Friday March 23

It has been 3 days since I trekked all the way out there to Kumeu to find Bonnie huddled in a mindless heap, squirting gallons of rescue remedy down her throat, trying to ignore the fact that she’d torched a perfectly saleable piece of real estate. It really felt like going back into the dark ages, horse and plow, mud, depression. Well that was clearly the state Bonnie was in, gasping for air and incapable of assembling a coherent thought to save her silly self. And when I made it clear that I knew what she’d been up to, down she went like a sack of spuds. Passed out, on the nasty lino of her 80’s kitchen right in front of the fridge.

Next development? One Francesca Hoyle marches in to my office with no hallos and starts barking on about the bank needing a clear plan to salvage my finances. Hallo? It's not that easy. Not when you have a clear case of arson – as the insurance company is now claiming – and fire investigations which are likely to take a month! And Ms Hoyle wanting me to come up with the money in 24 hours?? What planet was she from?

If I think about it now, I was so thrown by her demands, and by the shock of the fire, that I barely knew what I was doing. I drove back to Ponsonby with the idea that Stuart would do what he usually did in times of crisis – that he would help. I found him gardening. He didn’t pay the slightest attention to anything I said. I pleaded with him to talk to Spencer and to find work again – work that the hospital desperately wants to give him – work that any cosmetic surgery was screaming out to pay him for – but he spat my words back in my face, mocking me!

And what followed next I will never forget for the rest of my life. I attacked my husband. I hit him, I took off my shoe and I thumped him with it. I chased him in to his garden shed and screamed and said the most awful things I could think of. Julian appeared out of nowhere and witnessed my unhinged tirade. There was Stuart cowering with blood running down his face from the whack I’d just given him, while I stood there screaming blue murder.

Oh, my, god. In a condition I can only now call narcolepsy I returned to the office and wept. For all we used to be and for all that we had come to. A shattered family which barely held together. At that moment my boss John Ackroyd approached me offering tenderness. Again, in my stunned state, I found myself desperate responding to his caresses. One thing led to another… I’m so embarrassed by it all. And I blame Bonnie for bringing me this low.

Everything passed in a blur. John offered the money to save my relationship with the bank. It was a devil’s bargain but I made it. He stared at me with those adoring eyes of his, which normally made me gag, but this time I gazed back with one of those happy stoned expressions Julian wears when he gets home from a teenage party.

Then Jase attacked me in the carpark, attempted to intimidate me. I told him to back off, warning him and his dimwit wife that the cops would be the next to visit.

Then I got home to… Caroline, a vision from the past – and not the happy past either…. My betrayer, my bridesmaid, Caroline, standing there looking like a refugee from the third world, or a Hare Krishna convert, swathed in pinks and beige silks, looking like she was dying…

Well she was. She is. She has weeks to live. She’s as thin as a rake and living on herbal tea and air.

She saw right through me. I was so unnerved. For all my sophistication, and all the techniques to cover up, to distract, well, all that amounted to diddly squat… Caroline took me back to who we used to be… and who we’ve left behind. The moment I clapped eyes on her I resented the intrusion, but in fact she was a godsend. Just having the evening together with her, I remembered all sorts of things we used to do, the laughs, the nonsense.

She sent me off to work in the morning with no long goodbyes. I can see the wisdom in that too. She said Love your family. That’s the thought I have to hold on to. Love them as they fall apart… Caroline was off to Mexico to a drug clinic for cancer and I would never see this woman again in my life but her intervention was surely heavensent.

I got to my office to discover John was hiding from me… he knew completely well that I had 24 hours to fix up the mortgages. That period was about to expire when she rang. Francesca Hoyle, financial harpy. And in one vicious swoop, she threw my case study into the paper-shredder. Might as well have. The property I’d struggled so hard to put my name to, my investment for my sons, the house next door, Arthur’s house, was now back on the market and there was nothing I could do to stop that.

Friday, March 16

What was she thinking? Why did she do it? Why on earth would Bonnie be so stupid as to torch my home? I mean – don’t get me wrong – You wouldn’t rush to Bonnie’s side to sort out a complicated personal issue, or come to think of it you wouldn’t rush to Bonnie to solve a crossword puzzle – nobody thinks Bonnie is actually very smart – but who could have guessed she was actually as thick as two planks? As dense as they come? To go ahead and actually burn down a perfectly good house which was on the verge of selling? Not me! Never saw it coming!

All this time she was festering away, ever since I showed her that there was a life outside of Kumeu, working out in her tiny little mind in ever diminishing little circles, how she could strike back! Revenge of the unaccomplished! of the fatbottomed! Revenge of the married-to-Jase’s!? Hell I don’t know – did I tip her over the edge when I got a shorter more fashionable hairstyle and went blonde? Did that do it? Oh now I can see that she was taking everything personally. That every move I made in my exciting promising life was a personal slur on her? The fact of it is that I barely think about Bonnie – ever! She simply never comes to mind! She’s not interesting! She’s a Fat Bottomed Kumeu Cow! Well perhaps this is the first time she’s done something truly effective. I’m stumped. Now the insurance company is playing hard to get, making noises about arson, long investigations, procedures, forms, meanwhile I’m struggling along with bridging finance on two homes… You see what she doesn’t realise is that one day, she’ll pay. Handsomely.

You might be thinking, that’s a lot on poor Dim’s plate. That’s not the half of it! My husband has moved into the shed. There. Perhaps the most humiliating moment of our twentysomething years together. He prefers to doss out in the shed with the crickets and wetas than to be beside his wife in the marital bed. The signal this is sending to our two boys is – we’re done. We’re over. And there’s silly old Dimity holding things together in the meantime. Well… Julian saw me on the verge of tears and that’s something new for him to witness. I didn’t cry – but it’s a millimeter away just under the surface of my skin just waiting to happen. Sandy Grey has decided I’m the aggressive one – that I need to do some “homework” on this issue! But who is earning the household crust at the moment? Me! Who is arranging the legal and financial affairs in an attempt to stave off bankruptcy? Me! Looking after the boys and feeding the family? Me! Aggressive? Me?

You know, if I step back, take a deep breath, calm down enough to look dispassionately at the current state of my affairs, I still want what I set out to have. I still want a new life in Ponsonby, I still want to open up new possibilities for myself and for my family, and I still want to renew the possibility of falling in love with my husband again. These goals fit my current needs like a hand fits a glove. Except now, thanks to the combined efforts of my closest friend Bonnie, and my husband Stewart, and Julian, and Arthur Bloody Short and his hideous brood – that glove has been shredded and unpicked until it looks like something a scarecrew might wear on the end of the broomstick for an arm… Oh Dimity how did everything go so wrong?

Friday, March 9

Gone. Just like that. The latest we’ve heard is that my son Julian has driven out of town with a bunch of dancers on some hair-brained tour, getting pittance wages as backstage boy to prop up the exploitation of these childrens’ supposed talents! And he threw it all away for what? Amber… There she is, prancing about while her dimwit of a dad makes encouraging grunts from the sidelines, the expert critic that he isn’t, and my son troops dutifully along at Amber’s beck and call, losing all the advantage of his education, and all hope for the future? Well if you expect me to chase after him, I won’t. You see, its time Julian made a few mistakes. I’m tired of him using the place as a dosshouse leaving food everywhere and all my nice things smashed and broken on the floor – they could be family heirlooms for all he knows, even though they were really just a few overpriced generic knickknacks from Ponsonby Road design stores… No respect.

Not that I am in any condition to go running after anyone… Arthur Short has dealt me a terrible injury. My back’s been excruciating! Five years ago I tore a muscle while lifting Ollie, and Arthur has aggravated that old injury. Do I look like the physical match for a man who must weigh… well, there’s simply no guessing, but he’s be at least three of me. There he was tugging on the other end of some bit of metal scrap when I felt the muscle rip. And down I went, splat, a cripple. He simply does not understand that Number 11 no longer belongs to him – and I won’t have piles of his crap towering higher and higher in the back yard while the council’s inorganic rubbish collection is underway. I try to help, and what does he do? He assaults me. Simple cut and dried case. There was even a witness… while I crawled home Arthur’s socially-challenged daughter Constance gawped at me from the roof of their garage… no thought passing through her excuse for a mind that I might need help. And not a shred of apology from her bludging father.

Now Stuart tells me that someone – without a doubt its that same seriously troubled girl I just mentioned – taped John Ackroyd when he was around here the other evening, fumbling and bumbling til he got his clammy paws on me out of sheer gratitude for the strictly professional attention I give him. Not one of the proudest moments of my life, but neither was it one I needed publicised to my husband!

But in a bizarre turnaround, this tape seems to have worked in the opposite way to which it was intended, making Stuart insanely jealous and bringing him back to me. He’s been so lovely to me since I hurt my back, looking after Ollie, talking to Julian at his work, really connecting with the family again. He even came to one of our appointments with the counsellor Sandy Grey, I was staggered, it was a very beneficial session. Just being there together, me on the floor whimpering with agony, Stuart wincing at my pain, I got such a heartwarming impression that he still wants a part of what we’ve built together…. Stuart was unexpectedly amorous that evening, which, in combination with the painkillers he was feeding me, left me feeling quite elated, all the cares of the world just drifting away, as I lay there flat on my back on the bedroom floor! Isn’t it incredible how things work out? Just when I thought my husband was out of my life – poof! gone! – I felt his tongue working its magic… down… down below… you know where I mean, with such skill and focus… the last thing I thought about was my freshly ruptured spinal cord, or my son driving about in the middle of the night, or Bonnie demanding to get her money back out of the deal I struck with Eric to secure Number 11.

How dare she! Some sorry tale about Jase needing his first holiday in five years to get to the Gold Coast… an investment not a loan… whatever!? I doubt he even has family over in Australia, lecherous penny-pinching Scot that he is, and I’m furious with Bonnie for trying to change the terms of the deal, or letting that slithery husband of her’s interfere with her independent financial plans… One day I’ll get Bonnie to go to one of those seminars for women about how to run their own life, like I do, how empowering it can be. Bonnie relies completely on her dimwit controlling husband. She can’t even buy milk at the corner shop without his approval! In 2007, its just not on!

Maybe I’m being a little cruel. Jase did give me a lovely back rub just after I hurt myself. I should be grateful for that! Well, I’ll be grateful when all the money for the bank is sorted out, Kumeu is finally off our plate, Arthur is finally out of our lives, and we can forget we ever lived anywhere other than Ginger Street.

Friday, March 2, 2007

It was always going to happen, Julian was always going to fall head-over-heels for that nasty girl next door, Amber. She had him in the palm of her sweaty little claw right from the get-go. Why can’t young men – and Julian is a man, I know that now, my young man-child – engage some tiny part of their hormone-drenched brain and discern the obvious difference between a young woman with class and flair who is actually suited to them, and a greedy, needy, take-all-comers tart like Arthur’s little trollop? It causes me no end of grief to hear him going on and on and on about what Amber thinks – there’s a hilarious concept – and what Amber says – well I’m sure he can’t get a word in edgeways – and what Amber does – which is the really worrying part, considering that I found a condom packet in Julian’s bedroom… Because from what I see, Amber spends most of her time floating about in inappropriate clothing, doing lumbering pirouettes and attempting to jump on top of my son! Does Arthur make the slightest attempt to control her? No! If it was me? I’d have her on a short leash and wearing a muzzle.

Rise above, Dimity, rise above... The new look hairdo has been a complete liberation, why it took me so long to lose that tatty old look I’ll never know. Must be a bit like that Patricia Hearst syndrome, loving your captivity or whatever, well that’s what it seems like to me now, hanging on to such a tragic look for so many years just because some style-free wretch in smalltown salon told me it was “me” – it was never “me”! I should take that woman to court and demand damages.

But the really big news is that I’ve secured the property next door, compensating for Stuart’s hopelessness by humiliating myself with my boss John from work, borrowing fifty thousand dollars… but it made all the difference. However, I am sure with a little care I can keep John focused on his job, and not on my legs, which do seem to get more than a little of his attention these days. I’ve got my work cut out for me, I know, establishing a few definitive ground rules with John – did I mention that he invited himself around, and pushed his way into the house the other night? Drunk? It would have been hilarious – if Julian and Ollie weren’t there to comment on the whole thing. I know Julian has it in for me right now – but I can’t tell you how embarrassing John’s visit really was. Julian seems to think that I’ve lost all self-control! Imagine! And coming from him! Stuart should have been there to save me. But where was he? Gazing deeply at his hairy navel somewhere out in Kumeu, I understand…

But this property business – I know I have a natural flair for it! I lie awake at night thinking how to get ahead, how to maximize my advantages… It’s been exciting, but stressful – and I’m sure my frown-line’s back. Bonnie’s finally done the decent thing and come through with her little loan of twenty thousand, once I pointed out to her that that’s what friends are for. I was quite upset actually by her reticence to come to my aid. Anyway, let it go!

But I am so proud of the way I’ve stitched this deal together. Despite Stuart, who left a bizarre little note – god knows why he can’t pick up the phone and communicate like any civilized person – telling me that Kumeu has finally sold. For a pittance, but we’re not in a position to argue. Oh I can’t tell you what a relief it is to me to say goodbye to that depressing dump. Funny isn’t it, once upon a time I would have told you that the country life was the answer. Birdsong! Fresh air! If you asked me today, I’d say that living out of town is a sign of being mentally soft. But it’s over! I need never go out that way again. Life is looking better than ever and it’s all because of me. Don’t you love congratulating yourself when you’ve successfully executed a major life-change, and done everything perfectly?