The first thing I do when we land in Hong Kong is call Kate to let her know I’m booking my flight home.

  The phone rings for an age before a groggy voice finally answers. Shit. I forgot about the time difference.

  ‘Kate, it’s me.’

  She springs to life. ‘Cooper, where the hell have you been? We’ve all been bloody frantic and we had no way of getting in touch with you – you didn’t send us your number and then we got the message to say you were in sodding Thailand.’

  ‘Okay, I’m down on my knees and begging forgiveness. I’m really sorry, Kate. Don’t be mad, it’s bad for a woman in your condition. Anyway, what’s all the panic about? You know I’ll be back for Christmas.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t think you were leaving it to the last minute!’

  Didn’t she know me at all?

  ‘This baby could come early and I want you here when it’s born. I’ll need someone to help with the ironing.’

  ‘That rules me out. I wouldn’t even know how to switch an iron on.’

  ‘Also, Joe Cain called yesterday, looking for you.’

  ‘I forgot to tell you I gave him your number,’ I say apologetically, but she is already firing on.

  ‘He said there’s been a big mistake and he has to see you. I told him you’d be back for Christmas, so he’s on his way over here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Who knows? Carly, he’s never met me in his life, he’s hardly going to give me all the gory details. And, most importantly of all, we’re going to a wedding on the 21st. Or at least, you’re definitely going, and I’ll be there as long as this little babe comes either really early or bang on time.’

  ‘There’s no way we’re going to a wedding three days before your due date,’ I tell her, surprised she’d be up for something so ridiculous.

  ’Eh, refusal isn’t an option.’

  ‘Why? Whose wedding is it?’

  There’s a pause.

  ‘Callum and Carol’s. They’re getting married in Scotland, at Loch Lomond’

  ‘WHAT?!!’

  ‘Callum’s been going crazy trying to find you. There was a cancellation at the hotel they wanted. Carol was going to knock it back because it was so close to my date, but I wouldn’t let her, so they snapped it up but Callum says he’s postponing it if you’re not here. And Carol’s at her wits’ end – you’re the chief bridesmaid.’

  ‘Oh my God. Kate, I’ll be there. If I have to hijack a Cessna, I’ll be there. Tell them both I’m over the moon for them and I’m sorry I’ve caused all this hassle and I’m on my way. Kate, I have to go. I have to phone the airport. Just hang on till I get there.’

  Oh. My. God. Carol and my brother were getting married. This was amazing. Incredible. The best thing I’d ever heard.

  I dial the airport and speak to every airline that flies to the UK. If one more person tells me in a patronising voice that they’re fully booked because this is the busiest time of the year, I’ll go down there and slap them. Don’t they realise that with the money I’ve spent on flights over the last six months, I could have bought a small airline?

  I finally manage to reserve a seat on Air Bangladesh. I didn’t even know Bangladesh had an airline. Presuming the plane doesn’t run out of fuel mid-air, get hit by storms over the ocean, or have to divert due to a new war in Eastern Europe, I’ll arrive in London at 6 a.m. on the 21st. A connecting flight to Glasgow will see me back on Scottish soil by 9 a.m.. Plenty of time for the 3 p.m. wedding.

  I call Kate back and give her the details. ‘Cutting it fine, but it could work. We’re all heading up by car the day before the wedding, so we’ll see you there. We’ll bring Joe with us. And, Coop—’

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘Don’t balls this up.’

  I thank her for the warning as I hang up the phone. I turn to see Sam looking sad and I do the mature, adult thing and burst into tears.

  He asks me what’s wrong, concern written all over his face. How can I explain it? I’m going back to a wedding and, much as I’m ecstatic for Callum and Carol, I’d hoped that the next wedding I’d be going to would be mine. Instead, I’ll have to go back and tell the whole world on the first day that I arrive that I’ve been an abject failure. And not only have I not found the man of my dreams, but I’ll be the only pathetic person at the wedding who hasn’t even got a partner. I’ll be publicly humiliated.

  Sam tries to comfort me, but I’m inconsolable. Until I have an idea.

  ‘Sam, come with me, please. Be my boyfriend for the day. Just get me through the wedding without having to suffer the indignity of having to expla
in that my grand plan was a big fat failure. Please, Sam, please come.’

  He’s shocked. I can tell by the way his mouth is open, but someone’s pressed the mute button. After a few moments, he finally speaks.

  ‘You’re joking, Carly. How could I do that? You seriously want me to come back with you and spend the whole day pretending to be your boyfriend. It’s insane.’

  ‘Sam, I hate to point out the obvious, but last time I checked, you were an escort. Look on me as a client – I’m enlisting your services and we don’t even have to do the nudity stuff.’

  He laughs and shrugs his shoulders. ‘I knew there had to be a catch.’

  20

  Livin La Vida Loca – Ricky Martin

  We reach the airport with three hours to spare – a result of my paranoia that we’ll miss the plane due to getting a taxi driver with no sense of direction, the taxi breaking down, or a freak monsoon that will flood the road to the airport. Stranger things have happened to me.

  We check in and head for the departure lounge, which has a stunning Christmas tree that twinkles from floor to ceiling. Christmas! I’ve barely given it a second thought. It suddenly strikes me that I won’t have time to buy presents when I get home, so I send Sam to the bar and embark on a trolley dash that leaves skid marks on the floor.

  I hit Gucci first. Ties for Callum and Bruce and a T-shirt for Michael. That’s the men taken care of. The women aren’t so easy. Carol is a nightmare to buy for – what do you get the woman who has everything, other than a lifetime membership to Shopaholics Anonymous? I spot a beautiful gold bracelet in the jewellery section of the duty-free, next to a tray of gold initials. I buy two C’s, for Callum and Carol, and have them added to the bracelet, thinking that at least I’m getting to flex my romantic side, even if it’s for someone else.