New York, New York

I’m packed and ready for our final trip of the year. As I close the lid on my case, I reflect on the amazing roller-coaster year I’ve had and I’m glad I managed to hold on and enjoy the ride. I’ve heard people say that when they were made redundant or when their husbands walked out, ‘It was the best thing that ever happened to me.’ I don’t know how anyone can say that about the initial pain but it does change things and I’d never be packing my bag for this trip if it hadn’t happened. I wonder what adventure is coming next; my phone rings and I find out more quickly than I’d wanted.

‘I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do.’

The estate agent is telling me that my landlord is giving me notice. He’d like me to vacate the house.

‘Can he do that? Just ask me to leave? Why?’ I ask.

She apologises profusely but tells me that my landlord’s son is getting married and he wants to let them live in my house (well, technically his) while they save for a deposit on their own place. She promises to send some details of other houses that are available.

It’s not unreasonable; I’d probably do the same for Zoe. It’s just inconvenient for me.

‘When I said that I wanted to enjoy the ride,’ I tell the heavens, ‘I didn’t mean it had to get bumpy again right now. Could I not just have a few months of calm?’

The doorbell rings and it’s Patty dragging her luggage; she’s spending the night here so we can get an early cab together tomorrow.

‘I’m going to be homeless,’ I tell her recounting the call I’ve just had.

‘So what will you do?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I really don’t want to just move from place to place. I suppose I could take a room in Zoe’s hotel or maybe stay with Mum and Dad.’

‘Will I have to spit out any chewing gum when I visit you like I used to?’

I smile and nod; that’s still one of the rules in Mum’s house. She loathes chewing gum.

‘There is another option.’ Patty is suddenly very animated.

‘Stay at mine,’ she says. ‘Seriously, it would be perfect. You’d have your own place, you could chew as much gum as you like and it would save me hiring a house-sitter while I’m away.’

‘Your place is huge for one person. I’d rattle around in it.’

‘Get a lodger, preferably one who likes cocktails of course,’ she says raising her glass to me.

‘I can just see the advert: “Wanted – Lodger for B&B plus G&T”.’

‘I’d reply to that one,’ she adds.

‘I know and who’d want to live with you?’ I joke.

‘Go on, Bo,’ Patty continues. ‘It would be three months living somewhere that you know while you find something else. It would help me out too; I’d feel safer if I knew you were staying in my house.’

‘Are you sure?’ I ask.

‘Definitely, and I’d let you bring men home. I bet your mum won’t,’ she says.

The thought of returning to the curfew of my teenage days has us both giggling away.

‘OK, you’re on,’ I tell her.

Cheered by having that dilemma resolved, we decide to go out and start the holiday early.

‘I was thinking earlier about how much has changed this year,’ I tell Patty as we sit down to eat.

As an act of patriotism prior to the trip, Patty has brought me to a contemporary British restaurant. We toast with a sloe-gin cocktail.

‘You can say that again, you’re the owner of a renowned travel business – you,’ she says.

‘What about you, you’re a cruise-ship entertainer.’

‘The talent was always there,’ she says, ‘it was just hidden.’

‘Very deeply,’ we laugh.

I read the trendy British menu, which includes some delicious-sounding game dishes, and I know I should be more adventurous but sometimes you just want fish and chips. We order the same, fish and chips and gin. Beat that New York.

The following day, we settle into our seats and belt up as instructed, next stop the Big Apple.

The New York trip was always the pinnacle of our Mercury Travel Club calendar. Patty and I booked ages ago and Josie is also with us as a reward for having held the fort so often this year. The business is going well and even Ed has been in to book some travel for his Chapter now that we’re friends again.

Charlie and I sat down to plan the future recently. To thank Josie for all she’s contributed this year, we promoted her to assistant manager and told her she was coming on this trip for free. She was delighted, especially as we also gave her an end-of-year bonus so that she could hit the shops out there. It felt marvellous to be able to make someone so happy.

Although being on the trips ourselves has been wonderful, and in many ways has created the reputation we’re enjoying, we both know it’s not sustainable. This is my last trip away for some time. I’m going to stay office-based much of next year to stabilise the business and Charlie is only going on one trip, one of Patty’s Caribbean cruises. I’ve talked up her act so much he’s dying to see it for himself. I won’t tell him about the Britney number; I’ll let that be a wonderful surprise for him.

As neither of us will be on many of the other trips, we’ve developed an idea called ‘Guest Hosts’: one of the customers agrees to take on the role of unofficial host making sure that newcomers or even shyer guests are included and looked after. We don’t know if it will work yet, so I’ve asked my dad to host the first trip and we’ll see how it goes. I’m going to surprise them by booking those first-class flight tickets I promised as their reward.

They’ve been inspired to embrace their retirement, so they’re no longer just the quizmasters of the Caravan Club – they’re actually planning on doing more travelling.

‘We’ll get Jamie’s parents to come along too,’ Mum tells me. ‘I’ve already told her when all the best food tasting takes place.’

Mum sharing her food? Miracles do happen after all.

I manage to snooze for much of the six-hour flight, so I’m fairly well rested when we arrive. I’ve opted to bring everyone to the Meatpacking District, which I’m assured is the new trendy place to come. As we drive through streets of, well, meatpacking warehouses, I hope that they’re right; my genteel clients are looking rather wary at the moment.

It’s freezing cold and we’re all exhausted from the flight. I had an email on the way out saying that we’ve been diverted to another hotel because ours has suffered water and frost damage. We’re now in The Standard overlooking the Hudson River. The reviews look good, so I have my fingers crossed.

When we get there, the hotel team put my mind at rest, greeting us with the effusive smiles and excellent service that Americans are known for. They’ve put us all on the same floor and I’m told the lounge is also on that floor so that we can all get together with ease after our sightseeing, a thoughtful touch.

My hotel room is stylish and spacious. I often wonder what Americans think of British hotels, especially London hotels with their poky little rooms. They must look shockingly awful.

I’ve barely taken in my surroundings when someone knocks on the door. I open it to Josie and Patty, behind them the guests are exploring each other’s bedrooms.

‘Have you seen the bathroom?’ exclaims Josie. ‘It’s deadly.’

They push past me and show me what they’re talking about: the bathrooms have floor-to-ceiling glass windows on the edge of the building. You sit on the loo taking in the full view of New York.

‘Can anyone see in?’ I ask the first question anyone would.

‘I don’t think so, it must be privacy glass or something,’ guesses Josie. ‘You can see out but no one can see in.’

It’s fabulous and explains the Mercurian tour of bedrooms that’s taking place. Concern over not being in Times Square has been eradicated by the stylish en-suite and everyone now looks ready for an adventure.

There are so many things we could be doing in New York but I’ve opted to show people food and films: the best eating experiences and famous movie locations. It gives everyone something to take back home.

We do Breakfast at Tiffany’s, The Seven Year Itch, Sex and the City, Ghostbusters and Harry Met Sally amongst others. You wouldn’t have thought standing over the same grate as Marilyn Monroe would be that inspiring but bizarrely it is. Not as exciting as being in the deli where the best fake orgasm scene ever was filmed, though. I try to restrain Patty on the coach back but she’s already initiated a sound-a-like competition that everyone is enjoying. The winner sounds more like Eeyore but he has everyone in stitches.

The food is something else. Our tour takes in everything from the best hot dog in Greenwich Village, the best pretzel on the East Side, waffles with sausage in Brooklyn, ice cream in Little Italy and so it goes on. Food and culture in one big mouthful; that’s New York I guess.

Our evening cocktail lesson is back in the hotel. The coach pulls up to the entrance and suddenly there’s a shriek from the back:

‘Oh my God, you can see through the glass.’

She’s pointing up at the designer bathrooms which we’d assumed had privacy glass and we’re watching some poor guy zipping his pants up. There are shocked screams and laughter alongside some guilty photographs.

‘I am definitely giving people something to look at tonight,’ laughs Patty.

‘Oh pleeeaase don’t,’ I beg, envisaging the entire tour being arrested for indecent exposure.

I promise everyone I’ll try and get us moved to rooms with more modest internal bathrooms; I’ll use our very Britishness as the excuse. The group protest vociferously.

‘We love it,’ they exclaim. ‘We’re never going to stay somewhere like this again.’

I don’t know how I could have missed this detail about the hotel – it wasn’t on page one of the reviews. I search further and see that it’s just our floor, the one beside the lounge. I’d have rejected this as our alternative hotel if I’d known, but as it stands, once more our little club manages to hit the slight notoriety button that is making us famous. They probably think we manage this on purpose.

Getting ready for tonight’s masterclass, I order extra towels and hang them across the bathroom windows. The concierge tells me that everyone else has done the same thing. Perhaps people are more modest than they like to profess.

Our mixologist for the night is gorgeous and if my tongue weren’t already hanging out for the manhattans, it would be for him. Dark wavy hair, soft brown eyes and a savvy New York smile. He’s wearing an open-collared white shirt and waistcoat, but even under two layers of clothing you can see a very muscular frame. He might just be reviving my mojo.

We hang on every word as he takes us through the steps of making the city’s signature cocktail. I feel the spirits warming me up but I’m sure some parts of my anatomy were already getting quite heated.

‘You realise you’re staring at him,’ says Patty, reminding me there are other people in the room.

‘And?’ I huff.

‘And his rather attractive girlfriend over there is very amused,’ she says pointing at an equally stunning woman waiting by the bar.

I glimpse myself in the mirror and see a very happy-looking fifty-three-year-old. I burst out laughing.

‘Well you never know, he might have had a mother complex.’

‘Grandmother don’t you mean.’ Patty gets a punch for that one.

The cocktail class over and the guests nicely chilled, conversation turns to what we should do next; we’re in New York and it’s early. I’d left this night free in case they wanted to go their own ways, but they’re keen to stick together. Josie asks the guests if there’s anything in particular they’d like to do.

‘It’s unanimous,’ she tells me.

‘What is?’ I ask.

‘They all want to see you two do a karaoke,’ she says.

Patty gives me one of her looks.

‘Go on Bo, we won’t be together again for ages, let’s do a swansong.’

I sigh my defeat and we’re directed to an amazing bar, which has every song you could ever imagine in every language on the planet. That’s true multiculturalism for you, ‘Material Girl’ in Swahili.

Unlike the UK, which warms up when everyone has had a few drinks, this crowd are giving it their all and they’re so good, almost as if they expect an agent to walk in at any moment. I watch Patty sizing up the room; we don’t want to go out on a whimper.

Our guests take their seats. I doubt any of them have been to a karaoke bar for several years, if at all. This is just part of their adventure and we have to make it safe but memorable.

Josie spots an Australian flag and goes bounding over to the table to introduce herself. After a few minutes she comes back beaming.

‘We’ve got ourselves our very own Commonwealth Games,’ she declares.

The tables thrash out the rules: one male solo, one female and one all-in. The other team nominates the song and the winner is decided through the biggest round of applause.

‘We’ll need a compere for that.’ Patty jumps up to assume her position as centre of attention.

I sit back and watch the chaos unfold. Some Canadians in the bar insist on being part of the competition and then some Japanese tourists decide they’re part of the Commonwealth, too.

‘See the beast that you’ve created,’ says Patty while one of our male guests murders, ‘I Should Be So Lucky’.

‘Me? I think Josie had something to do with it,’ I say checking my watch.

‘You’re not thinking of going?’ asks Patty. ‘We haven’t sung anything yet.’

‘No,’ I say, ‘I was just thinking that it’ll be six o’clock in the UK. It’ll be over.’

‘What will?’ she asks.

‘Alan’s wedding,’ I tell her. ‘He married Amanda today.’

Patty puts her arm around me.

‘Oh Bo, you didn’t say. Are you OK?’

‘I am,’ I say, and I’m telling the truth. I now have a rather dysfunctional extended family but I want them all to be happy in life.

‘Did Zoe go?’ asks Patty.

I shake my head, ‘She was in Paris for James’s fortieth birthday.’

I was secretly pleased to learn that the dates clashed and although it may seem petty, I’m glad she won’t be in his photographs. She wasn’t in mine after all.

Onstage, the very cruel Mercurians have given the Japanese team, ‘Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ from Mary Poppins for the group song.

Cruel but hilarious, everyone is wiping tears of laughter from their eyes as they get offstage. They get a huge round of applause, so it might yet backfire.

Patty gives me a big hug and then jumps back onstage to resume her compère post.

‘That was both the best and worst thing I have ever seen,’ she declares to the crowd. ‘And if they don’t win, there is no justice in this world.’

The crowd cheers and the Japanese team are so excited you’d think this were the real Commonwealth Games.

‘Now you may not know this,’ continues Patty, ‘but in the UK, I’m a bit of a star.’

Whistles from Josie.

‘And although the star quality was always present, it was hidden deep within,’ she mock flirts with a table of men. ‘One woman helped me unlock that talent and I want to sing this one for her, join in if you recognise it. Little Bo Peep – this is for you.’

The unmistakable intro to the theme tune from Friends kicks off and the whole room jumps up onstage. An international entourage led by my best friend, telling me ‘I’ll be there for you.’

The tears stream down my cheeks for the whole three minutes, fourteen seconds of the song.

So proud of them all, I blow Patty a big kiss. Life doesn’t get better than this.

Come morning, I’m still basking in the love of last night and float down to Central Park with the Mercurians.

‘You should move here,’ says Patty hugging herself against the cold. ‘It’s the only place on the planet you could wear every cardigan you own at the same time.’

‘Very funny,’ I reply, not mentioning that I’ve swapped one layer of cardigan for a discreet thermal vest.

We sit in a café sipping hot chocolate as Josie and some of the Mercurians ice-skate while others take a horse-and-carriage tour around the park. It’s all very romantic and memorable in a rather different way to last night.

‘Thank you for last night,’ I say, ‘it was really very special.’

Patty links arms with me and the extra warmth is wonderful.

‘We’ve had one hell of a ride this year, haven’t we?’ she says and I nod in agreement.

‘Would you rather none of this had happened? You hadn’t got divorced?’

‘Can I pick the good bits and have none of the pain?’ I ask.

We agree that I can.

‘It might have been nice to have found someone to go home to. Everyone seems to have paired up this year, even you with Dr Lurve.’

Patty rubs her hands together lustily.

‘Zoe has James, Josie has Matt and Charlie has Peter,’ I say.

‘To have and to hold,’ says Patty.

‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

‘I’m sworn to secrecy,’ Patty tells me.

I just raise my eyebrows in a ‘tell me now’ kind of way.

‘You have to promise not to tell Josie, and I mean it this time,’ she says.

I cross my heart.

‘Peter has been making secret plans for the cruise this January. He’s getting the captain to marry them when they reach Barbados,’ confides Patty.

‘Oh my word, Charlie is going to love that. I’m gutted I won’t be there,’ I say.

‘No one will be,’ she reassures, ‘just the two of them on the beach at sunset. It’ll be so An Officer and a Gentleman.’

‘How wonderful, I’ll arrange a party for them when they get back,’ I say.

‘Then they’ll know I told you.’

‘As if Charlie isn’t going to call the second the ceremony is over,’ I reason and of course he will.

‘Besides which,’ I continue, ‘I like to think I’ve played a role in this and in fact all the romances this year. One divorce has led to four relationships.’

We clink our hot chocolate glasses.

‘And for that,’ says Patty, ‘I shall be forever grateful.’

I get up. ‘Come on, it’s the last day, let’s give this skating lark a try.’

We open the door and the cold New York air blasts us. Patty rushes back to her seat and huddles down.

‘I said grateful, not stupid.’

I shake my head at her cowardice and totter over the ice for yet another new activity this year.