Friday, February 23

There’s nothing like that heady rush of success, of turning that final corner, reaching out and claiming your prize! Now I own it – Number 11, the perfect do-up, with my name on it! Well technically the bank’s, but that’s a minor detail.

At this point I wish to admit, yes perhaps I have been a touch hasty and abrasive, maybe even a little shrill in some of my dealings with Arthur Short, but these things are forgivable given how hard it is for a woman to forge her own way ahead in the world. Because at this point it is far from clear whether or not I have a husband to assist me earn an income for the family. And if I am alone, then surely its wise to have made a sensible investment in an adjacent property? Julian could live there when he’s studying for his law degree! Or I could re-tenant the place with a nice professional young family. Once I’ve made it liveable. New décor. Torn out the kitchen and that hideous sump-hole of a laundry and toilet. Surely I could be asking something like $500 a week? $600 a week? Does that seem outlandish? After all this is Ponsonby… though I’d hate to be greedy… but a lovely three bedroom house in the central city, nice garden, lovely light feeling… $700? Must check with Eric.

Sandy Grey – my new confidante and counsellor – has been worth his weight in gold. He’s helped me to revalue the things that are really important. Like – time for me, time just for me, not giving and nurturing and mollycoddling others. Time just for me to be me, Dimity-time. I have no idea what Stuart accomplished in his own – separate – session with Sandy. He’s disappeared again, still sulking at Spencer’s. It’s beyond me to understand what Stuart’s problem really is. He’s being so indulgent. Is he acting out one of those male menopause fantasies that blokes pretend to have to gain a bit of sympathy? What kind of role model is he to the boys? Next thing, Julian will be copying his father’s half-arsed half-witted breakdown. Give me strength!!

And while I’m being irked – Bonnie – and her throwback husband Jase – how dare she get all sniffy about kicking in a little bit of cash to help out her old friend? Do I ever ask for anything from that lazy cow? And Jase demanding interest? Who does he think he is? Doesn’t he know that without me, his wife’s social life would shut down like a flat battery? She’s hardly well-connected. If I wasn’t there, she’s just be standing in front of her horrid stove slopping together those casseroles she finds in women’s magazines, clogging up the guts of her slow-witted husband and child. She makes me worry about what she’s feeding Ollie when he’s over there. You better come through with that loan, Bonnie, I’m not joking.

But for now – I’m thrilled! Thrilled with myself, thrilled with my boss John Ackroyd finally coming to the party and helping me cobble together a decent financial package, and grateful for that little extra nudge from Eric my real estate advisor – who was there for me even when my own husband was not. Now I’ve got a real stake in the area. And there’s nothing Arthur Short can do to take it away from me!