Chapter Six

Kelly

My mum once said to me, “When you truly love a man, even his farts smell good.” When my ex-husband farted (a frequent occurrence) I used to think, “Gross pig.” But when Nick dropped a little trump a few weeks back, I thought, “Ah, bless. He did tell me to say no onions on the pizza.” That’s when I realised I’m in love. Clearly, romance is alive and well in Ultimo, Sydney.

Except I am making every effort to slay it. Jen says, “Just go with the flow.” Sandy says, “Kelly, you can’t be afraid of love.” Bill says, “Nick is a fucking fantastic bloke,” and Bill is still bloody here having a bromance with him. So you see, everything keeps bringing me back to him. The him I am in love with.

And Nick does just go with the flow. No Frank-esque stropping, no Ben-esque slobbing. When he does come over to my place, he brings wine, we order pizza, we consume pizza, he puts the boxes in the outside bin so they don’t stink us out, and he takes me to bed and makes me come at least twice.

Don’t you go hating me, now. Don’t go wondering what loved up bloody Kelly is doing in a book about happy singledom. I was a happy single, damn it! I was so happy with my life. My very single, very contented, life.

Sandy says a content life attracts a contented man and a discontented life attracts a discontented man. Which is probably true, especially when you look at Jen’s experiences. But my being content is now badly compromised by fear. And it’s all well and good Sandy saying not to fear love, but look at Josie! Or look how the ex and I ended up. And way, way back in the distant past, I loved the ex this much too. Hard to think so now, but I did.

Jen quotes me one of her favourite cheesy songs and says, “Something about love might be a mistake but it’s a mistake you should take a risk with. I say, “Well, it’s not a mistake you seem in a hurry to make any time soon.”

“No, because I never found a Nick.”

Well, I wish I’d never found a Nick either.

P.S. Does he know I love him? No. And if the miserable git actually told me he loved me so I could then say it to him, I might feel a bit better about it all.

Josie

I met up with our graduate HR assistant today. I wanted to get her on side to launch the 21 Club and she is much more user friendly than our evil HR manager. The grad assistant is Caitlin. I took her to lunch. After she’d agreed to put the idea to her dragon boss, we got onto the subject beloved of all women everywhere, namely, men.

Bless Caitlin – she finds the twenty-something men as confusing as we do the forty-something versions. Not sure if that’s comforting or depressing. But here’s the thing she said which really got me thinking. She and her sister share a flat and have a very important rule. No boy can stay over unless you’ve already met up with him for a sober day time date.

Did Frank and I ever day time date? Or was it just dinner and a root? His day times were always his mmum’s household needs, golf with his cousins, doggies games, sometimes shopping with me, but that would be it for non-night time times.

I phone Jen. Out of Brian (golf bore), Dan (druggie city type), and Jay (dysfunctional), there was not one day time date, ever!

“Oh my God!’ says Jen. “Why are we not as sensible as half our age Caitlin? I think I need to go and have a lie down.”

“I know. In five years, Frank and I hardly did any day time stuff Beach picnics with his family every now and again. Weddings. All family stuff, and even then he mostly ignored me. There was always this thing at the end of whatever gathering it was, though. He would put his arm around me and make sure as many of his male relatives would see us as possible, and he’d say things like, “C’mon babe, take me home and keep me happy. Do those things to me you know I love!” At the time, I was just glad to be noticed after hours of being neglected; now I think he was just showing off that he had a willing root on tap. The one and only thing we did alone together during the day was shop for clothes, so I could admire him emerging from change rooms and he could tell me, yes, my bum did indeed look big in whatever it was I happened to be trying on.”

Jen says she has never heard me criticize Frank before. I tell her I don’t think it’s happened before. It’s a weird feeling. Jen asks if it means I’m feeling better about it all.

“A bit,” I lie. “A bit.”

Doesn’t life change around so quickly sometimes? A couple of months back, I was so mad with Jen and decided I would never speak to her again. But at the barbecue at Ella’s mum and dad’s we had the best time. Aided by my drinking too much I’m sure, and the morning after was a miserable awakening to the “he left me” truth plus a terrible party quality wine headache.

So Jen and I are friends again, which is one big change. But there’s another change happening too. A big, big, big one. Oh, heck, here goes.

Josie’s big life-changing hungover Sunday

To distract myself from the hangover and the thoughts of Frank (Sundays are the worst), I went online to look at Ella’s Cambodia stuff on Facebook. She’d posted some photos of her and Ben and the other littlies there too. Little Charlie is just the sunniest child. She is so lucky to have him. Well, my plan was that a bit of First World indulgence in Third World problems would be a good way to help me pull myself together. So your boyfriend left you, lady, suck it up. That kind of thing.

But, something very different happened. All I could look at were the photos of Charlie. Ella? Ben? Angkor Wat? Not interested. I just wanted to look at the photos with Charlie in them and then I only looked at him. Well, I dozed off and had a dream Ella gave him to me like she said in the hospital when he was born. She handed him over, everyone was smiling and clapping, and I walked out of the hospital with a baby Charlie in my arms. I woke up feeling oddly content. I can’t remember the last time I felt this, I don’t know, peaceful?

I started looking at the lap top again. This time it was the photos of the Cambodian littlies. I lingered on one little girl in particular. She must have been about four or five. A bit grubby and wearing a tatty red t-shirt. Clearly shy, but smiling at the camera anyway. I don’t know her from a bar of soap, but I wanted to almost pick her out of the screen and take her into my kitchen.

“You want some juice?” She does. “Let’s go the beach,” she says. “No, too warm today. Maybe a nice shady park instead.” Then I looked back at the photos of Charlie. I love Charlie. No, not in the casual sense, like he’s really cute or something. I really, really love him. Just as I love my friends. I know Kelly and Jen barely think about Charlie, but I think about him a lot. What he likes on TV right now. What he likes to eat. What he doesn’t. The funny things he says.

I realised an hour had gone by and all I had done was click between photos of the red t-shirt girl, and Charlie. And I kept smiling at them both. I realised this was easily the most smiling I’d done since he left me. And then I realised that the “he left me” feeling didn’t feel quite so bad. Maybe it did, but I just wasn’t noticing it as much. Nor have I noticed it as much since. More than the hurt of he left me, there was this other feeling. A feeling of want, not lack. A feeling that I want to be a mum.

Oh, heck.

So, needing another distraction, from this other thing, I picked up The Lady Cyclist’s Guide to Kashgar and read it from start to finish, still in my hungover Sunday stupor on the sofa, with the air con on, as it was thirty five bloody degrees

And bloody hell, it wasn’t a travel book at all. It’s about a woman who unexpectedly acquires a baby. I can almost taste her love for this child in the pages. I’m scared. But I’m also excited. I’m going to do it. I’m going to do everything I possibly can, at the rather advanced age of thirty-eight, to become a mum.

Ella

Karma. What dumb ass ever came up with that idea? Lovely Jos gets shitty Frank. Skinny, smelly poo Karen is quite nice and now she’s lumbered with him. Of late, she’s gone from all happy, floaty round the office to looking miserable. I ask her what’s up and she says, “Oh, you know.” Which I do, of course, knowing she is going out with that tosser. Not that she has ever worked out the Josie/Frank connection. Or if she has, she’s keeping quiet.

We didn’t tell Josie that Frank was seeing Karen. Should we tell Karen that Frank was seeing Josie and her at the same time? Well, once again, Kelly and I have decided not to. What I really hate is that fucker Frank keeps putting me in these situations. Not that I’m really worrying about that right now. That was last week’s worry.

This week’s worry is my mum has cancer.

Yes, you did hear that right. Bit of a more significant worry. My gorgeous mum, aged fifty-eight, looks forty-eight. Fit. Healthy. Amazing organiser of parties and strong supporter of the 21 Club. Surrogate mother to three ex-pat poms who call on her for everything from a “How could he do that to you?” hug to a hem needing fixing. Fixing is what my mum does best. All her life, fixing, fixing for other people. And after all that, she has cancer. And I am so fucking furious.

I guess it was the usual scenario. She finds a lump. Doesn’t tell anyone, as she doesn’t want anyone to worry. Goes to the doctor. Doctor says he’s sure it’s just a cyst, but he’ll get it tested just in case. Then “just in case” becomes, “I’m so, so, sorry Sandy,” and the poor old doc has tears in his eyes. As I do now. It’s malignant; it has to be operated on. Darling mum has to decide between getting rid of the lump (which may grow back) and getting rid of the whole boob (nowhere to grow back, but then again, might still grow somewhere else) nice choice, hey? And we have to be prepared for the nasty shitty fucking cancer to have grown somewhere else already. They’ll find out if it has when they do the op.

My mum is the kindest, most giving person you’ll ever meet. She isn’t kind and giving to get people to be kind and giving back. She just is. So come on, God, or whoever is out there. She has been putting her family, her friends, my friends first in her life for forty years. So why did you have to go and pick her? Come on, why? You must have some sort of explanation. I’m waiting for it.

Dad is hopeless. Mum is wearing herself out filling the freezer with dinners for him for when she’s in hospital. He keeps crying when he sees them, because it makes him think she’s doing it in case she dies. Mum says, “I’m not going to die, you daft old cunt,” and Dad is so shocked at her using the C word, he stops crying. She knows how to handle him.

She’s also (yes, I feel bad) slaving over food for the first 21 Club which is this Saturday. Then bloody Christmas is looming, but I have persuaded her not to do her usual huge and delicious spread this year. I’ve booked us all into Doltone House for Christmas day, which we can’t really afford, but anything to stop her working. She refuses to cancel the first 21 Club party. And no one outside of family is to know she’s ill yet. We’ll tell them after Christmas. She doesn’t want to spoil anyone’s Christmas.

“Besides,” Mum says, putting another batch of her unsurpassable sausage rolls in the oven. “We oldies do so much better with this breast cancer thing than you youngsters. No pesky hormones left to whizz it all around. So if anyone had to get it, and let’s face it, one in eight women do, far better it be me than one of my darling girls.”

There are eight women in this book. The four book clubbers, Mum, Karen and Lucy, and Marlene. And no, I don’t include Kylie. She was a fucking pain by all accounts, nor Fanny as she is a weird goth.

Why would you remember Marlene? She’s the one at Mum and Dad’s last barbecue who was chatting to Sid. Now dating Sid, apparently. Mum says, “Isn’t that lovely?” I say, “No, it makes me want to throw up. Marlene is such fun and Sid is so boring.”

Well, my mum, our one in eight, despite having just been diagnosed with cancer, still finds time to be happy for Marlene and Sid. And cook for a hundred people. My mum is amazing. I expect your mum is amazing too, and if you’ve forgotten that of late, remember it. Pick up the phone and tell her. Tell her right now.

Oh, and I don’t think I’ll need to tell you that Ben has been amazing too. He’s let me cry and rage and sulk. Mum’s operation is on 27^th December. He’s going to take time off work to look after Charlie so I can spend a couple of weeks here with Mum and Dad. Mum’s cousin Amanda is coming over from the UK too, so between us we can look after her. I dread to think what state the flat will be in when I get back. It’ll probably look like an episode of Hoarders. But you know what? Being a slob does not make a man a shit. Being a shit is what makes a man a shit. If your man is a slob but a lovely one, hang onto him. And make sure you tell him he’s lovely.

Saturday, December 21st

Jen

Well, it’s the inaugural 21 Club party. Sandy, Big Charlie and Ella all look a bit strained which is odd, as all three usually take this entertaining stuff in their stride. And as ever with their parties, it’s going fabulously. There are lots of laughs. Lots of donating despite it being nearly Christmas, which we thought might be an issue with fundraising. Seems not.

Ella has just worked out that she has raised enough tonight alone to send a shipment of flip flops to the orphanage. The Director will take pictures of the littlies in their new shoes and Ella will email them to all the club members. Instead of transferring money online and never knowing what happens next, we get to really see something. Only something little maybe, but if you have one pair of falling apart shoes, or maybe no shoes at all, getting a brand new pair from Australia would be a big thing. A big thing we are making happen. Or rather, Ella is making happen with her fantastic ideas.

I need to find my own fantastic. A passion that drives me, as Ella has. I love my life but I need something big. Something new in my garden. What is it that I can do? I thought it might be writing, but my little book just gets rejections. I’ve been pondering for a while. Like I said in my book, your fantastic must be something that drives you. I don’t (sorry) have Ella’s philanthropic energy, but I do feel the need to find a new passion of some sort. Who knew I was about to find it so soon? Here’s how.

The party is thrumming nicely when I notice an unfamiliar face, a blonde lady laughing her head off about something. Kelly says it’s Ella’s mum’s cousin Amanda. She’s over from the UK to visit Sandy as she was able to get a cheap last minute flight. Seems strange given it’s nearly Christmas; the flights are always rammed, but still. I guess some people must get lucky. Apparently she’s an artist, and with a flexible job like that, you can do spur of the moment things. How bloody fantastic.

Anyway, Kelly and I go over to say hi and talk some pom talk. Turns out, Amanda does a fair bit of this, “Sod it, why not?” stuff. She can’t believe that Kelly and I don’t.

“I have a husband and a twelve-year-old,” she says. “But they accept that I need adventure as well as a life with them. So sometimes, I just go.”

“But,” I say, “Ella tells me you’re an artist. You can be more adventurous with a job like that.”

“True.”

But then we tell her I’ve worked for the same company in recruitment forever.

“Would you not be entitled to some time off?” Good question, new friend Amanda.

When she finds out Kelly is a PA, she says, “So you could find temp work quite easily? Via your best friend?” Another good point, new friend Amanda.

We’ve never really thought like this. When we ‘fess up we’re also single and childless, well, Amanda is really shocked. “What on earth are you doing with all that freedom?”

And the answer is, uh, not a lot, actually. Which is pretty bad, considering freedom is one of my key pillars to successful and happy single living.

Amanda has travelled all over the world. She’s caught night trains in India. Safari jeeps in Botswana. Driven huskies in Finland, though I think that might be a bit chilly for me. She’s had a dozen different jobs. Air stewardess. Set Designer. Gallery owner. Book illustrator...

What have I ever done? Other than the usual slew of bar jobs when I was a student, I’ve been in one job with one company my whole life. And yes, I’ve done a bit of travel, but more of the organized tour kind than the kind where you immerse yourself in a whole new culture.

“You could travel, like Amanda,” says Kelly. “I bet you have some savings you could use, and after all that time there, they owe you really. Hey, maybe you could write about it too!”

“Well, maybe. But the writing thing has been so disappointing. I got another rejection yesterday. This agent said, ‘You write very well, probably well enough to be published one day, but the self help market is a bit passé. You should find something else to write about.’”

“That’s a rejection? Best rejection I ever heard!”

“Me too,” says Amanda. “I think you should go seek some adventure and write about that.”

I think I may have just found my fantastic.

Kelly

Jen is glowing tonight. She looks so well and so happy. I leave her and Amanda to their travel talk. Wish I could think about an adventure, but it’s not possible with my salary and bank account, unfortunately. Hey ho. Might just have another of Sandy’s amazing bacon crispie thingos.

Ah, bless the bean pole, here is Nick.

“Hi, gorgeous. And how gorgeous does Jen look tonight?”

Dear Nick knows just how to get to my poor, frightened heart. A lovely word for my best mate means so much more than the lovely word for me. And he goes on, “Your brother’s smitten with her. Did you know? Look at him!”

I look at Bill and he’s looking at Jen, and he does look, well, smitten. Which I had an inkling of, but Bill is far more likely to talk to his new best boy Nick than me.

Don’t you go pairing Bill and Jen off! You’ve given up on Toby. Well, quite right he is too old and too married, but a great friend for her. Now give up on this Bill the boyfriend of Jen idea, please. This isn’t going to end up that way. End of. Besides, he lives in Reading. Ten thousand miles away. Not going to happen.

And Nick and I, how are we going to end up? As a couple, happy ever after? Reader, I don’t know. He still hasn’t raised the L word so, of course, neither have I. I am trying so bloody hard to crawl out of this falling in love feeling. Sometimes, like right now after a couple of glasses of wine, I can be a bit more relaxed about it all. Which is nice as the strain is getting to me. Mostly though, I just feel stressed out and scared.

Just as well I’m a bit pissed and a bit chilled, mind, as Nick tells me he and Big Charlie are going to do a duet turn on the karaoke. Whenever my ex took to the mike I would cringe. Not so with Nick, despite him being a rotten singer. Seems that when you are in love, not only do the farts smell good, the crap karaoke singing sounds okay as well. Yes, I know I have it bad, stop reminding me. Well aware, thank you.

Big Charlie is a great singer and plays guitar really well too. Hopefully that will drown out Nick’s caterwauling. I don’t think anyone else will be able to sing along. What is this song, It’ll be Alright? This song Nick is dedicating to me. He says he and Big Charlie have been practicing it. Everyone says, “Ah, sweet,” except the poms who say, “Ah, bless.”

Except me. I say, quietly, “Oh, no.”

Off they go. I can’t really follow it, do songs ever make sense? It is something about setting someone free, I got that bit. My stomach lurches. I haven’t had that much to drink. Why do I feel queasy suddenly? And anxious too. Why does he want to set me free?

Big Charlie is doing a little guitar solo bit here. He looks very upset which is weird. Nick looks pissed. Or is he just pissed off with me? Is that what this song is about?

Ditching me? Bloody hell I have turned into old Jen who cares if he ditches me that’s what men always do eventually. He’s just doing it through the means of a ditching song how very bloody creative and media man of him.

Well, finally the ditching song finishes, everyone cheers and Charlie proposes a toast to Jimmy Barnes who apparently wrote the song. That’s the Khe Sanh man whose song I was butchering in Broome the night I met Nick. What a coincidence. We begin and end to Jimmy Barnes. “To Jimmy,” says Big Charlie, sounding very emotional. “The God of Australian rock.”

I don’t know why he’s tearful. How odd. It’s not like Jimmy Barnes died or something. Its clearly Nick and I who have died. He wants to set me free? Bastard. I knew no good would come of this. I knew falling in love was a bloody stupid idea.

Josie

Baby is looming bigger and Frank is shrinking smaller. It still hurts like hell, but not quite all the time now. When I feel really down about him I run this mantra through my head:

Selfish/critical/short/small willy. Again. Selfish/critical/short/small willy.

That helps a bit. And of course my mind is bursting with the baby thing. I’m thirty-eight and I need to get on with it. Jen is already way past the point. Menopausal! And hardly any older than me. Scary.

Well, clearly, looking for a guy to make a baby with would be too slow, and probably not work anyway. I need to act now and by myself. That’s why I ducked out of the 21 Club party last night. I felt bad, but I needed to start some research into sperm donors. God, I’m turning into Fanny, Kelly’s lodger. Home alone on a Saturday doing weird stuff. But it doesn’t feel weird. It feels like it is the exact right thing I should be doing at this point in my life.

It’s strange, though. We’re barely in touch, and our relationship has been strained for years, but it’s Mum I need to talk to. I’ve spoken to Sandy about my baby plan and she has promised not to say a word to Ella. Sandy says I should go for it. She sounded a bit distracted maybe she was tired from all that cooking for the party, but we had a lovely chat and she said she’s seen how I am with little Charlie, and I would make a great mum.

But I feel I need my mum’s backing too. I need her to say, like Sandy says, “Go for it. You will be great at it.” My mum is a bit of a disinterested parent. She might say, “God, why would you want to do that?” Or maybe she’ll just not care what I do. Either way, I need to know what she thinks. So I compose an email. It’s still in drafts awaiting that final send click. Somehow, once I’ve told mum, it will feel like I am definitely going to do it. Here’s what’s waiting to go when I’m brave enough. And it will have to be before Christmas.

P.S. How did I miss the advice in Jen’s book about making a baby yourself? I was so unaware of what I really wanted that I read her book twice and it still didn’t register. I keep re-reading this bit now when I get scared:

‘A child, wanted so very much that a brave, wonderful, powerful woman decided to go it alone and make that baby? Well, that child has a better start in life than a child made by a mum who married a dad because she thought he would do, and tick tock tick, she really, really, needed to be getting on with it.’

Thank you, Jen. Thank you so much for this.

Sunday, December 22nd

From: Josiesmithson@bigpond.com.au

To: crazycruisebabe@hotmail.co.uk

Dear Mum,

First of all I suppose – Season’s Greetings! I hope you are well. We haven’t been in touch for a while and I have something big to say. Something I felt I could say better in an email. I figured it would give you the time to digest the news.

I am no longer with Frank. I think I mentioned that when we caught up last month? It has been hard. It still is. We were together a long time.

You once asked me if I thought Frank and I would ever marry and have children. Well, he never wanted that. And as I felt that Frank was all I ever wanted, I convinced myself I was happy with what we had.

Truth is, I wasn’t really happy. Frank looked so perfect to me, I strained to believe he was perfect inside too, and that my needs perfectly matched his – i.e. no children. But they didn’t. I do want a child. Very badly, as it turns out.

So here I am, having left it too late to find a man to have a child with. And so I am going to try and have a baby by myself. You probably know that there are reputable Internet sites you can buy screened sperm from quite legitimately. And I will get decent maternity leave and pay, so I can make it work financially.

You may be thinking I’m insane. What do I know of raising a child? Truth is, of course, nothing. But I do know I want this. I have done a great deal of soul searching over the last month or so and I know with absolute certainty, that this crazy thing will be the most fantastic thing that could ever happen to me.

You and I have never been close. I would like to change that. Is it too late? Could we try? Maybe we can’t, but either way, I would love to have your blessing for this scary venture I am going to embark on. Don’t worry, I’m not asking for practical support. Just to know that you back me emotionally in this decision would be enough.

P.S. Our latest book club read is A Lady Cyclist’s Guide to Kashgar. Will you read it? It showed me that mums and daughters should not be estranged. And that a baby coming along in the oddest of circumstances can bring the greatest joy. That’s what I’m hoping anyway.

Much love, Josie xx

Seasons greetings from Sylvania Waters, folks. Here we are for Christmas day lunch at the posho place where Ben and I got married. It’s good, because it got us all reminiscing about the wedding. That was the last time Amanda was over! It’s so nice for mum to have her cousin here. Only Amanda and I know that the cheap last minute flight thing was complete crap. As if you can get a cheap last minute at Christmas. She forked out an insane amount of money so she could come over and support mum. Such a selfless thing to do.

Well, knowing what is happening the day after tomorrow hangs over us all, so a bit of wedding nostalgia to lighten the mood is perfect. Most of all, today and tomorrow are all about mum. We’re not letting her lift a finger. You can also imagine how she loves that. We might need to invest in some restraints.

Sandy

Merry Christmas! Look, I know I’m jumping in here, and it’s not my place, but I just wanted to tell you all not to worry. A lot of old tarts my age get this horrible thing and it’s a bloody nuisance, but I’ll be right as rain before you know it. That’s all from me, darls. Bye now. Have a fantastic year full of love and good cheer. Oh, and good health too, my loves. Here’s to the best of health for you all, unlike this daft old bugger. But I’ll get better. It will all be fine, I promise.

Jenny

Crimbolic Greetings! I am the hostess with mostest. This year Christmas is at my house. We have steak and prawns and other things I can do really easy peasy on the barbecue. Well, to be fair, Nick’s taken over that. He’s soooo good at it. I’m quite bad. I think I’m quite sozzled too.

Poor Toby has to be with his sulky wife and stroppy kids, but Bill is here. Josie is here. Kelly is here. Rosheen was here, but Bill was forced into paying for her cab back to Bondi. More of that later; Bill is in disgrace. Fab day, but a bit of a sad one too as Bad Bill flies home tomorrow. You get good deals on Boxing Day flights. So today is a Christmas/farewell celebration dinner for him. Unfortunately, the hangovers are a bit colossal from the Christmas Eve/farewell celebration pub crawl last night. So dinner might be a bit of a quieter affair. Anyway, Nick has the food under control (hurrah) so I’m going for a nap.

Josie

I’m never going out with this lot again – they’re mad! I’ve told them all I am giving up drinking in the New Year. Of course, you and I know why that is, but it’s kind of handy that I can make this terrible head and tummy the excuse. No, I didn’t send the email to Mum, so I’ll have to amend the Christmas bit. Maybe I’ll send it in January. No, I haven’t heard from Frank. But it’s okay. Honestly. I’m okay. I’m just a bit knackered – but still, excited about next year. Goodbye to this year and hello to a new chapter in my life.

Bill

Bill is IN THE HOUSE! Bill gets to do his thang, ‘cos the useless biatches are snoozing from their boozing, whereas big boy Bill just gets on it some more. Plus, Nick got to say his bit when we was camping, so he can’t be the only geezer in the book. Watch him sizzle them steaks! Go on, my son. Nice work, Nick. Love the apron. Ponce. Cheers, mate. Don’t turn those steaks more than once, now. I’ve watched Jamie Oliver. I know how this cooking thing works.

What a fucking laugh last night! Josie and Jen are both good girls. Pity I can’t get a hop on, as Big Charlie would say. We were wobbling our way down Darling Street to the Unity, having done a crawl of the strip of pubs on the way, and one of them spotted this poster on a lamppost. “Two German Backpackers – hardworking, trustworthy and reliable -will do anything you need doing around your house for $20 an hour!”

“There you go,” said sis. “If we ever have a prolonged dry spell we could use either of those. They look quite fit!” Kelly says some weird stuff considering Nick’s around but, he never seems to care. That fuckwit ex of hers would have sulked all night after that comment.

Josie studied the picture hard. She took the last tear off number.

“I wanted it!” said Jen, and they had a bit of a mock fight which I’ll admit made me a tad horny.

“Jen,” I said. “I’ll shag you for free.”

“Fuck off, Bill. I can’t really be bothered with sex anymore.”

“Jos, babe. You don’t want a Krout in you. I’ll see to your needs!”

“No, thank you,” said Josie.

“Kelly, babe...”

Sis threw me one of her very best, “That’s a step too far, even for you” looks. Nick was pissing himself.

I said, “Right then biatches. No root for Bill, I’ll find a backpacker of my own. I’ll bring her back to Jen’s and do her on the well posh sofa.”

“Bill!” A big squawk. Only Nick didn’t join in with the “Bill!” squawk. He was still pissing himself. There’s nothing better than a bloke what finds you funny. And Nick finds me fucking hilarious.

We got to the Unity and the band was chugging away at some dance worthy covers. More squawking. Just Jos this time. “Look! It’s a Wiggle! In the band, that man at the end! Look, he was in the Wiggles!”

I think Wiggles was some kids’ thing so God knows how Josie recognised him as she’s got no kids.

“I have to get a picture,” she said. “Charlie is going to love this!” I reckon Charlie won’t give a shit, but what do I know? Ah-ha. She means the little fella. Course. Little Charlie.

Well, the five of us had a good boogaloo for a couple of hours. It was fucking hot, mind. The bouncers kept opening the doors to try and cool it down. Jen was on the pavement at one point, dancing there, the daft cow. God, I fancy Jen even if she is menopausal like an older bird. I could get her sex juices flowing again. One bouncer got fed up with her dancing outside and shut the door on her. Bill to the rescue. I made sure he let my best girl back in, pronto.

The band played some classics. Sometimes they were down under only classics, and that sorted the poms from the locals. Locals were going mad for something, and we were saying, “What the hell is this?”

Nick said, “It’s a classic, mate.” Classic! He got well offended we hadn’t heard it before. We told him it was shite, just to wind him up.

Found me an Irish backpacker, got me a root on Jen’s sofa. Told you. Nice one. Rosheen was her name. I like a weird name, it’s easier to remember. Looked a bit like one those birds off of Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. Like I said, nice one, Billy. Big-haired sis was mad. She said my root was no older than Kylie. I said, “Sure that’s nonsense, so it is.”

Rosheen was chatting to the girls at Christmas breakfast. Sure, how grand it was that I’d agreed to marry her so she could get a visa to stay in Australia, and how nice it was I was having everyone over to this lovely little house, so it was. So old Bill is in the dog house with the women for misleading the poor young thing. My wallet is robbed of a hundred bucks (biatches!) and they take Rosheen to find a cab on Victoria Road so she can get back to Bondi to spend Christmas on the beach with half her home town.

I’m on the sofa trying to look sheepish just in case Nick thinks I’ve been a bastard too. He comes over with another beer and says, “Bill – you’re a fucking legend.”

You know, he’s never even mentioned that my slapper of a daughter got fingered by the cleaner in his boss’ office. Now that is a legendary bloke.

Ella

Book Club. Newtown Curry House. Tuesday 14th January. 7.30pm Book choice, Jen’s. Suzanne Joinson, The Lady Cyclist’s Guide to Kashgar.

Well, I really don’t feel like it as you can imagine, but Ben insists I go. He says I need to think about something other than Mum, and he’s right. He’s taken Charlie on a play date so I get the afternoon in Newtown too. He knows they’re my favourite shops in the whole city and I never get a chance to look around them. I’m under strict instructions to treat myself and get something for Mum too. He is the best.

Mum went for the whole boob option. Thank God it hadn’t spread, but she has to have some chemo anyway, just to be sure. If you ask her how she is she says, “Fine!” when she really means, “Fucking awful.” But Dad has got it together at last which is something. He’s stopped snivelling over frozen shepherd’s pies, and has learnt how to use the microwave. He sets a lovely table, flowers from the garden in a little vase and everything, shoves one of mum’s dinners in the microwave and proudly dishes it up to both of them like he just made it. Mum says, “Oh, Charlie, this is lovely,” and Dad says, “Beaut, darl. You just sit there and eat up now.” It’s a little pretence they both seem to enjoy. Whatever keeps them happy, I say.

Doctor says she is doing well, whatever that means. Anyway, book club. Or rather bad news club, because I guess I have to tell them sometime.

I’m here first with the Sauvignon Blanc already opened. Sukhpal has it in a wine bucket for us and says, “I know you want a butter chicken but I wait ‘til other ladies come.” Josie’s second. Which is a first, as she was always last. Josie will also have butter chicken. Another first, no, second actually. She had one last time but she didn’t manage to eat much of it as she was so sad over Frank. Well, hopefully she is less sad over that git now, as well as less obsessed with her weight, and so able to indulge in butter chicken. Though, will any of us want to after I have delivered my news?

“Hey, El. How are you? You look a bit down.”

Sometimes, women’s perception and sensitivity is a complete pain in the arse.

“I’m fine. You?”

“I’m okay. Getting there. It feels good to be in a new year.”

“He wasn’t good for you, you know? I know I’m not supposed to say it, but I will.”

“I know you will. And I do now know you’re right. Knowing it doesn’t stop it hurting, though.”

“When it stops hurting, we’ll have the pre-Frank Josie back. The good time girl.”

“Maybe. Ella, can I ask you something before the others get here? Does child birth really hurt? Like really, really hurt?”

What the hell?

I don’t have to deal with that particular curveball as Kelly and Jen arrive together. Jen is brimming with something or other. Kelly looks a bit distracted. What are we like? Shit, they all have their own issues. How can I drop this on them? Maybe I’ll just leave it. Let’s just do the book. I’ll start, shall I?

“Funny book, Jen,” I say.

“Did you like it?” She’s beaming at me like it’s the most important thing in the world that I did.

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Funny title.”

Struggling here. I read it in the Before Cancer time. Sometime in November, BC. A lifetime ago, and I can’t remember it. Which I think you can tell.

“So strange,” says Kelly, “that the title wasn’t at all what it was about.”

“It was about a woman’s love for a child,” says Josie. “It was one of the best books I have ever read.”

“Except the mums of grown-up daughters,” says Kelly, “who stopped bothering.”

“Yeah. Like mine, hey?”

“Jos, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know you didn’t. It’s fine. My mum doesn’t bother with me much, we all know that. Sandy is more of a mum to me than she is. I don’t know what I’d do without your mum, El, to be honest. Poor Frieda in the book had no mother figure, real or surrogate. But as a mum, Evangeline… was that her name? Evangeline or something? Well, she was brilliant. From nowhere, she has a baby and well, wow. Girls, I’m waffling, sorry, it’s because I want to tell you something...”

Bloody hell. I’ve been trying not to but I’m crying. I can’t help it. All this mum talk. Especially talk about my mum. My darling, lovely mum.

“Ella?” Josie reaches over to me. I squeeze her hand. Hard. “Ella, you’re frightening us. What’s happened?”

“It’s Mum.” I’ve given up trying to stop crying now and it’s a relief. Jen hands me a napkin.

“Yuck! This has butter chicken on it!”

“Only a bit. What’s happened, hon? Is Sandy okay?”

“She has cancer.”

“Oh, shit,” says Kelly. “Shit. Shit.”

“Exactly. How can this happen? To her of all people. Jen, don’t you start crying too.”

“She is the kindest woman that ever walked on the planet! She is bloody wonderful! How can this be happening?”

“Happens a lot, hon.” This is Kelly, comforting Jen, which is a bit rich, but I know Mum means the world to Jen and she’s a bit of a cry baby at the best of times, let alone the worst.

“Ella, we will all be here for you and Sandy and the whole family. You’re family to us. We will get her through this.”

“Thanks, Jos. You’re so much nicer without Fuckwit Frank in your life. What were you going to tell us, anyway?”

“Nothing. Nothing important.”

Jen

Thursday, January 17th

From Jenniferclarke@meritpersonnel.com.au

To Kellyralph@buxtonandbaldingarchitects.com.au josiesmithson@allens.com.au

Cc Ellafisher@buxtonandbaldingarchitects.com.au sandyoftheshire@bigpond.com.au

Don’t ignore this email because it is so long. The first bit you need to read soon as, the second bit can wait!

First Bit

Kim at work has a beach house at Hyams Beach and we can have it for free for the Australia Day weekend as she’s had a last minute cancellation! I don’t think anyone has anything planned? How about a girly weekend to cheer up Ella’s mum? Ella says she and Sandy are definitely up for it. Kelly, I know you’re off today, but let me know ASAP. If we can’t do the 25/26 weekend we can have it another time – but this way, we get it free, and for an extra day. Way hay.

Second Bit

Well, as our last two book clubs have been a bit difficult, it got me thinking on how crazy last year was for all of us. That our lovely Sandy has cancer is the worst of it, and Ella, if I haven’t said it properly, I am so, so sorry. And what Frank did to you, Josie? Well, words are hard to find. But you will pull through, hon. Life will be better without him.

Kelly, you are lucky in love. You just need to have some faith. And as for me, well, after the deluge of unfortunate men in my life I am now my own person and a happy one. As you can all tell, I hope!

If you’re wondering where this is all heading, it is to this. For myself, and I hope for you, the love and support of our little circle has been one of the greatest joys of my life. To know that each of you is there for me is a great privilege. And I hope you know I am here for you too. I have certainly found many more lovely friends than lovely boyfriends, and you three are amongst the loveliest.

Married couples sometimes renew their vows. True friends never have vows, but stick to them anyway. Let’s make our cottage weekend a big hug for Sandy from all her surrogate daughters down under, as well as her real one. But let’s also make it a celebration of our friendship.

Here’s to a great weekend for all of us (whenever we do it) but an especially great weekend for Ella and Sandy.

Jen xx

Kelly

Hyams Beach. Jervis Bay.

Can you believe one of Jen’s colleagues owns this house? She inherited it, apparently. Lucky her; it is fabulous. We think Jen’s house, plus our three flats, would all fit inside it. Hilarious. Well, as you can see from the date, we went for the Australia Day weekend. Why wouldn’t we? And it’s turned out to be a sunny one. The house is perfect for us; there’s even a separate annexe bit out the back which Ella and Sandy have. It’s ideal for them as it’s en-suite, and Sandy gets up a lot in the night. The chemo has really disrupted her sleep patterns. Plus, as she says, she needs to wee a lot. But that isn’t the cancer, she says, that’s just with her being an old wrinkly.

Jos lucks out with the double, and Jen and I are in the twin room. These two rooms share a balcony that look out to the beach. The smell of that warm sea air is delicious. Last night we slept with the doors open and just the flyscreens closed to stop the mossies coming in. The sound of waves, so lovely and soothing. Best sleep I’ve had in ages. I hope it did Sandy some good, too.

Dear Jen – what about her email? What a softie she is. But what a great idea. Here I am on the beach, soaking up the sun. I don’t think I’ve done this since Broome. Just because we get a lot of sun here, doesn’t mean we get the chance to lie in it all that often.

Jen came up with another idea, too. Each of us has been given a postcard of Honeymoon Bay, which is this gorgeous little beach nearby, shaped like a heart. On the back of our cards, we each have to put down our main goal for the year ahead, and our thoughts on what the friendship and support of the others has meant to us.

Sandy is having a nap back at the house and we have taken a picnic down to the beach. In the post picnic wine haze each of us has found our own private place on the beach for contemplation and card writing.

I’m half thinking about it, half snoozing, when the phone rings. It’s Nick. Things in my head haven’t got any better. It is a bit easier when we’re with other people, like at Christmas. And it helped a lot when Bill was here; nothing is ever serious when he’s around, so when Nick came over we were just like a flat share, really. Now he’s gone, well, it just feels tense.

“Hi, Kel. How are you? On the beach?”

“Yup. Nice and sunny down here.”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“I sense a something.”

Don’t verbalize it, Kelly. Say nothing, Kelly. Go with the flow, Kelly. But there’s another Kelly who is just too wrung out by all this and she is speaking. Shit. She is speaking.

“Well, I just wonder where this is going.”

“Where what is going?”

“This. You and me.”

“Does it need to be going anywhere?”

Silence. What do I say? Nick speaks again. “We have a good time, I think?”

“We have a very good time.”

“I love you. I think you love me, though you’re a grumpy bitch sometimes...”

“You love me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Well, no, as you’ve never said it, and that song at the 21 Club party. It was all about setting me free.”

“Are you for real? First off, that was a month ago, and second off, that was my way of trying to tell you how much I care! God, you women. There was me thinking I’d pulled off the ultimate romantic gesture.”

“But what do you want, Nick? What are we about?”

“We’re about spending good times together. As we do. What do you want?”

“I don’t know. What happens next?”

“You want me to propose?”

“No!”

“Move in together?”

“Also, no.”

“Good, neither do I. It’s like we’ve said, it is what it is. And I like it. Don’t you?”

“I do like it. I like it a lot. I just keep waiting for it all to go sour.”

“You mean, go sofa.”

“Sofa?”

“All of my previous relationships have gone sofa.”

“You’ve lost me. I love that you use the pom word for it, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sofa’s a great word. Well, anyway, it’s kind of like this. I’d be in this relationship with a woman and it would be going okay. So then one or other of us moves into the other’s place. Person who has moved in says, ‘God, I hate that sofa,’ and then there’s a bit of a tiff. You know, ‘It was my aunt’s/it’s all I can afford/ fuck off if you don’t like it.’ That kind of thing. Then you make up and go sofa shopping.”

“Probably at ‘Amazing Furniture.’”

“Yup. Where the furniture is not at all amazing. And there you have another row, because one of you says, ‘It’s shite here,’ and the other says, ‘We can’t afford anything else,’ and the owner of the original sofa says there was nothing wrong with it. And the person who thinks there is something wrong with it says, ‘Well, if you didn’t spend all your money on beer/handbags we could go to Freedom and get a really fantastic sofa.’ So now you’ve had the worst kind of row. A public, shop-based one. Are you getting me?”

“I think so.”

“I love you. I love you so much, Kelly. But I don’t want us to go sofa, I want us to stay as we are.”

“Me too.”

“All we should do on sofas, yours or mine, is watch great movies.”

“Or maybe pash once in a while.”

“That too, and what’s that thing Bill goes on about? Fingering.”

“My filthy brother.”

“He’s a top bloke.”

“You’re a top bloke.”

“Don’t go all gooey on me now.”

“I won’t. I get it.”

“Well, that’s good. I wondered what had been bothering you the last few weeks.”

“I love you, Nick. That’s what has been bothering me.”

“I love you too, Kel. So no more being bothered by it. We work, okay? Don’t analyse it. It just works.”

Well, that’s sorted out my aim for the year. Probably not as dramatic as the others’ will probably be, but actually, pretty life-changing for love scarred and love scared Kelly. I lie back on the sand again and feel the sun start to prickle my skin. I hear laughter coming from the shore. Ella has chased Josie into the water and is hollering that she’s guessed what’s on her postcard so she may as well show her.

I love my friends. I love my Nick. I have never in my life before felt such a moment of pure happiness.

Josie

Well, you know what my aim for the year is going to be and so does Ella now, as the cow rugby tackled me into the surf to get my postcard off me. She reckoned she’d already worked it out, anyway.

After that, we had a long talk about motherhood. She tried to put me off. She failed. She told me about the boredom, the frustration, the lack of sleep, the lack of money. She said just about everything you take for granted in your blissful child-free life will be gone forever. I’m exhausted listening to her, but she still hasn’t put me off.

Well, that was her bad cop routine, which I have to say she did extremely well. Now it’s good cop time. Ella says that ever since she has known me, she has also known I wanted one day to become a mum. Even back in the London days, when it really was one big long party, she said I would notice kids. Apparently I always, always notice kids.

Ella says when we were in London, we’d be having a lovely greasy spoon hangover breakfast in some dodgy Shepherds Bush cafe on a Sunday morning, dissecting the previous night’s antics. Then a mum and dad would come in with a stroller, and apparently, my eyes just went there. And stayed there. And having known I had always wanted deep down to be a mum, this is why Ella hated Frank so much, for brainwashing me into believing I didn’t. Well, that along with him being a total wanker and also liking Ricky Martin. I told her Livin’ La Vida Loca was one of his favourite blowjob tunes. She thinks I’m joking, but I’m actually not. I’m slowly starting to see him as the others did and it is really helping to heal my heart.

After a chilled and lazy day of beach picnicking and sunbathing and composing our postcards, it’s time to have them read out. The front of the house has a deck area overlooking the sea. We have take out fish and chips from Husky as it’s the only way of keeping Sandy out of the kitchen. We have more wine (not for me, though) and delicious food. God, how I missed chips when I was with Frank.

It seems a bit weird, I know, but it was the high we all felt after Jen’s email that started it. How often do you tell your friends what they mean to you? Hardly ever. So, hurrah for sweet Jen’s crazy ideas. You should try them yourself, or else have a girls’ weekend without the postcards, and just talk a lot of hilarious shit. We did that, too.

Jen got to go first with her postcard as it was her idea. We’re each doing our thoughts on each other first and our goals second.

“Kelly,” Jen reads from her card. “Thank you for always, always being there for me. I am so happy you have Nick, but you still keep me – all of us - properly in your life, not just as fringe to you and your boyfriend.

Josie, I know you have been through a horrible time, but the person emerging from that bad time is a person much happier than the old you. Ella, you are an inspiration. When I first met you I thought you were just a party girl. You are so much more than that. Sandy, thank you for never losing patience with me, and being a shoulder to cry on through all my ridiculous break-ups with all those badly chosen men. You will be well again soon.”

Everyone claps. Now it’s Kelly’s turn.

“Jen, you have the kindest heart of anyone I know. Now you’ve stopped letting the boyfriend thing rule your life, you are no longer just a gorgeous person, but a happy one too. Josie, Ella always regaled me with tales of the Josie she met in London. Now I see that person emerging and it is a privilege getting to know the real you Ella, like Jen says, you are amazing. Thanks for making Buxton and Balding bearable. Sandy, you speak such kind wisdom. Thank you. I did listen. I promise you I did listen.”

More applause, and now my turn.

I thank them all for their amazing support when my life imploded back in November. I thank Sandy in particular for her surrogate mum role, and I know, I tell her, that I was her toughest task. More clapping.

Now Ella. “Confession time, Jen. I still haven’t read your book, but I’m very pleased you decided to stop being a twat magnet. Ditto, Josie, with the ultimate twat. But I’m delighted that Kelly has Nick.”

Ella tells us Ben has texted to say Nick and Charlie are bonding and he is happy to babysit for them as long as Kelly can come too, and they can make out on the sofa.

Kelly smiles. “He’ll be there by himself. Jen and I will be back at the Unity. Maybe we’ll persuade Josie to come again, too?” Oh no they won’t.

Now comes to the plans for next year. I say I want to go last and Ella, who knows why I want to go last, says that’s fine.

Jen first. She is going travelling! She has booked six months off work to travel and do some more writing. Wow. We tell her that is fantastic and she says it sure is her fantastic. We all smile knowingly, except Ella, who is probably thinking, “Crap grammar for a would-be writer.”

Kelly next. She says her plan is simpler. But for her, it has been quite tough getting there. Kelly is going to be happily in love with Nick. She catches Sandy’s eye and they smile a little smile which is just for the two of them.

Ella asks if they’re moving in together. Kelly says no, neither of them wants that. They are happy with things the way they are. And you can tell she is. This isn’t a compromise decision, like the ones I always had to make with Frank. This is really, truly what they are both happiest with.

Tipsy and teary Ella is next. She says she will make damn sure her mum gets well. She will also, being such an amazing multi-tasker, grow The 21 Club, be an excellent mum to Charlie, and an excellent wife to Ben.

She will be a wife who gives such spectacular blow jobs they have no need of a soundtrack. Everyone says, “What?” except me. I say, “Ella!” And that is the last “Ella!” of this book.

There have been a few.

Now it’s my turn. I tell them all I’m going to have a baby. Ella and Sandy look knowing, Jen splutters out her wine, and Kelly drops the ketchup.

I get the biggest cheer of all.

July

Ella’s Epilogue

Ha! I get the last word. Which is exactly as it should be.

First things first – Mum is in remission. Isn’t it brilliant? She has done so well. She has no hair, but as she says, washing and blow-drying your hair is a bloody pain in the neck anyway. All the money she is saving on shampoo and conditioner and hair cuts is going to the orphanage. She is so lovely.

Nick and Kelly are fine. You knew they would be. They still won’t move in together. Doesn’t stop me dropping hat hints, though. Sometimes when we’re at work, I’ll email Kelly a picture of an especially awful hat to tease her. She loves it. She tells me to sod off, but I can tell she loves it.

Jen has finished up at work and is heading off very soon. She’s going to be travelling through the Kimberley, probably with a bunch of backpackers. To which I said, “Good, you might see some action. You could be a cougar!” She said, “I might, Ella, and maybe I already have been.” Josie. Josie Jo Jo...is PREGNANT! She is due in August. And yes, genius, that does mean she was ALREADY PREGGERS when we had that lovely weekend at Jervis Bay. Amazing considering her age, to fall pregnant so quickly. She has been very lucky, she knows. Mind you, she says, the way she did it was a bit naughty.

She only went and slept with one of those German backpackers. You know, the ones on the poster offering their services for $20 an hour? She told the best-looking one this tale of woe about the Sydney man drought and how she hadn’t had sex in a year and saw his photo and thought how gorgeous he was and she just wondered, if maybe she could pay him to shag her? Herman said, “Josie. No vorries. I vill fuck you for free.”

She made sure Herman came over when she was at her most fertile. Still, bloody good luck. She deserves some, after Frank the fucker.

Herman, as it turned out, had overstayed his working holiday visa and has since been deported back to Munich. So he knows nothing. Which yes, I know, and she knows, is morally a bit wrong, but at least now she doesn’t have to pay for sperm or shove it up herself with a turkey baster. All good. Her mum is a bit lukewarm about the whole thing which is a shame. But she has my mum clucking over her, and calling Josie’s baby her second grandchild. Nice one, Jos - gets me off the hook!

What else. Karen! Karen, how could I forget? Still does very stinky shits, still seeing stinky, shitty Frank. She mopes around the office like she is having a shitty life which, with him in it now, she will be.. Lucy, lovely receptionist at the offices of the esteemed Buxton and Balding? Well, weirdly enough she is dating Perry, Karen’s Internet dating cast off who you won’t remember at all. He came to work drinks last Friday. Mum says if something isn’t true, kind and necessary, then I mustn’t say it. So I’m saying nothing about Perry and hoping I can forget him like you all have, but if he makes Lucy happy, so be it.

Fanny, Kelly’s dodgy gothy lodger, did indeed decamp to Africa. No, honestly, she did. Last we knew she’d dropped the idea of voluntary work and was in Lagos, having hooked up with some Nigerian Dr Who fan. As you do.

Marlene and Sid? Why do you give a rat’s arse about Marlene and Sid? You hardly met them. Well, okay then. Pick your answer:

Option One

Marlene is still seeing Sid and enjoying bad sex, tales of equipment hire life, and being hated by his teenage daughter.

Option Two

Marlene dumped Sid and decided to volunteer at the orphanage! She is a nurse, so of course, they love having her. When she’s finished there, she is going travelling in Laos, Thailand and Burma.

See ya girls. Make sure you pick the right option now. We don’t want Marlene stuck in the wrong life.

Love youze,

El xx

Jen

As if I would let her have the last word. Like Ella says, we hardly know Marlene, so we won’t be ending with her. Although I am rather impressed by her, so you can take it from that which life she’s in! Sid was very put out, by all accounts.

So, the real last word is from me. As Ella told you, I am off travelling. So far I’m being a bit of a slacker on planning any voluntary work. Well, we can’t all be Ella. I’m at Sydney domestic right now with a glass of bubbles – and bubbles in my tummy too, as I am so bloody excited. I am off to the Kimberley on my first ever outback trip! I can’t wait to do all my travelling, but I will really miss my usual life too. Sunday mornings, that smell of toast, laughing with Kelly over the previous night’s antics. Peaceful weeknights in blissful solitude, relaxing after a hard but satisfying day’s graft. Weekends away with the gang – we always do houses now, so it is more comfy for pregnant Josie. Actually we do houses now as Ella says camping is shit. Yes, I know I’ll be camping in the Kimberley but that will be swags under the stars and it will be amazing. Most of all, I will miss book club nights with butter chicken and my best girls.

But, it will all be waiting for me when I get back from my adventures. I hope Kevin the backpacker won’t be waiting too! One night, a few weeks back, Kelly and I met yet more bloody backpackers at the Unity. And little me – with about as much interest these days in sex as I have in cricket – lusted hugely after one of them. The one called Kevin. So, you know what? Reader, I shagged him. Kelly discreetly departed home, so I brought gorgeous Kev back to my place and had the best sex I’d ever had; with a twenty-five-year old with a terrible name and a nose piercing.

Kelly said, “Shit, Jen. Now you’re going to go all gooey and “I want a boyfriend” again so you can get more sex.”

I said no – sex to me is like a massage – very nice every now and again, but not something I need. To be honest, it was a relief just to know that my foofee hadn’t sealed over.

Gorgeous Kev text stalked me for a while for some more sex, but I told him I was off travelling. He thinks I went a month ago. As you know – I am going today. Today.

And you know, no one else at this airport looks even remotely excited about wherever they are going. I probably look a bit crazed, alone and smiling to myself, and sipping away on my glass of champagne.

“What the fuck,” Ella would say. And you know, so do I.