This was it. I’d had my share of bad luck. After decades of caring for my ailing parents and alcoholic husband, then losing all of them, one by one, it was time to put myself first. Midlife, I decided, would be a new beginning. The mid-point of a novel, after all, isn’t the end of the story, but the moment the protagonist takes charge of their own destiny.
Where better to kick-start a change in fortune than Las Vegas?
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!” Nina slurred, and we all clinked glasses.
“Don’t look now,” she shout-whispered into my ear. “Hot guys, by the Blackjack table.”
I cringed. “We’re old enough to be their mothers!”
“Well, that’s a shame because they’re heading this way,” she said, and before I could protest, we were surrounded. The tallest one made a beeline for me.
“I’m Jack. We’re from London, on my mate’s stag do.” He launched an outstretched hand at me, which I had no choice but to shake.
“Jill,” I replied.
“Jack and Jill? It’s destiny!”
I gave a hollow laugh.
“I’m feeling lucky tonight,” he said. “Come and watch Jack Potts win the Jackpot!”
“Sorry, I…”
“If you don’t, I’ll do something stupid like bet all my life savings.” He pouted, a little-boy-lost look settling over his face. Something tugged at my heart. Whatever it was, it carried me towards the roulette table with him.
By sunrise, Jack and I were picking our way through the gold-tinged city. He had indeed gambled and lost everything he owned.
“This is my hotel,” I said. “Better luck with the rest of your holiday.” I turned to leave.
“Wait!”
I stopped in my tracks.
“Let me stay with you! I don’t remember where my hotel is. I’ve lost my phone. I’m broke. Otherwise, I’ll sit out here until I die of heatstroke.”
Jack tagged along with us all week. I was relieved when, finally, we said goodbye at the airport. His flight was the same day- his friends would surely be there with his ticket.
Was that the wheels on my suitcase squeaking, or was he calling me? Sure enough, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
There was a spare seat on our flight. He promised to pay me back. But first, he needed somewhere to stay the night. The week. Until the end of the month. Or he’d have to rob a bank. Or sleep on the streets. Or borrow from his only living relative, a destitute Grandad.
“He’s swindling you,” said Nina. “It’s almost as though you keep rescuing people so you don’t have to risk failing to rescue yourself. Now, are you meeting me for pizza or what?”
Her words were like ice cubes sliding down my back. Shocking, but undeniably invigorating.
“We’re going for pizza,” I told Jack.
He laid down in the middle of the Euston Road traffic. “But I want steak!”
I let the number 73 bus decide his fate.
The pizza was delicious.
