internet’s down? I know it’s been a while. Have been thinking about you. We should catch up.’
I feel shaky and sick. I play the message again . . . still sounds like the Dom I knew all those years ago. Insane thoughts and questions pound my head. Is he married? Does he have kids? What’s he ringing for? Does he love me? Is he still drop-dead gorgeous? Do I really want to revisit all of that angst from years ago?
I take a deep breath, press delete and go to bed.
Day 24
A fter I drop the children at school I drive to Trish’s house. Part of me really hopes she isn’t home . . . given how angry she was with me Saturday night. But I have to make amends, apologise. Her car’s in the driveway and she’s standing at the open front door before I’ve even walked past her overflowing letterbox.
‘I’m so sorry, Trish,’ I say, walking towards her, not sure whether she’ll hit me or not.
‘I know,’ she says, hugging me and leading me inside. ‘So am I.’
She’s teary and cuddly.
‘Believe me, I had no idea. It never occurred to me that Max and Alana were . . . well. I just don’t know when they would have had time alone together, but that’s all moot now, I guess,’ I say, fidgeting with my hands.
We stand in awkward silence, then Trish says, ‘I knew Alana had a new boyfriend but I never in the world thought it would be a married man. It’s not right . . . and now . . .’
I’m unable to say anything.
‘Vodka?’ she asks, changing the subject. So that explains her subdued mood.
‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning.’
‘So?’
‘Okay,’ I say, reluctantly, then watch as Trish pours two healthy glasses of vodka and tonic.
We sip our drinks and stare out the window. It’s cold and overcast. Bleak.
Forty minutes at Trish’s house feel like four days. The long silences are interspersed with tears and more apologies.
‘I promise if I hear any more from Max, I’ll let you know,’ I tell her. Trish promises to do the same if she hears from Alana.
I feel utterly hopeless as I leave. I know Max and Alana will come back - they can’t live in Bali for the rest of their lives - but when they do, I have a horrible feeling everything’s going to get even harder to deal with than it is now.
A car picks me up and takes me to Pacific Blue restaurant, overlooking the water at Manly, where Celebrity Blind Date is being filmed. Sitting in the midday traffic, I read the publicity blurb. It seems Celebrity Blind Date is like A Perfect Match only without Cameron Daddo and with the celebrity wow factor. The notes are enlightening. Dress appropriately, looking cold is so NOT attractive, sweating is ugly, heavy make-up is a turn-off and loud jewellery will compete with the microphone so don’t . Finally, contestants are advised to check for dandruff flakes before taking your seat . Charming.
Gloria has also told me to ‘Listen effectively, make eye contact, avoid heavy topics (okay, so I won’t mention my adulterous husband running off with the babysitter), be positive and smile.’ I know I’m going to hate this.
As I suspect, Celebrity Blind Date is a disaster. Awkward silences are tempered by me running off at the mouth, even with Gloria’s mantra pounding my brain: ‘Talk less, listen more’. I talk too much with date one, don’t talk at all to date two.
Date three is ‘Virgo by star sign, auto-electrician by trade,’ he tells me.
‘Dream job?’ I ask him.
‘To do absolutely nothing. People tell me I look like David Hasselhoff.’
Sadly, people are right. He does look like David Hasselhoff and not in a good way. He even wears the kind of super-tight dark denim jeans The Hoff wore in Knight Rider to show off his manhood . . . eek!
‘Your loves?’ I ask date number four, glancing at my cue sheet.
‘Nothing better than talking about a hot car . . . to a hot babe,’ he answers, making me want to vomit. ‘And I looove girls in short skirts and low-cut tops,’ he goes on,
I feel shaky and sick. I play the message again . . . still sounds like the Dom I knew all those years ago. Insane thoughts and questions pound my head. Is he married? Does he have kids? What’s he ringing for? Does he love me? Is he still drop-dead gorgeous? Do I really want to revisit all of that angst from years ago?
I take a deep breath, press delete and go to bed.
Day 24
A fter I drop the children at school I drive to Trish’s house. Part of me really hopes she isn’t home . . . given how angry she was with me Saturday night. But I have to make amends, apologise. Her car’s in the driveway and she’s standing at the open front door before I’ve even walked past her overflowing letterbox.
‘I’m so sorry, Trish,’ I say, walking towards her, not sure whether she’ll hit me or not.
‘I know,’ she says, hugging me and leading me inside. ‘So am I.’
She’s teary and cuddly.
‘Believe me, I had no idea. It never occurred to me that Max and Alana were . . . well. I just don’t know when they would have had time alone together, but that’s all moot now, I guess,’ I say, fidgeting with my hands.
We stand in awkward silence, then Trish says, ‘I knew Alana had a new boyfriend but I never in the world thought it would be a married man. It’s not right . . . and now . . .’
I’m unable to say anything.
‘Vodka?’ she asks, changing the subject. So that explains her subdued mood.
‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning.’
‘So?’
‘Okay,’ I say, reluctantly, then watch as Trish pours two healthy glasses of vodka and tonic.
We sip our drinks and stare out the window. It’s cold and overcast. Bleak.
Forty minutes at Trish’s house feel like four days. The long silences are interspersed with tears and more apologies.
‘I promise if I hear any more from Max, I’ll let you know,’ I tell her. Trish promises to do the same if she hears from Alana.
I feel utterly hopeless as I leave. I know Max and Alana will come back - they can’t live in Bali for the rest of their lives - but when they do, I have a horrible feeling everything’s going to get even harder to deal with than it is now.
A car picks me up and takes me to Pacific Blue restaurant, overlooking the water at Manly, where Celebrity Blind Date is being filmed. Sitting in the midday traffic, I read the publicity blurb. It seems Celebrity Blind Date is like A Perfect Match only without Cameron Daddo and with the celebrity wow factor. The notes are enlightening. Dress appropriately, looking cold is so NOT attractive, sweating is ugly, heavy make-up is a turn-off and loud jewellery will compete with the microphone so don’t . Finally, contestants are advised to check for dandruff flakes before taking your seat . Charming.
Gloria has also told me to ‘Listen effectively, make eye contact, avoid heavy topics (okay, so I won’t mention my adulterous husband running off with the babysitter), be positive and smile.’ I know I’m going to hate this.
As I suspect, Celebrity Blind Date is a disaster. Awkward silences are tempered by me running off at the mouth, even with Gloria’s mantra pounding my brain: ‘Talk less, listen more’. I talk too much with date one, don’t talk at all to date two.
Date three is ‘Virgo by star sign, auto-electrician by trade,’ he tells me.
‘Dream job?’ I ask him.
‘To do absolutely nothing. People tell me I look like David Hasselhoff.’
Sadly, people are right. He does look like David Hasselhoff and not in a good way. He even wears the kind of super-tight dark denim jeans The Hoff wore in Knight Rider to show off his manhood . . . eek!
‘Your loves?’ I ask date number four, glancing at my cue sheet.
‘Nothing better than talking about a hot car . . . to a hot babe,’ he answers, making me want to vomit. ‘And I looove girls in short skirts and low-cut tops,’ he goes on,
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