Page 16 of In the Same Boat

‘It’s not a bad idea,’ I reply.

The taxi pulls up outside The Loft.

‘Come on, Mum,’ I say. ‘Let’s go in. Have a drink. If you hate it, we can leave. No questions asked.’

‘I already know that I hate it from out here in the car park,’ she points out. ‘But… okay, fine, we can try it. You never know, you might meet someone.’

I snort – yeah right – but I don’t want to put her off.

‘You never know…’ I say, getting out of the car.

The chance of me meeting someone over fifty that I want to date seems even less likely than me meeting someone my own age. I thought men were supposed to be more mature in their thirties? Because I’m thirty-two and I still feel like I’m meeting the same twenty-something ‘lads lads lads’ I’ve been having to contend with for a decade. Is it so much to want something a little sturdier, from someone just a little more settled?

‘One drink,’ she says.

‘One drink,’ I agree quickly.

‘And if I hate it, we leave immediately.’

‘Immediately,’ I confirm.

She exhales, long and overly dramatic, like she’s about to jump out of a plane or something.

‘Perhaps I’ll take you to an over-thirties singles night,’ she suggests as we head for the entrance to the bar. ‘See how you like it.’

‘Maybe I would like it,’ I reply, although I’m certain I wouldn’t. For better or worse, I’m still at an age where most nights out feel like bleak singles events. For Mum’s generation, it’s a thing. Most of them have already been married and separated at least once. For my generation, when more of you are still single than divorced, it’s still a way of life.

The Loft isn’t my usual cup of tea – or Hugo Spritz, which is my current tipple of choice. I’m more of a swanky cocktail-bar girly, whereas this is more like the kind of place where you come to get as pissed as you can, as cheaply as you can. I’ve been here with people from work a few times. The music is loud, the lights are chaotic – if you want to grind on a stranger, this is the place to be. Hopefully, they turn the volume down a little, so that people can mingle, and actually hear each other, and why yes, I do feel a million years old for saying that.

I notice Mum sniggering to herself.

‘What’s so funny?’ I ask her.

‘The man on the door,’ she starts. She places her hand over her mouth for a second, while she composes herself. ‘He let you in – he didn’t question your age.’

‘What, to check if I was over eighteen?’ I reply – the times when I get ID’d are getting fewer and further between these days.

‘No…’ She snorts. ‘That you were over fifty.’

I stop in my tracks.

‘He did not think I was over fifty,’ I insist confidentially. Then… ‘Did he?’

She shrugs. Fantastic, my own mum is messing with me. Probably because I’ve brought her here. I suppose I’m asking for it, really.

‘At least everyone looks quite normal,’ she points out.

‘Normal?’ I repeat back to her. ‘What were you expecting?’

‘Oh, I don’t know – you forget, we’re from a generation where some people used to think it was fun to put all of the keys in a bowl and?—’

‘Mum,’ I interrupt her, not wanting to hear the end of that sentence, just in case it involves her and my late dad swapping keys (and therefore partners) with any of the neighbours. ‘You’re thinking of swingers nights, not singles nights.’

‘I suppose I was expecting desperate people,’ she adds.

There’s at least one desperate person – me, the girl trying to get her life back. It’s not that I don’t love having my mum live with me, it’s just that, at the end of the day, it’s like having my mum live with me. I love her company but I feel like a teen again, like I’m not allowed to do anything, like she’s watching me like a hawk, offering me unsolicited advice, trying to help but getting too involved. No one wants their mum meddling in their love life (although I appreciate no one wants their daughter doing the same either – but this is a retaliation).

We move deeper into the room, and almost immediately someone hands us each a glass of wine, which feels like a good sign – it doesn’t taste like an especially good one though. I guess a free drink is a free drink.