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Owens, Rachel
Happy Without Him: The Secret Joy of Being Single
ISBN: 978-1-61339-7-824
Part 1
Chapter One
Saturday, January 26 th
Jenny
“You have to come! It’s against the law to do nothing on Australia Day!”
“I can’t, Ella. I’m so tired after last night. Can’t I just stay here and sleep?”
I’m still recovering from a night out with work friends. Lots of laughs and too many drinks. Then I worked out that since Danielle left and a new girl started, I’m the only single person in my team. This is going to change. Actually, the plan is staying home and doing my Internet dating profile.
“No. Picking you up in half an hour. Get some slap on. Mum has a bloke in mind for you.”
Does she? This perks me up. Maybe I won’t need to do Internet dating! Ella’s mum hasn’t come up with anyone I’d date yet, but you never know. Maybe this one won’t be boring or over fifty-five.
Forty-five minutes later, Ella pulls up. She’s never on time. I’d just have had time to wash my hair ready to meet the new guy after all. Three-year-old Charlie is in the back looking miserable. Kelly is next to him. I squeeze in the other side. I know exactly what Charlie is going to say.
“Where ‘Osie?”
“She’s not coming, mate. She’s with Frank.” This is Ben, Ella’s husband, in the front seat. He’s wearing dark glasses and looking a bit worse for wear.
“Want ‘Osie!”
“He doesn’t like us,” says Kelly, laughing.
“What do you expect?” Ella says. “Mum and Dad’s barbecues are for you to eat, Jen to look for a bloke, and Josie to play with Charlie. You two just forget about him. Sadly for Charlie, Josie is with Frank at some other inferior Australia Day barbecue.”
“Sorry, Charlie,” I say. “Who is the bloke your mum has for me this time, Ella?” I’m trying not to sound too eager but suspect I do.
“The pest control man,” says Ben.
Kelly is laughing again. “She’s already had a pest control man! He had a very funny willy.”
‘I’ve got a willy!”
Ben and Ella are smiling. They are very laid back parents, which is just as well, as Kelly and I usually forget Charlie is there and just have conversations around him. Surely this can’t be the same pest control man? He too lives in the Shire. Dumped me by non-return of text. Didn’t like him, still got upset. Bald guy. Worked for a company called Critterzap.
“What’s he like, El?” I ask.
“No idea. Critterzap came to sort the ants around the pool and Mum gets talking to this guy and asks him to the barbecue. He’s bald, and short, but she says you have to be more open-minded about the hair thing. And the short thing. Lots of nice men are bald and short.”
Maybe Critterzap have more than one short, bald, forty-something operative.
We arrive at the house. Ella’s mum, Sandy, drags me over to meet the pest control man. Oh God. It is him. Can Sydney be so short of men that I am now recycling them? After my awkward “Hi’ and his (does he even recognise me?) indifferent “Hi” back, I scarper. He still has bad breath. He still looks like my ex-husband. Yet I still feel sad he ditched me in the first place, and isn’t the new hopeful I thought he was going to be.
Kelly knows it’s him. She is in fits then notices I don’t find it so funny and gives me a big hug.
“You have to laugh at this. C’mon. It’s hilarious! Stop looking so down. You didn’t even like him!”
“But I was hoping it would be someone I would like. And would like me. For once. I’m going to do Internet dating. He has to be out there somewhere.”
“Whatever, hon. Let’s get pissed. It’s Australia Day! Let’s celebrate that we are here in the sun, not in cold, dark, rainy England.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. Sandy and Big Charlie have done amazing food as usual. The sun is shining. There is a seemingly endless supply of chilled Sauvignon Blanc in Big Charlie’s beloved outdoor bar fridge. I am with great friends and the pool is a delicious relief from the heat.
Australia’s top 100 is on the radio on the way back. The sun is setting and I feel warm and woozy from the sun and the wine. But, as I doze off in the car on the way back to the city, all I can feel is the disappointment of the recycled bug man, not the loveliness of the day. I just need to meet a guy and everything will be good. Everything is good. But I just need to meet a guy.
So, I get home and start composing the profile. He is out there. He is on the dating site waiting for me. I know he is.
Hi, I’m Jen. I’m British, forty, and I love to work out.
Except I hate to work out.
And I can’t admit to being forty.
Everyone lies about their age, I think, but I can’t claim to be sporty. Too much of a whopping lie. Maybe if I lie about both my age and my weight, they’ll at least know I’m not fat and decrepit even if I do have to bribe myself to go to the gym with the promise of a post workout bacon and egg roll.
Try again.
Hi, I’m Jen. I’m British. I’m thirty-six. I’m five three and weigh fifty-five kilos. I’ve lived in Sydney for three years.
I work for a recruitment agency. But I’m not one of those flashy hard-nosed bitch types. I’m more the gentle sort.
Does that make me sound middle-aged? Some matronly type with a Rolodex, ‘Hello, dear. I have just the job for you.’ I’ll scrap that bit. Maybe not even mention work. I’ll just talk about me. What I really like and a bit closer to my real age. And just an inch extra in height. I’ll wear heels anyway, he’ll never know.
Hi, I’m Jen. I’m thirty-seven, slim, a natural blonde, 5’ 4”. I love books and a glass of wine (or two!). I’d like to meet a guy who is fun (like me!) who loves to travel, like I do. But lazing around is good too – I enjoy lingering over breakfast and the Sunday papers at a good cafe.