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I hadn't wanted to come, but since Anna left I'd had to do a lot of things I didn't want to do, like breathing and getting out of bed, so I was getting used to it. I looked around the room at all the other women. Apart from Deb, who had dragged me along, I didn't know any of them. I was there to make up the numbers, so that Suzie, our hostess, could claim her free set of unbreakable drinking glasses in This Season's Colors. There was the obligatory brief round of introductions, and small talk.

"So, Lori, what do you do?" asked an immaculately made up blonde, whose name I'd already forgotten.

Stare at myself in the mirror, feeling ugly and worthless. Eat Nutella out of the jar. Bite my nails.

"I'm between jobs," I said.

"Right." She seemed to lose interest. I took my place in the little semi-circle of chairs around a table heaped with plastic cookware. A girl appeared in the doorway, shrugging off a hot pink pashmina. She looked around the room with an innate confidence, as though she knew she belonged. Deb, who had been hovering anxiously near the door, gave her a name tag and steered her to the seat next to mine.

The presentation began. As Suzie brandished one kitchen gadget after another, her eyes shining with messianic fervor, I kept sneaking glances at the girl beside me. She wore a fuchsia singlet top that accentuated her generous figure, and the paper name tag stuck to it said "Claire." She looked at me. I looked away.

Later I helped myself to non-alcoholic fruit punch (bowl and glasses just $49.95 if you buy today!) Predictably, my thoughts turned again to Anna. I must have looked sad, because Claire said kindly, "Penny for your thoughts?"

I looked up into a round, cheerful face, framed by blonde curls.

"I was just thinking that if I'd known how expensive this stuff was I'd never have thrown out all those storage containers my Mum gave me."

"I just use those free ones you get with Chinese takeaway. If you forget the stuff in them and it goes moldy you don't feel guilty throwing them away instead of washing them."

I laughed, a little too loudly. "So, you're not here to buy then?" I asked.

"God no. I've just never been to one of these things before. I was curious. So how do you know Suzie?"

"I don't really. Deb asked me to come."

"Really? Me too."

I smelled a rat. Deb was always trying to pair off her friends. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman still in possession of a good body must be in want of a date. All I was in want of was a cup of hot chocolate and the warmth and safety of my doona, but apparently Claire wanted to talk, to me of all people. She told me about her interior design course, her last relationship, and her beloved Rottweiler, Arnie, "the only male worthy of her affection." In spite of myself, I was interested. We were interrupted by Suzie wanting us to choose "thankyou gifts" from a tray. As Claire and I reached for the same lurid orange melon baller and her fingers brushed against mine. The butterflies in my stomach that had lain dormant since Anna suddenly burst forth from their chrysalises. I giggled like a twit and we agreed to meet for coffee.

Deb was more excited than I was and insisted on coming over to help me get ready. She approved my chosen outfit--a knee length floral print dress and opaque black tights.

"Good. It's just dressy enough, without trying too hard. What about shoes? Have you still got those red Mary Janes?"

"They're not mine. They're Anna's."

"Fuck it. The bitch owes you. Anyway, she'd better not show her face around here again if she knows what's good for her."

While I'd never get used to Anna being referred to as "the bitch," Deb's loyalty was touching. Anna's abrupt departure had polarized our mutual friends, who felt obliged to stop speaking to one or other of us. Deb said our group of friends reminded her of being in the army. You might get along fine with your whole patrol during basic training, but that doesn't tell you who'd leap on a grenade to save you. It's only when you're deep in enemy territory that you find out who your real friends are. Deb was only in the Reserve and the closest she'd come to enemy territory was the pub on a Friday night, but I knew what she meant. I put on the shoes, though I couldn't stop myself thinking about how much better they looked on Anna. Where Anna was slim, I was skinny. Where she was curvy, I was scrawny. Where Anna could walk into a room, any room, and draw admiring glances, I slunk through life unnoticed. I wish I could say I was surprised when she left. As though she could read my thoughts, Deb took me firmly by the shoulders.

"Oi! We'll have none of that. You look gorgeous, and you have a date."

I arrived early, and the short black I had while I was waiting just made me even more jittery. I went into the toilets, took some deep breaths, and needlessly retouched my lipstick.Dark Cherry. Because I'm worth it. I pouted like Mila Jovovich, then posed with an imaginary gun, ready for a zombie attack. From behind me came the sound of a flush. I stuffed my lipstick back in my purse and hurried back out to the table. Claire was there waiting for me.

She was perched on one of the tall stools near the counter, her shapely legs crossed.

"Hey," I said, witty as always.

"Hey," she replied, sipping her latte. "What'll you have to drink?"

I'm lactose intolerant, but I panicked. "A latte please." She ordered two more lattes, and a couple of those little Yoyo biscuits. I toyed with my spoon as she gave me the third degree, asking about my family (close), my career (non-existent), and my hobbies (dull).

"Lori's such a pretty name. Is it short for something?"

I grimaced. "Delores." It had been Anna who suggested I call myself Lori.

She gave me an appraising look.

"Unusual. It suits you."

"Thanks. It means ‘sorrowful.'"

"It suits you even more then. So what're you so sad about?"

"It's not important."

"A girl then. Was she pretty?"

"Very. But it was . . . It's over now."

She must have noticed the catch in my voice because her tone became a little less brusque.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did she . . . die or something?"

"No, she just left me."

"Just," like it was no big deal. She just left me. She just ripped my heart from my chest and crushed it beneath her red platform Mary Janes.

"Oh. How long ago was it?"

It was a fair question really, since I suppose she didn't want to waste her time with someone on the rebound.

"Six months."

"Six months? You spent six whole months moping over a girlfriend?" Her loud, incredulous voice attracted the attention of the barista.

"I don't like to talk about it," I said firmly.

Claire was silent for a moment. I pulled my biscuit apart and picked at the custard filling.

"I'm sorry about all the questions," she relented. "I'm so nosy. I should have been a private detective."

I thought of an airport novel I'd read recently, in which the P.I. hero spent most of his time on stakeouts, stuck in a car.

"Yeah, but it so hard for women to pee into a bottle."

There was a moment's pause while I hoped that I hadn't said that out loud.

"Yes . . . I suppose it would be," Claire said slowly.

The barista had been pretending to clean the same spot on the counter for a minute or so now.

"Are you--um . . . Is that what you're into?" Claire continued.

"What?"

"Peeing and stuff. Like, um . . . water sports."

"No! I meant . . ."

"Because it's okay . . . You know. If you are. It's not really my thing, but I guess I could be a little flexible. Though I'd rather it was me peeing on you, not the other way around. And of course not on my sheets, maybe, like, in the bathroom?"

The teenagers at the next table were even less subtle than the barista, openly turning to stare at us. Misreading my appalled expression, Claire continued to try and reassure me.

"It's really okay. I mean, it's not the weirdest thing I've had a date ask me to do. There was this one chick who liked me to stomp on things, like rubber mice and stuff in my heels. It takes all sorts, right?"

"I have to go," I said, and fled like the coward I am.

I was midway through a jar of Nutella when the phone rang.

"What did you do?" Deb demanded.

"Er--"

Apparently the question was rhetorical, because she continued angrily, "I've just had Claire on the phone. She's really upset!"

"Why would she be upset? I'm the one who made an ass of myself."

"She says you just ran out on her."

"I was embarrassed."

Deb wasn't interested in excuses. "I thought you guys would be perfect for each other. She hasn't had a date in over a year. She's been totally pitiful since Marion dumped her."

I phoned Claire, and we agreed to meet for coffee. I brought a rubber mouse as a peace offering.