‘Oh, great!’ Emerald’s voice dripped sarcasm. ‘“What do you think of Ruby’s boyfriend?” “He’s a . . . well, if you pardon the expression, a Queenslander!” Part of the bloody redneck brigade who lost us the last election and got us the climate-change-denying dinosaurs who are driving us towards extinction.’

‘A banana bender? Oh, Ruby. That’s too, too much. I need another drink. Urgently.’ Amber hauled herself out of the hot tub to seek alcoholic reinforcement.

‘Ruby, you don’t need a doctor, you need a psychiatrist,’ Emerald admonished.

‘What’s the matter, Emerald?’ I asked her, pointedly. ‘Did you get up on the wrong side of somebody’s bed this morning?’

‘Okay, fair enough. We’ve all had some fun in the sun. But it’s just a holiday romance. The high life on the high seas has had its way with you. Once you’re ashore these feelings will evaporate, like sea mist. Pffft!’ She snapped her fingers.

‘You don’t understand! I crave his touch. His voice. His eyes.’

‘Oh, puh-lease, you sound like a cheesy lyric from a mawkish eighties love ballad.’

‘I know,’ I giggled. Again! ‘Isn’t it great? And at my age. All this endless advice women are given about how to deal with menopause: eat more kale, which is really just cabbage with good PR. Drink eight glasses of water a minute. Take up Pilates. Give up yoga. Take progesterone biocompounds. Give up coffee. Whack in vaginal salves. Whack on oestrogen cream. But love is the drug that works. I’ve never felt better! Which is why I’m not going home. My kids have fledged. And clearly Harry’s marriage vows should have said “Till death do us part – or till someone hotter comes along.” When we get to Sydney, Brody’s jumping ship and we’re heading up the coast together to see what happens. I’m going to relaunch myself.’

‘You’re not a ship, Ruby. You can’t just break a bottle over your own bloody head,’ Emerald said, sternly. ‘Mind you, the way you’re talking, I think you already have and that this is the concussion speaking.’

‘I’m so happy, Emmy. I feel like a wilted plant that’s been watered and cared for and brought back to life.’

‘Okay, what have I missed?’ Amber asked, lowering herself back into the jacuzzi, clutching a fresh bottle of champagne.

‘Your sister thinks she’s a pot plant, apparently.’

‘Chemistry, passion – call it what you will. But it’s there and it’s real. And it’s allowed me to get over Harry’s betrayal.’