Monkey's Wedding

Have you ever wondered what happens to the good time girls when they stumble haplessly into the bad times?

Speaking from personal experience, the first thing I noticed was that the phone stopped ringing.  No invites to meals, drinks, parties, outings from that extended group of friends who formed my wide and lively social circle.

Then I thought – hang on. The phone never rang at this end anyway. This was me, organising all this stuff, jollying everyone along, booking up the holidays, sorting out the picnics, throwing the parties, buying the cinema tickets, phoning out for the takeaways, firing up the barbecue.  After 15 years of being the life and soul for a group of local mums and dads, you’d think I could live off the return matches for a good few years, wouldn’t you.

Not a bit of it. Of the dozens of people who attended all our last 10 years of New Year parties, not a single one of them invited us to them this time, when we didn’t feel like organising one.  I thought about it a bit harder and counted up quite a few couples who had been over to ours for supper five or ten times, and never so much as invited us back for tea and biscuits.

And that’s not even counting the person I formerly counted as good friend who thought that our family difficulties would present the perfect opportunity to make a play for my husband – in my own kitchen while I was serving them dinner! It would be funny if it wasn’t so disappointing. Whatever happened to the sisterhood?

The second thing I noticed was that people who specifically wanted to hang out with a good time girl have no idea what to say when they ask you how things are and you actually tell them. Blimey they didn’t sign up for all this heavy shit. So who can blame them for quietly slinking off to hang out with someone chirpier, cheerier? All this angst and suicide and depression was never part of the deal.

The most important thing, though, is that a time like this sorts the wheat from the chaff.  There’s that tiny handful, the Golden People, who are the ones that do keep ringing. And texting. And emailing. And coming round, or dragging me outdoors.  Who drove us to hospital. Who had us over for New Year. Who drove over from France. Who have looked after my darling but oh-so-troubled daughter, even though it scares the bejesus out of them to shoulder that responsibility.  It wasn’t a surprise – I knew these people would be the ones to do this. They are my four corners, they hold me up, make sure I don’t fall when I need to stay standing.  I wonder why I ever spent time with anyone else. 

And there have been surprises too. People who I thought were business contacts rather than personal friends, who noticed I was not myself, and wrote notes, sent flowers, took me out for coffee and lunch and offered support – without prying, without even asking what the trouble was, just seeing I could do with some support. Bear in mind I put on a damn good show, so it wouldn’t have been easy to spot that I was drowning not waving.  And people I thought were acquaintances at the other end of a flirt or a tweet, who reached out a hand of friendship, totally unexpectedly.

I guess it has to be raining before you can see rainbows.