Dancing Over the Hill: The new feel good comedy from the author of The Kicking the Bucket List. Cathy Hopkins

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СКАЧАТЬ She ran a successful health centre on the outskirts of Bath where all types of alternative therapists practised. Despite some of her airy-fairy beliefs, she was a very good businesswoman.

      ‘What are the options?’ asked Lorna.

      ‘Sell the house and downsize. I’ve already had the estate agent around to value the house and they’re keen to start marketing, but I haven’t seen anything on the property websites that remotely appeals for us to move to. For me to find another job in a few weeks, full time. Get a book contract. I’ve been working on some ideas, but getting an agent and then a publisher can be like winning the lottery. Finally, I could sell my body – though that’s probably not an option; no one would want it.’

      ‘Try eBay,’ said Debs. ‘You can sell anything on eBay.’

      ‘Older lady, slightly batty, not quite over the hill, good at hippie dancing, talks to herself but claims it makes for long and interesting conversations. Not to be approached for fear of death in the morning.’

      ‘If you ever decide to try Internet dating, remind me to help you with your profile,’ said Debs. ‘And talking of which, I need you two to help me. I need to redo my profile.’

      ‘Anytime,’ I said. ‘Gorgeous goddess seeks sex god for heavenly frolics.’

      Debs raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t think you’ve quite got the hang of it, Cait.’

      ‘Why? What’s wrong with that?’

      ‘I want more than just sex. I want a partner for walks in the countryside, good company and all that.’

      ‘Get a dog,’ said Lorna.

      ‘Dogs don’t do candlelit dinners or go to the theatre,’ said Debs.

      ‘Then put down that you want that,’ I said.

      ‘I’ll bring my laptop one day and you can look at the sort of thing people write. I need something to make me stand out from the crowd,’ said Debs.

      ‘Anyone can see just by looking at you that you’re different,’ said Lorna. It was true, Debs did have her own unique style. This evening she was wearing a red kaftan top, black harem trousers and chunky silver jewellery. She always wore a mix of Eastern and vintage clothes, and with her mane of fabulous hair and curvy figure, she always attracted second glances from women as well as men.

      ‘Different? Different as in odd?’

      ‘I meant it in a good way – you look interesting.’

      ‘Like an exotic burlesque artist,’ I added.

      ‘Anyway, Debs, we’re talking about Cait and Matt first,’ said Lorna.

      ‘Bossy cow,’ said Debs.

      I laughed. Lorna ignored her. ‘Cait? Do you want to move house?’

      ‘Not really. I like our house.’

      ‘Then make your property work for you. I was thinking about your situation. You have spare rooms. Do Airbnb. I know loads of people who are doing it, and if you have a week when you don’t want guests, you mark that week as booked. If nothing else, it would buy you some more time.’

      ‘Not a bad idea. Though we’d have to redecorate.’

      ‘You’d soon make it back. Think of it as an investment,’ said Lorna. ‘And you said that you have some ideas for books?’

      ‘Yes. No. Maybe. Seeds. I need to develop them.’

      ‘It must be nice to have Matt home,’ said Debs through a mouthful of ciabatta.

      I laughed. ‘You’re joking. He’s driving me mad and it’s only been two weeks. It’s like living with the Spanish Inquisition. Every time I leave the house, he asks me where I’m going, who with, and what time I’ll be back.’

      ‘He’s probably a bit lost at the moment,’ said Debs. ‘Poor guy.’

      ‘Yes. It will be an adjustment for him,’ said Lorna. ‘Loss of status and routine can be tough, especially for men. They identify so closely with what they do. Cut him some slack.’ She looked wistful for a moment. ‘I’d give anything to have Alistair back for just one hour, even at his most annoying – and, believe me, he had his moments too.’

      ‘Oh god, I’m sorry, Lorna. I’m the most insensitive, awful friend.’

      ‘Hey, no, no need to apologize. Don’t feel bad. Life goes on. All husbands are annoying sometimes. All I’m saying is, try to appreciate him while you’ve got him.’

      ‘Yes, at least you still have a man,’ said Debs.

      ‘I know. I know. I just don’t want him home twenty-four hours a day. I know marriage is for better and for worse; unfortunately this is a “for worse” bit.’

      Both of them were looking at me without the slightest hint of sympathy. ‘Sorry. Not serious, I’m just letting off steam. We’ll get through it.’

      Neither of them understood. Lorna lived alone, apart from her dogs, in a sprawling seventeenth-century manor. Debs was alone too. She had a three-bedroom ground-floor flat in the centre of Bath, which she’d shared with Fabio until he’d discovered the joys of Tantra.

      ‘I’d sympathize if Matt was a womanizer,’ Debs said.

      ‘Or abused you,’ said Lorna.

      ‘I know, I know. He just needs something to do, to get him out of the house to cheer him up. I’ve tried all sorts of things to encourage him. I’m sure it would do him good to have company, something to occupy himself.’

      ‘Early days; it’s only been a couple of weeks,’ said Lorna. ‘Give him some space.’

      ‘He’ll find his feet,’ said Debs.

      ‘I’ll put the Airbnb idea to him. Actually, Lorna, that’s a great plan, because painting the house would give him something to do.’

      ‘It has to come from him,’ said Lorna. ‘I’d drop the suggestions if I were you; he may feel emasculated.’

      There was nothing I could say. I had a weak case. Grounds for divorce? Does he beat you? No. Does he gamble away your money? No. Is he having extramarital relations? No. So what is it, Mrs Langham? He’s always there; he follows me round the house and talks to me through the door when I’m on the loo. I got the feeling that this evening wasn’t the best time to tell Lorna and Debs that an ex-lover had been in touch either.

      ‘OK. My turn,’ said Debs. ‘Back to my problem. Where am I going to meet a like-minded man? Men my age want a bendy babe who can do the splits, is twenty years younger and doesn’t answer back. I’m forty-seven. The only ones who want a woman in her forties look like Worzel Gummidge. I need you both to help me look online and pick a man.’

      ‘Why not just join the kind of group where like-minded men would go?’ I said.

      ‘Like what?’ she asked.

      ‘Oh СКАЧАТЬ