‘This isn’t an ideal situation,’ Lauren sniffs tearfully, ‘but I’m making the best of it. I love him, Annie. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And that means that I want the things that other people have. It’s the simple things that I miss the most. I want him home every night so that I can make him dinner. I want to be able to wake up with him every day. And what if I do want his child before it’s too late for me? Is that so wrong of me?’

‘Oh, sweetie.’ I put my arms round my sister while she cries. At the moment, her wish-list seems like a tall order.

‘What about you?’ she asks, when her tears are spent. ‘What do you want?’

I lean back on Lauren’s pile of feather-soft pillows and sip at my champagne. ‘I want excitement,’ I say. ‘The kids are about to fly the nest and what will I be left with?’ I can’t even vocalise the fact that I find my husband of twenty years as dull as dishwater. He’s completely happy simply to be at home, watch television, go fishing. He seems to want nothing more than that. But I do.

‘These should be the best years of our lives, but we both seem to be making such a bollocks of it.’

‘Tell me about it,’ my sister agrees.

‘I want to grab life by the throat and shake it. I’ve never been anywhere, done anything. I want to do something different and worthwhile.’

‘Such as?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admit with a defeated huff. ‘But this year, I promise myself, I’m damn well going to work on it.’

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Lauren and I are having bacon, eggs, sausage, tomatoes, mushrooms, hash browns and toast when Chelsea breezes in. It seems that our late-night turn-our-lives-round decision has given us both a great appetite – for life, of course, and a mega cooked breakfast. Or maybe we’re just going down the cholesterol route as a hangover cure. Whichever way, it feels good. Lauren’s normally in such a state of high anxiety that she hardly eats, whereas I always prefer the calorie route to comfort.

‘Today is the start of the rest of our lives, Lauren,’ I expound brightly. ‘And we’re going to go all out to get what we want from it.’

‘Don’t speak so loudly,’ Lauren complains, head in hands. She’s been glued to her mobile since she opened her eyes, but still no call from Lover Boy, so she’s irritable as well as hung over.

‘Sorry.’

‘We need more vitamin C,’ she concludes, and pours herself another glass of fresh orange juice. At five quid a throw. But, thankfully, Chelsea is picking up the breakfast bill too.