‘Too thin?’ I’m getting her ‘you are strange’ look.

‘Well not exactly thin, he’s,’ I make a totally strange figure kind of body with my hands in the air, ‘quite broad in places,’ she raises an eyebrow, which I ignore, ‘but hard, kind of wiry and firm, and—’

‘Boy, you are being weird about this one. Firm is good, girl!’

I try not to scowl. ‘I like bigger men, beefier.’

‘You mean fat, like Robbie was?’

‘He wasn’t fat! He was well padded.’

‘You can’t diss a man for being fit!’

‘I can. If he’s big then it makes me look thinner!’ It does, I swear, I dwindle down to diminutive next to a well-built guy. Svelte.

Bea rolls her eyes. ‘You are making excuses.’ She stands up. ‘I’m going to get us another coffee. And then we’ll do some online stalking. If this guy of yours is as hot as I think he is, then I might take him up on his offer if you won’t!’

Chapter 5

How can one nice thing be followed by two shit things in the one day? That’s not fair, is it? I’ve never been quite sure whether to sneer at the ‘bad things come in threes’ saying, or to be worried. Today I am afraid. Very afraid.

Brunch with Bea was fun, even internet stalking Noah gave us a laugh. We found loads of funny things about Noah – biblical and otherwise – and the fact that he is actually, honestly, a real live architect made Bea giggle so much she had to rush off to the ladies’ lavatories. Who knew that repeating ‘good with his hands’ combined with ‘build me an ark’ and ‘animals went in two by two’ could make somebody wet their knickers? Anyway, I came home with half a mind to ring Noah and go for it, and half a mind to wash the towels and check if I had any sink un-blocker.

Until my mother rang.

‘You haven’t forgotten that it’s our big wedding anniversary soon, have you, darling?’

I think Mum counts every anniversary as a big one because it’s such a bloody achievement to evade the divorce lawyers and reach each milestone. I am not being mean when I say that their marriage is a nightmare. Well, more to the point, my dad is a frigging nightmare. If he was a woman, he’d be labelled a slag, a slapper, a nympho or a whore, but he’s a man. So that makes him a real Casanova, a bit of a Romeo, or Don Juan, and that’s all right then, isn’t it? Romantic, funny, a bit of a one.

Funny my arse.

Somehow it makes it worse, and sadder, that they celebrate their anniversaries as though each one means something special.

‘Big anniversary?’ I replied.

‘Our thirtieth! Pearl, isn’t that amazing?’

‘Totally.’

‘You are coming, aren’t you?’ She sounds a bit anxious, as well she might. Each time they have a party like this I am sure there’s a niggling doubt in the back of her mind that Dad won’t turn up. He doesn’t turn up to lots of things – but so far he’s not missed an anniversary party. He has missed birthdays, holidays and even Christmas on one memorable occasion – memorable because I have never heard my mum scream so loud or threaten to cut off his goolies and hang them from the highest branches of the tree. Quite honestly, at eight years old this held a morbid fascination and I did wonder what colour string she’d use and if she’d drape tinsel round them.