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Helen's life never used to be so messy. Not when she had money in the bank, a great figure, a cutting-edge haircut and a suede brush that she only used on suede. In those days, her world was like a well-organised filofax, and her gorgeous boyfriend, Matt, was just the icing on the cake. Now it's all different. She seems to be losing her grip as she juggles two kids, a never-ending renovation and a part-time job that has-unexpectedly-become her refuge. As for that wildly sexy and endearingly impulsive boyfriend, he's turned into a wildly impractical and annoyingly impulsive husband. Even so, Helen doesn't want to lose him to a Girl With Purple Hair. During one crazy, out-of-control week she finds herself in some kind of bizarre soap opera, checking phone bills, emptying Matt's wallet, rifling through his underwear drawer, employing a private detective...
one without television? I tell you, she depresses me so much. There she was, looking slim and pretty, with her three-year-old Hamon walking quietly beside her and the baby, Isoline, hanging from her neck in a pouch. (I could never master those pouch things. They always gave me a sore back.) And there was I, overweight and dishevelled, pushing a grizzly Jonah as Emily dawdled along three metres behind me, making patterns on the shiny floor with her sticky feet. Needless to say, Mandy’s trolley was
God knows, because Miriam obviously thinks he’s wonderful, she can’t stop talking about how brilliant and stylish he is, and she’s right— he is. He’s one of those top-notch money market guys, smart as a whip, slicked-back hair, marble jacuzzi, that sort of thing. With a goatee, just to show everyone that he’s not your typical corporate animal. Obviously, Miriam feels that she’s met her match at last. But I can’t help wondering. The first time I met him, at a family beach picnic, he spent most of
of the clock you might be losing a heaven-sent opportunity to give the kitchen floor a quick mop before Jonah finishes his Vegemite sandwich and has to be coaxed into the bath? If Matt had been available, I could have sympathised at my leisure. But Matt was on his evening shift. What’s more, the dinner–bath–bedtime routine was looming. I could see that if Giles proved to have a bloke on the side, or was living under a false name, or had ordered Miriam to shave off all her pubic hair, the kids
ties, making my living room look small. Looming over me. Outnumbering me. ‘Because I know her, that’s why not,’ I said. ‘I’ve known her for years. Look—sit down. Please.’ Cliff lowered his considerable bulk onto the couch, where Austin joined him (at a carefully calculated distance). Jim kind of propped himself against the arm of the puke-stained easychair. ‘So you’ve had no indication that Miriam’s been planning any kind of fraud?’ Austin inquired, his voice very clear and precise. ‘No. Of
‘Yes,’ I replied, through my teeth. ‘They’re little terrors, aren’t they? At that age.’ ‘Hmm.’ ‘Well—you’ve got our details. If there’s anything else you want to know, give us a call. Thanks for your help.’ ‘Thanks very much, Mrs Muzzatti.’ ‘Sorry about waking him up.’ ‘Yes. Sorry about that.’ They let themselves out. For the umpteenth time, it crossed my mind that I ought to put a little sign up on the front door, the way shiftworkers do. Please do not disturb. Baby sleeping. I bundled