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.