Pants on Fire (39 page)

“In my daughter's case, I'm very glad of that.”

“I don't mean making friends with Debs was a mistake.”

“I didn't take it that way. You meant men, didn't you?”

And then I started howling again. The full
wa wa wa
. Jenny put her arm round me.

“There seemed to be so many perfect ones when I got here,” I sobbed. “And then they all turned out to be just as nuts and complicated as the men in London, only in different ways.”

“So, let me get this straight—you're going back to England because you think you've wrecked your chances here by hanging out with the wrong people and no decent man is going to look at you now?”

I nodded miserably.

“And you don't think there are any decent straight single men in Sydney anyway. Right?”

I stared at her with my froggy eyes and nodded again.

“Well, I don't think you've made such terrible mistakes,” Jenny continued. “And I know at least one very decent man who likes you a lot.”

“Who?”

“Rory Stewart.”

“Rory? But he's got a girlfriend.”

“Fiona Clarke? That ended ages ago. He saw through her very quickly—he just needed to let off steam. And anyway, you were seeing that druggy guy at the time.”

I put my head in my hands.

“That's what I mean about stupid choices.”

“It doesn't matter—it hasn't affected Rory's feelings for you. He knows Fiona was a bit of a trashy girl, so why shouldn't you have had a fling with a bit of a trashy guy?”

“But what about when she was up at Welland that time?”

Jenny laughed. “You mean the time when she was practically having it off with my husband at the dinner table?”

“Yes.” I laughed too.

“You know what happened that night? She had invited herself up. She rang Rory from Tamworth airport, just before we arrived for dinner, and told him to come and pick her up.”

I looked at her stupidly.

“And of course Rory is too nice a guy to tell her to get back on the next flight. So he picked her up and was polite to her while we were there, like the gentleman that he is, and the next morning he put her back on a plane and told her he didn't ever want to see her again.”

I sat absorbing this information. Such a gentleman that he couldn't kiss me while she was still there perhaps?

“But he's never even asked for my phone number. He's had so many opportunities. I just thought he didn't feel that way about me.”

“Well, I think he does and there could be lots of reasons he hasn't asked for it. Maybe he's a bit scared of you. Look . . .”

She got out a pen and wrote a number on a paper napkin and put it in my bag.

“That's Rory's number. Why don't you do what you're always advising your readers to do and ring him? You've got nothing to lose—how does it go? If he doesn't like you ringing him he's not worth having anyway?”

“You really do read the magazine,” I said. She'd made me smile again. “I'll think about it. Although I don't think any of us take the advice we give out so freely in
Glow
. I hope our readers are happier than we all are . . . Anyway, I am going to go back to England, Jenny. I've made my mind up. But thanks for listening.”

“Well, you just make sure you come up and see us before you go. Oh and by the way—remember when we spoke to your brother about coming out to work for Johnny?”

“Yes, but he told me he wasn't coming . . .”

“That was all part of the surprise,” said Jenny, grinning. “He is coming—next month.. We've been saving it as a thank-you for all you've done for Debs. So you'll have one of your family here for Christmas.”

 

 

Hamish arrived in the middle of December and he was the best Christmas present I could have had. From the moment he landed I could tell he was going to love Australia as much as I did, and having him to share it with meant I could enjoy my last few weeks, rather than moping around feeling sad about leaving. I was determined to make the most of our time together before he went up to Walton after Christmas.

When I met him at the airport he was already wearing an Akubra hat. He'd bought it in advance so he could wear it in a bit before arriving at the farm.

“Didn't want to be the pink English git in a new hat,” he said as I led him to the car. Suddenly he stopped and started sniffing deeply.

“The air smells different, Porgie. I can smell the gum trees. Does the water really go down the plughole the wrong way? I was trying to check it out as we crossed the equator in the plane—they have these really useful maps on Qantas that show you where you are—but it didn't work, and apparently there was a big queue forming.”

It was a hot Sunday, so I took him straight to Bondi for breakfast. I had to physically restrain him from buying a surf-board there and then, he was so eager to try it.

“I don't think it's as easy as they make it look, Hame,” I said.

“It can't be that hard.” He was standing up, bending his knees and following the moves of the surfers out to sea. “It's just balance and I can stand up on a galloping horse . . . What are all these weird coffees?” He was looking at the menu. “I just want a white coffee, not a gospel choir. Long black, short black . . . flat white? Is that a honky who can't sing?” Then he went very quiet. Some Bondi babes were walking past in crop tops and tiny shorts.

“I say, Big Bum,” he said. “Gorgeous girls here . . .”

Antony loved him. Hamish turned up at the apartment to meet him for the first time in a polo shirt bearing the legend C.R.A.C.—Cirencester Royal Agriculture College—and Antony was plum gone.

“Dolores—you are
fluttering
,” I hissed cruelly in his ear as he fussed over long drinks in the kitchen. In the meantime Hamish was regaling Betty and Trudy with tall tales of his adventures in the Argentinian pampas. He really knew how to tell a story, and he loved an audience.

“Well, Pussy, you didn't warn me he was
totally
divine,” said Antony, putting an extra shot of vodka in a drink I guessed was destined for Hamish.

“Hame? He's just a silly old horsehead,” I said fondly. “And you'd seen pictures of him.”

“Well, it didn't fully prepare me,” said Antony. “He's a Scottish Johnny Brent.” And he swept off to flutter around Horsehead some more.

We had a glorious Christmas. I took Hamish to the Fish Market at three a.m. on Christmas Eve and we bought a tray of mangoes, which we ate standing in the water at Camp Cove on Christmas morning, letting the juices run everywhere.

After a celebratory champagne breakfast with Michael and Cordelia, we went home and opened our presents—a pair of moleskins from me to him, an illegally imported haggis and a tin of my grandmother's shortbread for me, plus three issues of
The Beano
. Then I dressed him up like a country boy at the Easter Show in his moleskins, newly acquired RM Williams boots, striped shirt, his old school tie and his Akubra hat. After a few days on the beach he already had the pink cheeks and really looked the part. I thought Antony was going to pass out when he opened the door.

It was a very gay Christmas, and Hamish was perfectly happy. He didn't judge anyone, as long as they weren't boring, and none of Antony's pals could be accused of that. It was the usual shrieking and drinking affair, and with Hamish there I felt free to let myself go again like I used to. As always we ended up dancing.

And when I turned round to see Horsehead doing the bump with Dolly, I knew he was going to fit in perfectly.

Chapter Twenty-four

“How about ‘How to Know When You've Found the One'?”

“That's a great idea, Zoe. We'll go with that. Any other ideas?”

“Ten Signs He's Perfect?”

“That's good too, Liinda. Perhaps we could use both of them, or we could save one for later in the year. Make a note of them, would you?”

“Or how about this . . . ‘How You Know He's the One—Take Our Test' . . . or—hang on, I've got it—‘You Know He's Perfect—Take Our Test and Prove It.' ”

“Oh, that's great too, Liinda. I like all of them. What do you think, Georgie?”

What to Do When All Your Colleagues Have Gone Ga Ga? I was lost for words, I couldn't think of anything. They'd all gone nuts.

“Well, they're all . . . really . . . nice, Maxine,” I said. “But they don't present much of a challenge to the reader. I mean it's a sweet problem to solve—Is He Mr. Right?—but does it make you want to grab the magazine?”

“Oh, it doesn't all have to be bad news, does it?” said Maxine, passing round the Tim Tams. “We can use an upbeat idea to sell a magazine too, you know. Some people do find happiness in love.”

There was a collective sigh so intense it nearly blew me out of Maxine's office.

“I know,” she said. “We're one person short with Debs not here—let's get Seraphima's input. Good to get some young energy. SERA DARLING, COULD YOU POP IN PLEASE?”

Seraphima came in. She was always such a pretty little thing, but these days she seemed to have added some ingredient X to the package. Corny as it sounded, in the twelve months I'd been working on
Glow
she'd turned from a girl into a woman.

“Got any ideas for coverlines, sweetie?” said Maxine, with her legs on her desk and her arms behind her head. “We're planning the next six months of issues and we need some real winners.”

Sera narrowed her bright blue eyes.

“How about ‘Taming the Monster—Getting the One Who Got Away from Everyone Else'?”

My jaw was in Tasmania. The line was a bit long, but we could easily polish it up—the point was it had so much punch.

“That's great, Seraphima,” said Maxine, sitting up. “Did you get that down, Georgie? Got any other ideas?”

“The Fine Art of Pussy-Whipping—An Expert Tells All.”

Maxine and I just looked at her in amazement. We both knew raw talent when we saw it—and we were seeing it.

“Or,” she was enjoying herself now, “Girls on Top—Running a Relationship Your Way.”

We clapped.

“This is fantastic, girls,” said Maxine. “We've really moved things along. Isn't it amazing what a difference a day makes?”

She was serious.

“I'm seeing the dawn of a whole new age on
Glow
: positive coverlines. Empowerment, not solidarity in misery. Go, girlfriends! Go and make these stories happen. You see what you'll be missing, Georgie? Are you sure we can't persuade you to stay?”

I shook my head sadly.

“OK, fuck off then. All of you. Except Seraphima.” She was smiling. “Can you stay back, please?”

While Sera was occupied in Maxine's office negotiating a pay rise and a new job title, I took the opportunity to inspect the incredible number of bouquets and floral displays which were on her desk. I watched Zoe and Liinda disappear to their offices with exotic lilies and a flowering cactus respectively, and then had a good nosey at the others. There was a huge architectural display for Maxine (done by Cordelia, I noted) and, biggest of all, an enormous bunch of long-stemmed dark red roses for Sera. I looked at the card—I had to.

“To my angel—gloria in excelsis. N.”

Mmm. Very interesting. Wonder who N was. Norman? Nigel? Neddy? There was one more bunch—they were for me. Hurray! They were from Nivea. “Thank you for the great writeup of the body range.” You're welcome.

I couldn't believe it was my last week on
Glow
. A couple of days to finish packing up the unit and that would be it. My year in Australia would be over. Except for one thing—my leaving party.

 

 

One year later. Same room, same hat and a lot of the same faces. Except this time, I knew who most of them were. I was back at Danny Green's Australia Day party, which was also my official leaving celebration. When he'd heard I was going back to London, Danny had rung up and kindly offered to “lend” me his party to say goodbye to everyone. So here I was, back in his studio in Elizabeth Bay, wearing my pink feathery hat and my Pucci catsuit, which seemed the appropriate thing to do. That was how I'd looked when I met most of them for the first time; that was how I wanted them to remember me.

I'd also decided that I wanted to arrive at the party on my own as I had done the year before, to see how different it felt. The answer was: very. The second I put my big feathery head around the door a huge cheer went up and I was immediately surrounded by throngs of people wishing me well and asking for my address in London. Good job Antony had given me some beautifully engraved change-of-address cards as a leaving present. I remember with a smile how he'd bobbed up when I was standing by the drinks table a year ago, but now I couldn't even see him.

I could see Danny, who was wearing the Mad Hatter's teapot on his head, complete with dormouse. Betty and Trudy were resplendent in two of Antony's more lavish hats; Cordelia was wearing a big straw number swathed in ivy and Michael was wearing his barrister's wig.

Antony had done the guest list for me and, looking round the room, I could see all the people who had meant something to me over the past year—including Jasper, wearing a giant red and white spotted toadstool on his head. He came over and gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. I was really pleased to see him.

“Pinkie personified,” he said. “As perfectly pink and perky as ever. I'm sorry I was so horrible to you that day. I felt like a rat in a trap and it made me shitty. Anyway, I enjoyed our kooky times together. You're still a babe, by the way. A babe with a brain, that's my Pinkie.”