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 time 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
