Chapter Three
April
Ella
What a shocker of a week. My boss, Buxton, having perved his way through thirty years service to the world of breath taking building design, is taking some time off. Allegedly, he is going to be working on some voluntary project in Thailand. Hm. Wonder if it may involve ping pong balls. Or what’s that other thing they do? Banana chopping in their fannies? Those ladies can’t have had a kid, that’s for sure. And anyway, he got this whole idea from me. I have always wanted to do some voluntary work, and a couple of times at month-end drinks we got chatting about it. Sodding Buxy has stolen my dream.
And of course, him buggering off for three months on my dream leaves me in a strange spot, as you can imagine. Ben and I need my income, but no Buxy, no job for Buxy’s PA, Ella. What will they do – just not pay me for three months? Buxy says he’s coming back, but what if he doesn’t? As Kelly said, might they dissolve the partnership? Then we’ll all be redundant, not just me. When I raised this with Balding, he said that definitely won’t be the case and they want me to come back when Buxy does. Trouble is, when I asked him about my pay, old Buxy chops stopped addressing my boobs (for once) and started talking to the corner of the room instead.
“Well, Mrs Fisher.” I know – seriously – he thinks it’s fucking Downton Abbey. I don’t think I told you he’s an ancient pom. Forgot to tell you that bit. ‘‘Mr Balding and I will discuss a small retainer, but surely you won’t need to send Bobby to childcare. That will save you a bob or two.”
He doesn’t know, naturally, that if I pull my newly named child from day care temporarily, I lose the place altogether. Is it too much to expect the man I have worked with for five years to recall the name of my only child? Well, clearly it is. Hey ho.
Book Club. Newtown Curry House. Thursday 4th April. 7.30pm. Book Choice Kelly, Karen Thompson Walker, The Age of Miracles.
You know when you’re meeting up with people you know well and you just know when you see them that something is off? Well, tonight I am determined to enjoy the rare night of freedom that Book Club is and not be fretting over my work stuff, and yet I walk up to the table to be greeted by long faces. I try to put a positive spin on anyway
“Jos!” I say. “You look so brown! How was it?”
“We had a lovely time, thanks.”
Her face says otherwise.
“Well, you don’t sound as if you did. And Jen, you look fed up too. What’s up?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh, that’s good then,” I say. “I don’t want to talk about stuff either – i.e. my boss wanting to put me on unpaid leave for three months. Or maybe he’ll just retrench me.”
“It won’t come to that,” says Kelly.
“It might. Anyway, I’m not inflicting my shit on the rest of you, hint hint. Great book, Kelly!”
“I know! I just loved it. Is it a bit weird to love this end of the world stuff? It just makes you feel so grateful for ordinary things. Like light and dark at the right times. Who knew that if the days started getting longer and longer that it would cause such chaos?”
“Lots of countries don’t have it light and dark at the right times,” says Jen. “Iceland, some parts of Scandinavia. Are you really losing your job, Ella?”
“Let’s not talk about it, it hasn’t happened yet. It won’t be the end of the world, unlike the book!”
“Didn’t it make you grateful for normal life?” asks Kelly. “You’re right, Jen. Some people live in darkness for months. So it didn’t feel like science fiction. It’s partly real for lots of people.”
“Yes,” I say. “Like lots of people have never eaten grapes. Wasn’t that a goose bump moment? When she said, ‘That was the last grape I ever ate’. This is why I have brought some grapes along. Participation Book Club!”
“Yum. Thanks, Ella. They look like really good ones.”
At least Kelly is appreciative and doesn’t have a face on her.
“Did you like the book, Josie?” I ask. She looks like the book is the last thing on her mind. Why am I sensing the holiday didn’t quite live up to her expectations?
“It was a good, easy pool read. Frank had a lot of work emails to deal with on his Blackberry, so it was something for me to do whilst he was working.”
“Would you like a gripe, I mean grape, Jos?”
“Very funny, Ella. Do you know they give them to anorexics to try and get them to put on weight? Too many calories for me. No thanks.”
“Well, looks like I’m taking most of them home to my old slipper husband then!”
“Poor Ben. Don’t call him that!” says Jen. “You don’t know how lucky you are!”
She is looking all shiny-eyed. Uh oh. Must have been some bloke thing gone wrong. Again.
“Yes,” says Josie. “You don’t know how lucky you are!”
Shit. She looks tearful too! What a great night this is turning out to be. God, what if she’s found out about Karen? Kelly and I have debated endlessly as to whether we should say anything to Josie about the Karen thing, and have decided not to for now. Karen hasn’t mentioned him again and Lucy says Karen went on a date with some bloke called Perry on Saturday night, so whatever happened with Frank we can assume has blown over. Who knows what crappy thing he has done to make her miserable but I don’t think it’s Karen. I really hope it’s not Karen.
What a rubbish night. I’d have been better off staying in with the slipper. Mum and Dad have asked them all to a barbecue next Saturday so they had better be a bit more cheerful then. By the way, reasons they have barbecues in the winter. Number one, to remind me of England as they know I miss it sometimes. Number two, they are addicted to having barbecues and couldn’t go from March to September without one. Let’s hope it isn’t too cold and Dad has fixed the patio heater.
Jen
I guess it isn’t hard to work out from my misery at book club that Brian is no more.
What did I do wrong? Or is the question, what is wrong with me?
I did it all by the book. Honestly I did. He did all the running; the texting, the ringing, the arranging of dates. We had nice sex on date four, so not too slutty and not too frigid, and then somewhere after date six the texting stopped.
Every morning since we met he sent me a text. Every single one. And then, there came a morning with no text. I was at a long meeting at a client’s that started at nine, so my phone was switched off. I switched it back on when I got back to the office, confident of hearing the reassuring blibble. And there it was. Not him. The hairdressers, confirming my next appointment.
Nothing from him that whole painful phone-watching day. Nothing from him the next day. Nor the day after that.
So after three miserable textless days I sent one to him. You know, bright and breezy not the angsty, “Where are you” type. He texted back and said sorry he’d been busy. So that was a great relief and I felt alright for a bit then. But he hasn’t called or sent a text since. And to make it even worse, when I called the stupid dating agency woman she was quite huffy! She said, “Well, that’s a shame isn’t it? I’ll have to see now. I’ll get back to you.”
And of course, she hasn’t either.
Did six dates and a lot of heartache over Brian just cost me two grand? I have a very horrible feeling this may be the case. I feel so hurt. I know you’ll say this is crazy (Kelly does all the time) but I feel like I’m worth less as a person now. Before, I believed I was good fun, quite pretty, nice to be with, but his rejection makes me question all that. If I am all that, why did he go away?
Kelly can be a bit contradictory sometimes. When she heard I’d sent a text into his silence she said, “Jen, anything that is pushed falls over.” Which I thought was a bit mean. Then, when it clearly was definitely over, she said, “It’s probably nothing to do with you. Maybe his life circumstances are difficult, his business, his kids or something.” To which I reminded her that she had once said to me, “If someone wants to be with you, they will.”
“That is true,” she said. “But if he doesn’t or can’t, that shouldn’t define your view of yourself. You are exactly the same lovely Jen, you just happened to meet a guy who didn’t work out. Like every other woman on the planet has at some point.”
Or as in my case, at far too many points.
Which is why, I guess, it doesn’t feel like a normal thing to me. I feel like I’m not normal. And I feel discarded – like a wrung out, chucked out dishcloth. And in case you were wondering how a wrung out, discarded dish cloth feels; it feels really crap.
Kelly
I finally plucked up the courage to do two years’ worth of tax returns and totally unexpectedly - I got a big refund! Way hay. I’m going on holiday. I haven’t had one of those in two years either.
I need a holiday, and Jen needs a holiday. So I’ve persuaded her to come to Broome with me. I need to get in quick, before Buxy and Ella aren’t there. If Baldy had to do so much as switch on his computer without Ella or me to help, he’d have a coronary. So my holiday has to be before Ella’s leave. Sunshine here we come!
Josie
Frank and I have made up. I am so relieved. The thought of life without him was a scary, empty, lonely thing. From staring into the abyss of single a-la-Jen, I am now back on track with the love of my life.
I am so, so happy. I told him how sorry I was about Bali, and he said, “Okay, well as long as it doesn’t happen again, let’s see how we go moving forward. We’ll put all that behind us.”
He is so forgiving and I love him so much. He’s even agreed to head South to Ella’s mum and dad’s this Saturday for one of their oddly unseasonal barbecues.
For some reason he was very keen to know who was coming from Kelly and Ella’s work. I checked with Ella she said no one. Which is also strange, as they generally ask Lucy. Sandy usually has some sorry Shire bloke, typically a fifty-something divorcee for Jen or Lucy. Maybe they are keeping them just for Jen. I gather her last romance didn’t go well either; I’m not sure why it always goes so wrong for her.
I’m driving so Frank can have a drink. I steel a glance at him texting in the passenger seat next to me.
“What?” he asks, looking up and smiling. The smile that melts me every time.
“Just looking at you, you good-looking thing.”
“You know it, babe.”
And I do. God I do.
By the time we arrive it is already crowded at Sandy and big Charlie’s. Sandy is so slim for an older lady! Slimmer than Ella. I wouldn’t put up with that. She is wearing tight leopard print pants and Frank is looking at her pert bum. I wish he wouldn’t do that. Big Charlie strides over. “Jos, love! How is my daughter’s best looking friend?” He gives me a big hug. “You look gorgeous, darl! As always.”
“Thanks. Charlie.”
“Howdy, Frank. Can I fetch you a beer?”
“Thanks.”
Big Charlie goes off to his beloved outdoor bar fridge.
“Does he have to flirt with you?” asks Frank.
We go over to say hi to lovely Sandy and she gives me a big hug.
“Don’t I get one?” asks Frank. Mid-hug he gives her leopard print bum a quick squeeze “Ooh, Frank, stop it!” says Sandy.
I find little Charlie with the other kiddies and he gives me a big hug too. Ella is so blessed with her family. After my dad died, my mum’s life became all about her girl pals and cruises. She has never visited me here like Kelly and Jen’s mums do. I wish we were closer. There again, I think the lack of closeness between her and I is why I have so much love and closeness for Frank. He is my world. I can see some of Sandy’s girlfriends looking at him. He is the best looking man here and I feel so proud of him at occasions like this.
I can see Jen and Kelly deep in conversation. Jen looks sad, Kelly looks concerned. I think there was some bloke called Brian who went pear-shaped and I’m guessing this is the post-Brian analysis. Kelly is a very good friend to Jen.
Ben is looking a bit portly in his Swans shirt - does he ever wear anything else? No, I am lucky. I may not have a mum like the others, or a family like Ella’s, or a best friend like Kelly, but I am the luckiest one. So the luckiest one to have Frank.
Ella
As last Book Club was such a damp squib I only realised the following day that it was my choice and I hadn’t told them what it was! So I texted them. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. Now I’m getting texts backs. Whinging texts. ‘Ella. This book is huge!’ and ‘Ella this book is hard work, the print is tiny.’
So I don’t reckon we’ll be discussing it for a while. I don’t care. I’m reading it. Even Ben’s reading it, and it is brilliant. What happens is this family just up sticks to go to the Congo to work as missionaries. Isn’t that incredible? Obviously I couldn’t be a missionary – given I don’t have a religious bone in my body – but we could do that, couldn’t we? I nudge Ben as he is engrossed in it.
“Could we do something like they are doing?”
“No,” he says. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
I don’t see why it is that ridiculous.
May
Jen
Here we are in Broome! And you’ll never believe it. You seriously won’t.
I have met someone new!
BUGGER BRIAN the golf bore I say. Even if you were two thousand bucks. Still no word from that cow at the dating agency on anyone else for me. I don’t care. Meeting someone naturally is so much better.
God, Broome is gorgeous. Here I am at Cable Beach on firm white sand, gazing out to the dazzling blue of the Indian Ocean. Surely there is not much nicer than a sun lounger on a beach on a hot sunny day, even if the water is a bit chilly!
Ella’s book is okay, but it’s a bit heavy and I keep drifting off into daydreams. You can guess what about, of course - the someone! What’s more, and does this ever happen, except in books? Kelly has met someone too! The two of them are taking the two of us to dinner tonight at this fab place called Matso’s, which is some micro brewery type thing (you know boys and beer) but is also a great restaurant, apparently.
Okay, details, details. My bloke’s called Dan and Kelly’s is called Nick. You need to know how we met. Here’s how. You remember mine and Kelly’s Meatloaf thing? I do the loaf and she does the backing singer, because she has just the right hair for it? Well, Kelly thinks all male singers, not just Meatloaf, need a sexy sidekick singer lurching around onstage alongside him. So, given sufficient grog, Kelly will invade any pub stage to play this part and strut her poufy-haired thing.
Thankfully, she doesn’t sing much and rarely knows the words. She’s just up there with a beer bottle microphone. Crowd reactions vary, as you can imagine. Once, her almost afro became a hair handle for a very tattooed and snarling sheila to haul her off the stage. We think she may have been the jealous girlfriend of the singer. Once, someone shouted, “Fuck, it’s Brian May!” That was funny. Sometimes uptight bouncers intervene and turf her off. Generally though, she’s left to it, and the crowd goes wild.
Well, you’ve probably guessed, she did her thing here in Broome. At The Roey, which is pretty much the only music pub in town. There’s a guy on stage doing a not bad Jimmy Barnes. You know, the Khe Sanh one, “The last plane out of Sydney’s almost gone. Uuuhhh yeah.” Sydneysiders can’t resist that song. It’s a Sydney anthem and no one knows the words but everyone sings along with that line. Even us non-native Sydneysiders love it, and of course we’d never heard it before we came here.
Well, Kelly’s up there. Giving it large on her Khe Sanh thing and it was in the aftermath of this, when she and I were doing some extreme guffawing and glass clinking, that Dan and Nick got chatting to us.
Hurrah for Kelly’s stage invasions! And who cares that the Jimmy Barnes was pissed off and that we nearly got thrown out. If you can almost get thrown out of a pub at forty, you are still living, I reckon. Nick likes Kelly and Dan likes me which is good as I really, really like Dan and Kelly says she’s not bothered, and can’t we just have a laugh?
Given she can’t be bothered to meet someone, it’s no wonder she doesn’t realise how bloody hard it is to do so. And here we have two attractive, non-weird, single, forty-something Sydney males on holiday like us! Best girl pals holiday and dating Nirvana. And she’s like, “So?” God, sometimes she does my head in.
Nick does something in media and has dark hair and dark eyes like Kelly. He is very tall which makes him look even skinnier than he is, which is pretty skinny. Dan is more solidly built, works in personal finance and is much shorter (fine for me) with sandy hair and lovely blue-grey eyes. He’s not a real shorty though. About five nine. Perfect for me. No pash neck aches.
Dan is very smiley and laughs a lot, so I knew straight away he’d be so much better than Brian. He’s younger and clearly more up for fun, given we met them in a fun type bar. Both guys are happy to laugh with us about the daft things Kelly and I find so hilarious. Brian and I didn’t do much laughing per se; it was all a bit serious. Older Aussie men are a bit like that; maybe models under forty-five are the way forward.
I’ve found younger Aussie men in the past to be a bit lacking in any dating etiquette, but maybe that was just my bad luck as Dan and Nick seem so different. They’re taking us to dinner, and they’re picking us up. They’re staying near Matso’s, whereas we’re further out of town. They can drop their car back at their hotel and we can get a cab back so we can all have a drinkie.
I cannot wait.
Kelly
Well, hi there. Here we are, reading on Cable Beach in my beloved Broome, and Ella’s book choice is fantastic. God knows when I’ll finish it though, it’s bloody long. It feels so good to be back with the sun and sand of the best beach in the world. When the ex-husband and I were here, his ‘so-whatness’ put a real dampener on what should have been a really special time.
No danger of ‘so-whatness’ with Jen. We have had the best time since we got here. Even the journey was fun. Two women at the cafe at Perth airport wearing flip flops with socks. I kid you not. I caught Jen’s eye just as she was sending me a text saying, “Sandgroper action, two o’clock!”
Okay, I know it’s mean, but seriously. Flip flops with socks should be an offence. Like over vigorous gum chewing. We saw a bit of that on the interminable flight over as well. Five hours to Perth. Four at Perth airport (delayed), and two more to Broome. Eleven hours, still in the same country. Go figure.
Luckily, the lovely bloke at our bed and breakfast picked us up – the car hire place had shut for the night. Jen and I have to share a double bed but it’s worth it to be staying somewhere so lovely and quiet. Beautifully done out too, in a nice homely way, not the fancy austerity of Josie’s place in Bali. She sent me a link and I thought it all looked a bit stark to be honest.
Our place here is very different. A single storey weatherboard building, with four rooms, set in tropical gardens. It’s nice to chat over a glass of sunset wine to the other people staying here. There’s a lovely couple from Perth with a dog called Mac. He’s a big sooky American Staffie and they flew him over in a crate so he could share the holiday. Bless. It’s the sort of place where the owners don’t mind you having your pet, and they even did us all a roast dinner on a bonfire one night. You feel like you’re staying with some favourite old friends in their outback retreat. They even have these daft chickens that keep laying eggs on the cushiony pool chairs. For me, this tranquil place, just outside laid back and pretty little Broome town, is complete heaven. The whole designer look plus maid just wouldn’t be me. Plus, there are lots of things to do around here, and in between sun crisping sessions Jen and I have been getting out and about in our hire car.
On Monday, for example, we did a trip to the pearl farm. Broome is known for pearls. The real pearl farm is off bounds and miles away, or they’d all get pinched; this one is a little demonstration farm but very interesting. Who knew pearls grew around bits of grit introduced to the poor oyster’s balls? Well, you do now. I’ve borrowed Ella and Ben’s camcorder, so was able to film Jen doing a ridiculous pearl farm commentary. They pass an opened oyster shell around, so everyone can have a look at it. Jen held it in her hand, waved at me to start recording, and it went like this.
“Uh, hello, everyone. Here is Jen with the, uh, oyster.”
She is better at this stuff than me. My moments are more musical and stage based.
“I am indeed, Kelly,” said Jen. “Can you all see the small crab here? This little crab keeps the shell clean so the pearl can develop properly.”
“The pearl,” I said, “grows around grit in the gonads.”
“It does indeed. This is the only place the crab won’t clean. Nor will she scratch him, despite his pleading. This becomes very ouchy and itchy for poor Mr Oyster.”
“What does he say, Jen?’
“What does he say, viewers?”
“Who are our viewers?”
“Shh! We’re making a documentary here. The crab, of course, viewers, says ‘Scratch my balls, bitch.’”
Jen held the shell up to her ear. I wouldn’t. It stank.
“I can hear him, viewers! He is begging, ‘Please, please, crabby. You know you love going down there.’”
“What does she say to that, Jen?” She is ridiculous.
“Kelly, viewers, she says this: ‘Fuck right off, oyster, and grow some hands for your own ball- scratching. Like that bloke I see on the M52 bus every morning.’”
We’ll premiere it next girls’ DVD night, along with the crocodile farm footage from yesterday. The croc farm has crocs they turn into handbags (they eat them too) and other naughty crocs that have been sent there for bad behaviour! Honestly, so if a croc is menacing a community somewhere, he could be dispatched here. Crocodile jail. Well, this crazy Steve Irwin-esque guide is saying things like, ‘Oor, yeah, me mate got ‘is ‘and bitten by this one! Blood spurting everywhere! Youze all are lucky youze weren’t there that day, you’d have been SPEWING!’
Jen is on the camcorder today and she is filming away and leaning into me. She’s doing her doco thing again but this time in a quieter, David Attenborough type voice. “Hello, viewers. Meet the lad of Kelly’s wildest dreams. She fancies him heaps, yeah. Youze can tell by her dilated pupils.”
Zoom onto me. Wearing sunglasses so she can’t see my pupils anyway, the daft mare. I give her and the ‘viewers’ the finger. To be fair, he was quite cute in a rough and ready type of way. And I’m kind of getting into that groove here. The boys we’re going out to dinner with are quite cute too – much more your Sydney city type– but I’m sure she’ll tell you all about them.
Like I said, we have had the best time. I hope Jen’s so cheerful because we’re having a good time, not just because we’ve met these guys. I’m sure they’re just thinking, ‘Oh, they seem quite fun,’ not ‘Ooh, girlfriend potential!’ Jen’s potential boyfriend radar is never off, and maybe if she turned it down a bit they wouldn’t disappear so quickly. Not that you hadn’t gathered that already.
Anyway, dinner tomorrow night. I’m sure it will be fine. Then we have to head back to Sydney. Boo.
Ella
I have fab news to tell you. Buxton and Balding are going to give me full pay whilst Buxy boy is away in Thailand! Woo hoo! How good is that? Especially as we’ve been really careful the last few weeks thinking they wouldn’t, so now we can spend what we have saved! We can pay off Ben’s credit card bill and get Charlie some new shoes. And me some new shoes for Ben’s boring cousin’s wedding in the arse end of nowhere. Ben says there’s nothing wrong with his repulsive trainers, and if he chooses to believe that, fine by me. More money for new shoes for moi.
So, I have no time to talk as I’m going shopping. Way hay. If only there was some kind of baby Valium to keep Charlie quiet in his stroller whilst I peruse the Westfield. Maybe I’ll invent it in my paid three months off and retire a millionaire. Hurrah.
June
Jen
Friday, June 21st
Dan called! I am so happy. I hadn’t heard from him in a couple of days so there’d been a bit of blubbing, but I did not text him like I did with Brian and now he has called. So Kelly is right, you just have to not chase it. Of course, what with the blubbing and all, I looked a bit sea monster-ish about the eyes, so there was no way I was going to let him come over. I told him I was tired and I said sorry, so he’d understand. He kept calling me, though. It was such fun. He was a bit drunk.
(Kelly. Nick called me last night he was pissed. No, I said. I don’t want to see you. You’re drunk and I’m not your booty call. I switched the phone off. Bloody cheek of the man)
Dan: Hey, whadayu doin’? Come over.
Jen: No! I said no before. But let’s do dinner tomorrow. There’s a lovely place on Crown...
We got cut off but he called again.
Dan: You come over. Need shag.
Jen: Dan, sweetie, you’re terrible. But we’ll do dinner tomorrow. Call me. Take some Nurofen and drink lots of water. Goodnight, hon. Sleep well. Call me tomorrow.
Saturday, June 22nd
Kelly’s voicemail box: “Hi, Kelly? Look I’m sorry about last night, I was hammered. I’ll try you later – you up for dinner maybe?” Message deleted.
Jen’s voicemail box: “Hi there! You have no messages. Main menu...”
“Hi there! You have no messages.”
“Hi there! You have no messages.”
“Hi there! You have no messages.”
Thursday, June 25th
Today I called in sick. I’m not sick, but if I turned up at work with a face this bloated from crying, people would think I’d had a stroke.
But, of course, what I think I may have had is another dumping. If I tell you I’m crushed again, it doesn’t really touch the sides of it this time. Crushed is how I felt over Brian. Right now I feel obliterated. I can’t believe this is happening again.
What is wrong with me? Why do they always go from attraction to indifference? Do I look ugly when they get to know me better? Is my hair too short? Do I look ugly the morning after, with smudged mascara, or is it the night before, not the morning after at all? Is it because I’m crap at sex? Crap at being a girlfriend despite the fact that I bring them toast and tea and the Sunday paper in bed? And besides, I always apply a little (hopefully undetectable) base and a bit of blush to make myself look fresher anyway. I leave the little mascara splodges, though, as getting rid of those would be a dead giveaway of a morning make-up repair job.
So, given all this effort, I can only conclude that I am a totally crap and ugly girlfriend. Dan reads the finance pages and I would try and understand that stuff too so we could talk about it. Still, no good. I tried to be interested in golf for Brian; I even tried to be interested in bloody bugs for the bad-breathed bug man. And don’t ask me what actually happened this time, because I don’t know. He hasn’t called. Just like Brian and all the rest. And I just know that he isn’t going to. I know it. I feel it. Last night reality finally killed the hope.
No, I won’t contact him. What’s the point? The situation is very clear. And I know I should be happy for Kelly as she’s still seeing skinny Nick, but honestly, it makes it even more hurtful. I get these cryptic messages relayed from Nick via Kelly.
“Dan’s in a bad place, Jen should move on. Dan’s never been one for being tied down. Jen can do much better.” Blah blah blah.
Who was trying to tie him down, hey? Who exactly? Not me! I just thought we were having a nice time going out to dinner etc. But no. Clearly not. No one has a nice time with me, and all I want to do right now is stay under this duvet and sleep forever.
Of course, when you’ve had a sleepless night and phone in sick wanting to sleep forever, you can’t get to sleep at all. There are noisy renos happening at the big house on the corner keeping me awake. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be me anymore. I’m desperate for sleep and it just won’t come. I hate Dan. I hate Brian. I hate dating agency woman, though she has clearly self-combusted, so maybe you can’t hate a pile of ash. Most of all, I hate my life.
Kelly
This time I’m really worried about her. I don’t know what that prick Dan is playing at, and maybe Nick is right and Dan is just messed up, but Jen is having none of that. “I messed up, Kel,” she said. “It was me. It’s always me. I always get it wrong.”
She needs a fix up session and I need reinforcements. Josie is hopeless. All she can say is “There’s a Frank out there for everyone.” Oh joy, let’s hope not. And all Ella can say is how lucky Jen is and what she should do with all that precious time she wastes chasing after men. I need a sympathetic ear. I need a mum. Ours are too far away, so I roped in Ella’s mum, Sandy. Sandy had to get public transport from Sylvania Waters to Balmain which took hours. And here she is with Jen and I, and we’re having Sunday breakfast. I can tell she’s been crying, either last night, this morning, or both. I’ve decided I’m going to be straight with her. I hope Sandy does the same.
“Sandy, you’ve come such a long way. There was really no need.” Jen’s voice sounds so distant. So quiet. So not like her.
“There’s every need, darl! You look so sad and we need to cheer you up.”
This has the opposite effect. Jen starts to cry.
“My lovely girl, no man is worth your tears.”
This invokes more tears.
“You are my best friend in the whole world,” I say, “and the thing with this bloke thing is you want it too badly.”
“I know. But how can I stop it?”
“Think about it. I don’t care if Nick calls or not, but for you, whether Dan calls or not is the only thing your happiness hinges on, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Everything that matters is suddenly him. Before that, Brian. Before that, all the other hims. So many shitty hims. Why? You can’t be in love with them all. Or any of them.”
Jen is really teary now. Clearly I am bad cop, and good cop Sandy is hugging her.
“Kelly, love, that is harsh. Maybe Jen was in love with them.”
“What, two loves in two months? No, Jen. I’m sorry, hon. I don’t want to be cruel but what you love is them liking you. You’re attracted to their attraction.”
“Does that make a difference? Can I not be upset when it stops?”
“But it means you like them for liking you, not for how likeable they are. Brian liked you and you liked him back, despite him being a golf bore. Dan liked you and you liked him back despite that he just went on and on about financial services legislation. You even tried to like crystal-burying man!”
“So what do I do?”
“Stop trying so hard to make it work.”
“You have to ask yourself,” says Sandy, “would you would pick them as a friend? You girls wouldn’t put up with a friend who just talked about golf or their financial wotsits. It will never work if you’re just trying to like them. They won’t be the right one for you.”
Good one Sandy. Very good.
“You are so giving,” I say. “You smile and nod in all the right places. But truthfully, after a while, being too eager to please just smells needy.”
“I wasn’t needy with Dan! I wasn’t. Or with Brian!”
“You are needy, hon. I’m so sorry to say it but it’s like you have a hole in your heart only a bloke-any bloke-could fill. You may not consciously be needy, but the fact that you want it so badly creates a neediness you can’t disguise.”
“Make her stop, Sandy. She’s being mean.”
“No, my love, she isn’t. She’s just trying to help.”
Jen is proper sobbing now and she’s folded into Sandy’s arms.
“There, there, my love. You have no idea how much we all love you and want this hurt to stop. Come on now, sweetheart. Dry your tears.”
But that doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon. How lousy do I feel? But sorry - how much did this have to be said?
Josie
What a week. I’m fine now, but when he first told me I thought I was going to be sick. It makes me feel sick again just to say it. Okay, here goes.
When Frank and I were kind of not together – you know, the horrible post Bali week? Well, Frank went online and met this girl.
Of course, I was upset. Really upset, after all, he did it all a bit quickly. But, like he said, he was upset too and this was his way of dealing with it. His way of handling the upset of my behaviour. Which is fair enough as I was horrible.
Of course, what he really wanted was me back. But he felt that after Bali, and me being so nasty, that I didn’t want him. So he had to see what was out there if I wasn’t going to be around. I can only imagine how many of those desperate online love seekers contacted my Frank! Well, turns out, Sydney village syndrome we call this; one of them was Karen who works at Ella and Kelly’s place. They met for a drink, and the next day she sent an, “Ooh, thanks for such a nice time” email from her work email address. And when Frank saw where she worked, well, then of course, he made the Ella/Kelly connection.
Now, I know that Frank had no intention of seeing her again and I know he would have told me anyway, but he didn’t want me finding anything out from Ella or Kelly. “I know how your bloody friends bitch and gossip,” he said. “Especially that Ella when she’s had too much to drink.”
Frank is such an honest and upfront guy. He didn’t have to tell me but he did.
He told me he was swamped with women contacting him when his profile went up online. He couldn’t believe how many young, very attractive size eight girls were out there wanting to date him – a forty-something guy! Apparently there was even a model – she was a size four! Frank has no idea how attractive he is, or how rare a commodity he is in the dating market. And I need to remember it too.
He’s closed the account now (sorry, single ladies of Sydney, don’t cry) and he and I are back to normal. But I have sworn to myself, moving forward, I will never, ever, ruin things like I did in Bali. I will never be that stupid again.
Ella
NO ONE has finished Poisonwood except me. So book club is delayed again – until August! It’s like saving a date for a bloody wedding. Talking of weddings, the boring cousin’s wedding in Orange is looming but here’s the thing. We’re not going! Hurrah! Can’t stand her.
We’re going to do some voluntary work overseas instead.
OH MY God, you say. OMFG!
But you bought new shoes, you add, to which I add no, I didn’t. I had an epiphany in Nine West. Laugh all you like, I would too, and I have chortled about it myself as well, with other people. But honestly? To me it’s not funny. And it’s not a fib. I really did have a spiritual and life-changing moment in a shoe shop. Here’s how. And some background details you’ll need first.
Big Charlie, my lovely larger than life dad, was a real union man in his time. Foreman at a clothing factory which closed down. When that happened he took early retirement, but he hated that these jobs were going overseas. He and Mum had been very savings-savvy for years. It helped that they only had me and no other kids, so he was in a position where he could decide to not look for work again. But for his co-workers? Well, it was very hard for them. They were thrown on the scrap heap, Dad says, and it’s a bloody disgrace. We need jobs here, not stuff made cheaply abroad. It just makes us all buy more than we need anyway. And look what happened in that factory in Bangladesh.
Well, he’s got a point, and as you can imagine, he is always saying we should buy Australian. We do try, but shoes, well. It’s a big struggle. Every pair I picked up was made in China. Every. Single. Pair. Not that I was really expecting Aussie-made shoes, but neither was I expecting blanket one hundred percent China.
Charlie was whinging, so I let him out of his stroller to run his little car amongst the chunky chinky shoes, whilst boring momma looked for a pair she would have any hope of not falling off. Maybe it was the thought of those eight inch heels, or maybe because I hadn’t eaten anything (diet number 284), but I suddenly felt all woozy and wobbly.
I looked across to Charlie (I swear to you this really happened), and there was no longer a miniature Ben, but another little boy altogether. This kid looked kind of Chinese, but kind of like Teflon too, which was weird because Teflon’s black and from Somalia. Well, this hybrid kid was not playing; he was at some machine – making killer-heeled shoes! There was a bitch of a supervisor who (sorry) looked like Josie, and she was pointing at the shoe and shouting at him, and he was crying and crying. I think he must have made it wrong.
Next thing, I was coming round on the floor. The assistants were all around and all of a twitter and Charlie, the normal Charlie again, was asking, a little casually for my liking, if I was dead.
Me fainting was clearly the most excitement Town Hall Nine West had seen in a long time. After dozens of squeaky, ‘Are you okays!!?’ and some enforced water sipping, I was taken from the shop. One of the squeakers took my arm like I was an old lady. One carried a bewildered Charlie. One got the short straw and had to tackle the impossible to fold the stupidly big stroller. Then Charlie and I were dispatched into a cab on George Street to take us home.
Yes, I am fine now, thank you, and no, I don’t know what happened. But I do know this was a message. Stop with the fucking laughing, will you? This was a message and the message was this. There is more to life than shopping. Not that I do that much shopping. There is more to life than drinking. I do too much of that, I know. There is also more to life than moaning about my boys, my boss, my butt... basically, there is more to life than just looking up our own arses all the time and having a good old pommy-style whinge.
Well, I got home and sat on the sofa and thought and thought whilst Charlie had his nap. There must be, I decided, something good Ben and I can do with this unexpected windfall of time. If pervy old Buxton can volunteer, why can’t we? So I looked up some voluntary work options on the Internet. You know, it’s amazing. There’s so much you can do, even if it’s just for a few weeks. All over the world as well as here at home. So much need for help.
Well, Ben came home and I told him everything. He said, “El, let’s do it. As long as you’re okay. We can’t go if you’re ill.”
I said I was fine, and I’d never felt more fine, or more full of energy and enthusiasm. As Ben is self-employed he can take time off at short notice, and as he said, his plumbing skills might hopefully be useful, wherever we end up going. Not sure what useful thing I can do, but we’ll work that out. Something surely.
Don’t think old El has gone entirely gooey on you, though. I am still basically terrible, Muriel; in my energetic state this afternoon, as well as checking out the ‘net, I wrote a poem for Buxy’s departure!
Here it is. It’s so good.
Buxton, Buxton I do hate to question
Your claim there’ll be good works in Thailand
Cos I’ve heard on the grapevine
That women and cheap wine
Might be the real truth of your plan
You’ll have lots of massages
Frequent lots of barses
And generally have a good time
That crick in your neck
From talking to breasts
Will fade and you will feel quite fine
You seldom did work
But would often lurch
For a bottom – or fanny – or the two!
So though you never, as such
Had that Frank Lloyd Wright touch
You touched us, and loved us, we knew
Now your new venture beckons
And one thing I reckon
I must just say to you quick
For this three months of living
And charitable giving
Please think with your brain, not your heart
Good isn’t it? Shall I put it in his going away card? No? I wrote one for Jen too:
A man took my number on Saturday night
I was pleased
And squeezed
More pleased into Sunday
Because, had he called then
It would have been a bit stalkerish
But the pleased, coughed and wheezed
By Thursday
As now it would seem
My number was just new ideas for his lottery ticket
No, I know the last bit doesn’t rhyme; it’s not supposed to. Like in Buxy’s poem, you want to say ‘prick’ not ‘heart’. That’s how it is with modern poetry. Dur. You know nothing. Maybe I can teach poetry on a project. We will be such an unusual couple. The plumber and the poet.
I shouldn’t show Jen her poem either? Okay then. If you’re sure. I thought she might find it quite funny. I asked Mum. She also said Jen wouldn’t find it funny. Best just keep it to myself. You lot, honestly. But Mum would know – she sees Jen more than she sees me! Mum says Jen is all depressed about some bloke, so needs looking after. Hope Mum tells her to stop being so bloody daft and get a grip.
August
Jen
I met someone. Okay, laugh. Who would blame you? I would too. But I’ll tell you quick, this one is not only over already but also that I am fine. Honestly, fine. I am home alone with a Saturday night all to myself and it feels so very good. Truly it does. Okay, here goes. Let me tell you what happened.
So Sandy had been giving me lots of love and fuss as I was so sad over Dan. She’s come up to stay a few times and I was just stopping in and having surrogate mum time with her. Then Kelly said I can’t mope around forever and dragged me out. And I met this bloke called Jay. Now, believe it or not, after the nightmares of Brian and Dan, I really wasn’t up for meeting anyone just yet. Having said that, I’d been reading a book Sandy bought for me. It’s called Why Men Prefer Bitches and it’s helped me see a little bit of where I’ve been going wrong. Her mate Marlene recommended it –per Sandy, Marlene was always too nice to the blokes she met. Marlene is much tougher now, said Sandy, and it’s apparently all down to this book.
Basically, this woman who wrote it, Shelly Argow, says that I have been giving too much and wanting a relationship too much. So I have chased it too much. It’s what Kelly has been trying to tell me for years. Basically, if you chase something it runs away. I understand that more now, and I can also see that being overly grateful for a man’s interest doesn’t exactly encourage a bloke to be particularly appreciative of your interest in them. Basically, if my vibe is ‘lucky me’, then I’m too easily theirs. And anything easily won feels like less of a prize.
So, armed with this new knowledge, I let Jay take my number, call me, take me out, cook me dinner. Then I cooked dinner for him which was a bit old me try hard, but you can’t teach an old dog new tricks overnight. Well, that dinner turned out to be the deal breaker. Not for him – for me! Believe it or not – I dumped him!
Well, if you’ve managed to pick yourself up off the floor, I’ll tell you how it all came about.
So I’d done dinner. And he was late. Down the pub watching some match with some mate. Well, don’t agree to dinner if you had other plans. Simple. I should have just canned it, but old me is a persistent nicey soul, and stupidly allowed him to turn up an hour and a half late. And pissed, to boot.
Then I had to deal with him becoming all snivelly over his ex-wife being so awkward over their child and when he is allowed to see her etc. Which I’m sure is very sad, but I rather suspected was a somewhat astute strategic move to make me less mad about him being an hour and a half late. Well, stuff your tactic, because whatever might be going on in your life, being an hour and a half late because you were watching the footy with your mate is totally unacceptable in anyone’s book. Half an hour late maybe, or else a far better excuse.
Well, I sat there. Looking at the dried up food. Recalling a lovely sunny winter day wasted preparing it all, and I don’t even like bloody cooking. New me then has a very simple, very obvious thought. And that thought was this: I don’t need this.
Think it again new me. Write it, say it, realise it again.
I don’t need this.
So, the next day I called him and I said, “Jay, I think we shouldn’t see each other again.”
And he said, “Okay.”
I think I can fairly safely say it really was okay, and he’s not having a boy version of an old Jen style meltdown.
So this Saturday night, here I am. No Jay, Kelly with Nick (they are out with Ella and Ben,) I’m alone on my sofa with a nice bottle of Verdelho, and the knowledge of a very productive and successful week at work behind me.
And it feels amazing.
Truly, it does. Of course, just for once I am dumper not dumpee, and that does make a difference, but Jay was no more unsuitable than boring Brian or stress head Dan. The only difference is, this time I could see it. With both Brian and Dan my thought was, you like me, so I will like you back, because my life has a big man-sized space you can fill for me. With Jay, I realized that whatever the empty space in my life is, he is certainly not what I need to fill it.
My tears for Brian, for Dan, for all of them, were not really for them; rather for the huge lack I felt when they left me. But the truth is that empty space isn’t ma- shaped at all, it’s me-shaped, and only I can fix it.
And how am I fixing it? I am writing it. Writing it all out. What I have learnt. Which isn’t much yet, admittedly, but the process of writing is not only therapeutic, it’s more and more learning as I go along. When I was little I wrote stuff all the time. I’d forgotten how much I loved it. And you know what? Don’t laugh, but maybe my self help scribbles could be turned into a book? Who knows, maybe there are other women like me needing the revelations I have had.
So, tonight it’s just me. No waiting on an ‘R U in can I come over?’ text. No listening to boring crap about school sport schedules or financial industry rule changes or unreasonable ex wives; tonight is just about me. And like I said, it feels amazing. Why did I not get this before?
Kelly
Last Saturday night, Nick and I had dinner with Ella and Ben. I felt really bad not seeing Jen, with it being Saturday night and her and the latest finishing, but she insisted that she was fine with a night in, and no way was she being gooseberry at dinner with us four. And I can tell when she is properly fine, not pretend fine, so that made me feel a bit better. It’s so odd. It’s like something heavy and sad has lifted from her heart, and consequently, from mine too. My dear bessie friend is home alone and boyfriend–less. Yet she is happy. I’m not sure how this happened and if it will carry on, but she is happy. And honestly, nothing could make me happier than knowing she is happy.
So, Nick and me. There’s nothing to tell, really. We just go out once in a while. Early on, he tried the old booty text stuff a couple of times; “Wd like 2 C U now” at 2.39am. Hmm. Very late dinner? Very early breakfast? I knocked that on the head straight away. So now we see each other once a week or so. Sometimes more, sometimes less.
He has tonnes of work stress and has to travel a lot with his job, so occasional suits him and certainly suits me. Do I think he is dallying with other options like that bastard Frank? I don’t. He’s always at some airport or other, going to meetings and stuff.
Pizza night’s revelation that Karen had met Frank the Wank online was a nightmare for Ella and me. We decided best not to say anything. Josie’s emails are full of how blissful they are now, so hopefully it was just a blip.
Main thing for me in any case, is Jen. Jen who seems to have had some weird life affirming revelation that a man is not the answer. Giving Jay the flick made her realise she should have done the same to Brian and Dan, not let them do it to her. Anyway, this Saturday night he was up for going out, and I said, “No way, I’m seeing Jen.”
Firstly, I really wanted to, and as you know, I would never change my plans for a guy. Secondly, I was dying to figure out what had gone on to make her head do this complete swivel. Clearly something more effective than anything I’ve ever said! Maybe it was Sandy’s influence.
We are at one of Jen’s lovely local pubs. Out in the garden for some peace and quiet. Despite the winter chill it’s quite toasty warm with the heaters on.
“God you really are okay, hey?” I say. “You look so happy.”
“I really am happy.”
“So what happened with Jay? He was very good-looking for a shorty.”
“I’m a shorty magnet. Well, like I said on the email, he sat over the dinner he was disgustingly late for, and started going on about this child access thing. ..”
“Old you would have been very lovey, very sympathetic.”
“So true – and I was a bit. It is hard for men in that situation and I could never play the part of a complete bitch. But in my head I was thinking, hang on, you are the one who has behaved so badly, now I’m the one who’s meant to be nice to you? That’s not right.”
“I’m guessing he’s a bit dysfunctional. Another of your problem children. If this were earlier in the year, you’d have been Googling family mediation centres or something.”
“I so would. Yes, he’s dysfunctional. It’s a real shame because he’s a nice bloke, but I’m not like that! I don’t go on about my exes. Well, only to you. And as for being that late, well that would never ever happen.”
“He clearly has problems.”
“Quite. And I feel sorry for him. But really, do I need to invite those problems into my relatively problem free life?”
“No, hon. You really, really don’t.”
“No. Exactly. If I’m going to have a guy in my life it needs to be someone who makes it better, not some bloke who needs fixing.”
“I’ve been telling you that forever.”
“I know you have and I’m sorry I didn’t listen, but sometimes you just have to get there yourself.”
“So true. I’m just so glad you seem to have finally done it.”
“Well, who knows how I’ll feel in a month or so? Hopefully the same. I’ve been thinking a lot about all of them and their weirdness. Why was it such a big deal to me that they went? I mean, Dan snorting coke on my kitchen counter...”
“He did not!”
“He did. He said, ‘Look, I need it every day, okay? It’s just the way it is. I have a stressful life.’”
“And you Googled some rehabs. That’s a joke by the way.”
“If only.”
“You didn’t? Tell me you didn’t really do that.”
“I really did do that.”
“Bloody hell. You had this fixing thing bad.”
“If I fancied them, I fancied I could fix them. No more. How is Nick?”
“I haven’t seen him in a week. He’s okay as far as I know.”
“Funny. You never wanted to meet someone and you’re the one who has.”
“Because I didn’t want to.”
Josie
Frank is so lovely to think about my friends. His cousin Jeff is single. Well, separated. He and his wife are still in the same house but they’ve now turned it into a sort of duplex arrangement. Anyway, Frank suggested we set him up with Jen! What a brilliant idea! Of course, Jeff is pretty fat and hasn’t a scrap of hair on his exceptionally large head. He’s nowhere near Frank’s standard, naturally, but before I could even add that – she said no!
Well, that was a shock, I can tell you. I asked her if she had met another guy and she said no. Well, what was it then? She never turns down a blind date, even when they’re Sandy’s suggestions, and we know that means pretty ancient. Well get this. Jen says she’s writing a book about how she doesn’t need a guy at all. What?! I think she may have taken something funny. Ella reckons Nick and that Dan are both high rolling city druggie types, so maybe Nick’s supplying it. Or maybe she’s letting Dan be her dealer despite the fact he dumped her. Well, whoever is supplying it, they need to stop. It’s making her very weird. She says she has leave owing at work and she’s going to take a fortnight off to write her book.
What can we say to that?
Ella
We’re off on our voluntary work – to Cambodia! Can you actually believe it?
Ben and I have had so much to plan. He’s been brilliant. Work has been brilliant. Don’t vomit on me here, but life seems brilliant. I think it’s the knowing you are about to do something for someone else. I said don’t vomit. You should try it yourself. Not that we’ve got there yet, it might be horrendous. It might be worse than the Congo in the Poisonwood Bible! But it’s only three weeks, so we can cope with that whatever it’s like.
Ben will spend two weeks working with the littlies in the orphanage. They think he’ll be great at that as he is a dad, and the male volunteers they usually get are HSC students who, hopefully, aren’t dads yet. After that, he’ll be doing some plumbing work. You know, they don’t usually like shorter term volunteers, especially in orphanages, but I think Ben’s plumbing skills swung it in our favour.
I will be teaching English to the older ones, and I veer between excited and fearful at the prospect. But, hey, we all know how much shit I can talk, so how hard can it be? I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Charlie has three weeks of luxury at the resort of Nana Fisher, so he will be finest of all. He was so relieved when we told him he was going to be at his usual spot with Ben’s mum and not with Nana Sandy. My mother’s version of grandparenting involves bonding with him over Mob Wives and a bowl of Doritos. Mum says she’s better at looking after the book club poms as the ‘poor darls have no mums down under’ to look out for them. God love her. She’s far better at being a mum to three additional neurotic adult daughters than she is at being Nana Sandy to one three-year-old. She loves him to bits, of course, she just is a bit of an inappropriate nana sometimes. Now you know where I get it from.
Ben and I will miss Charlie terribly. It’s my one big question mark as to the wisdom of this whole thing. Ben has two big question marks: Charlie, and being away for the AFL Grand Final. As you can imagine, missing that is a big plus for me.
I know Josie will think it’s wrong to leave Charlie. I think most of the mums at day care think the same. Charlie himself understands we are going to help poor children, and is insisting we take some of his toys to them. We tried to make it some of the musical monstrosities he’s been given by our sadistic (usually childless) friends over the years. He wasn’t having a bar of that, and has donated anything vaguely educational, which is something of a worry.
Ben and I love him dearly. We love him beyond words. But we have to do this. We both feel very strongly that we have to do this.
Jen
It has been so long since the last book club. And I still haven’t finished the book. Or even got half way. Ella is going to kill me.
Book Club. Newtown Curry House. 3rd September. 7.30pm. Book choice Ella, Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Wood Bible
“Okay, ‘fess up time,” I say. “I am so sorry, Ella. I haven’t got far into it. I’ve been really, really busy.”
“You seem perky, though. New boyfriend perhaps?” says Josie.
“I’m off blokes for a bit. I told you that when you tried to set me up with Frank’s cousin Jeff.”
“This Jeff - would he be any good for Lucy?” asks Ella.
“He’s very fat.”
“Is he? Thanks, Jos. Trying to fix me up with a really fat bloke! Much appreciated.”
“You’d said no before I could tell you that bit!”
“Well, Lucy wouldn’t care. She’s desperado,” says Ella.
“Trouble is,” says Josie, “I did think of Lucy, but Jeff doesn’t really like fat women.”
The irony of this is clearly lost on Josie. We all stare at her in disbelief.
“What?” she asks. “What is it?” For a clever girl she can be very dense sometimes.
Kelly is laughing. We all are. Jeff is really fat, but wouldn’t date a fat woman. Thank God I have dropped out of the madness that is the forty-something dating world.
“So,” says Ella. “What did you all think of my bloody brilliant book choice? Apart from you, you heartless fat Jeff rejecter, who didn’t make the effort to read it.”
“Sorry, El. I didn’t read it either,” says Josie. “I tried, but the print was too small.”
“Well, I read it and I loved it,” says Kelly. “Fanny the lodger loved it too. It’s been life-changing for her. She spent a whole weekend without watching any Dr Who. This is a first. Also, she now wants to go to Africa to do some voluntary work.”
Kelly looks at Ella; they are both smiling.
“Nice lead in, Kelly, love your work! Ladies, I have news. We’re going to volunteer at an orphanage in Cambodia for three weeks. We leave on Friday. Just Ben and I.”
“But Charlie! You can’t leave him!” Josie looks stricken.
“Ben’s mum is having him. It will be horrible not to be with him, but we both feel we want to do this.”
“What an amazing thing to do,” I say. I can’t believe it. Where did this come from? How brave. She has always talked about doing something like this and now she is actually doing it.
“But why?’ asks Josie. “What made you decide?”
“Honestly? I think it was mostly the book. Not meaning to go all funny Fanny on you here, but if you two shirkers had read it, you might get it. There is so much need in the world. And the only needs most of us care of are our own.”
“You do get a bit of wakeup call reading a book like that,” says Kelly. “It’s brilliant but it haunts you. How can people live like that? How can we care so much about the little things we fret over, when half the world has to deal with the constant problem of being so poor?”
“That’s why we’re going. Because so many have to deal with so much crap and all we think about is ourselves. Cheers to Kelly for reading it. The rest of you – useless.”
“Sorry, Ella,” I say. “I will finish it, I promise. And you’re so right. Example of me; all I cared about was finding a bloke. It was pathetic. Then I just had this light bulb moment that all these blokes I’d been chasing after for years just brought me unhappiness.”
“But you need to find the right one,” says Josie. “Like I have. He is out there somewhere.”
“Is he? Honestly, I don’t think so. But even if he is, my carrying on like finding him is the be all and end all of everything isn’t making me happy. Nor is it making it happen.”
“So what’s the alternative?”
Funny. In the past she has always looked so sad when the subject of my single status comes up. Now being single no longer saddens me, I notice that Josie looks sad right now. All I ever saw before was triumphant Josie who has a boyfriend. Right there and then I realise my jealousy of Frank is no more.
“When I called the other day about Jeff you said you were writing a book,” says Josie.
“Yes. Well, it’s a partial book really. It’s more of a pamphlet to be honest. It’s not very long it, will be a quick read, I promise. But I’d love it if you would read it and tell me what you think? It’s called Happy Without Him: The Secret Joy of Single.”
“You finished it?” asks Kelly. “I thought you only just started it?”
“It’s been a long time between book clubs and I took two weeks off work. I’ve been twelve hours a day writing and researching.”
“Happy Without Him?” asks Ella. “You’ve spent all the time I’ve known you looking for a him...”
“And long before you knew me.”
“And, long before I knew you, looking for a him. What changed?”
“It’s all in the book.”
“So, let me get this straight,” says Josie. “You write a book about how good it is to be single, and now you no longer want a boyfriend?”
“Correct.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I know Josie doesn’t believe me. I can tell. I can also, despite her being the owner of one good-looking boyfriend, tell she is unhappy. Why did I not see this before?
“Read it and see. It’s this month’s book. Here’s a copy for each of you.”
“I can’t leave a book like this lying around! Loving single? What would Frank think?”
“Gosh, it’s a worry hey, Jos. Maybe you could hide it in Hello? I for one can’t wait to read it,” says Kelly.
“Well, I could hide it in Hello, but sometimes Frank likes to look at my Hello.”
“Hello, Josie?”
“Hello, Ella. What?”
“Shut up, hon, for fuck’s sake.”