Fenny was pouring her second cup of tea the next morning when Gina appeared. She looked haggard from an obvious night of sleeplessness and tears.

“Tea?” Fenny asked.

“No thanks, I might just hit the shower,” Gina sighed.

“What did it ever do to you?” Fenny jeered.

“Hey?” Gina replied, looking annoyed.

“You said you were going to hit the shower,” Fenny peeped.

“Oh, right,” Gina muttered and turned in the direction of the bathroom.

“Are you ok?” Fenny called after her.

“Oh, I’m just on top of the fuckin’ world,” Gina spat.

“You sure? You know you can talk to me, right?” Fenny offered.

“I’m ok,” Gina mumbled and disappeared into the bathroom. Five seconds later she was back. “What do I do?”

Fenny had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. “It depends. Who do you love?”

Gina looked at Fenny with obvious mental turmoil on her face. “I don’t know.”

“Ok, let’s look at it from another angle. Do you believe in fate?” Fenny asked.

“Yeah, actually, I do,” Gina nodded.

“Well, perhaps it’s fate that I met Paul,” Fenny announced. “Maybe you guys are destined to be together…no matter how much you want to get into Greg’s pants.”

“Since when do you believe in all that crap?” Gina asked.

“I don’t know,” Fenny jeered. “Moonstar must be getting to me.”

“I hate my life,” Gina cussed as she marched back out of the room.

“I hate your life too,” Fenny called.

Gina’s head popped back around the door. “Do you want me to do something nasty with a spatula to you?”

“You mean again?” Fenny purred.

Gina looked at her like she was strange and then disappeared again.

Gina arrived at work and attempted to get to her desk before being pounced upon by the Chief of Staff or someone equally unpleasant.

“Coleman,” a voice announced. Gina stopped and turned around, only to be face to face with something far worse than the Chief of Staff – the Editor.

“Morning Max,” she chirped.

“You look like shit, Coleman, have you been drinking?” Max hissed.

“No, of course not,” Gina scorned. “Did you want something in particular or are you just here to ruin my life further.”

“Actually, Coleman, I wanted to congratulate you on that article on Greg Proops,” Max huffed.

“Oh, thank you,” Gina muttered.

“He phoned to say how impressed he was with you,” Max continued.

Gina fought hard not to smile. “Well, that was nice of him.”

“Keep up the good work.” Max coughed. He wasn’t used to giving compliments.

“Sure,” Gina nodded.

Max looked uncomfortable for several seconds and then left. Gina shrugged and sat down. She pondered giving Greg a call, but stopped herself – might as well enjoy the fluffy moment.

Fenny sat flipping through her sketchbook and stopped on one of the drawings of the silk flowers from her hotel room. There was no mistaking it; those flowers in the restaurant were identical. She was so preoccupied that when there was a knock on the door, she jumped a mile and had to take several deep breaths to steady herself. She slid off the couch, still gripping her sketchbook, and opened the door.

“They reckon tea can soothe all your pains,” Paul announced. “I’ve had five pots in the last 24 hours and I still feel like killing something.”

“They say chocolate is better than sex, but personally, I like to combine both,” Fenny mused.

The anger drained from Paul’s face and he gave a small smile. “Sorry, I’m a bit fucked up at the moment.”

“Hey, join the club. She’s not home, come in,” she smiled and moved aside to let him in.

Paul wandered in, but looked uncomfortable.

“I have to ask. You recognized that book yesterday, didn’t you?” Fenny asked.

“Yeah, I bought that for…it was a birthday present,” Paul mumbled.

“Right. I take it you don’t want a cup of tea,” she perked.

“No, not really,” he replied.

Fenny paused for a moment and then sat on the couch. “You want to talk?” she asked.

“I think so,” Paul nodded and joined her on the couch. “I see I’m not the only one who likes to sketch when they’re confused.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Fenny muttered, noticing the sketchbook still in her hand. She closed it and put it on the coffee table. “So, how did you and Greg meet?”

“Greg, we met in Edinburgh. We’d all finish like eleven o’clock at night and just go down the pub and get wasted. Greg and I simply hit it off really well. I mean, when you’re touring around you meet the same people all the time. Since you’re all in the same business,” Paul breathed, “I mean I toured for ten years”

“Why’d you stop?” Fenny asked.

“Wasn’t my decision,” Paul replied, looking at his feet.

“Did you meet Gina touring?” Fenny queried.

“No, she interviewed me. I was in a foul mood. I hate interviews. But man, she just walked in and said, ‘First of all, I know you don’t like talking about your private life, so I won’t ask. And secondly, I am so damn nervous that I don’t think I can press the buttons on my Dictaphone’,” Paul mused.

“That doesn’t surprise me, you know,” Fenny perked.

“It was great. She put up with all my mood swings and I put up with hers. We never really fought. It was the best relationship I’d ever had. Then we got married, and Gina started working late and I got offered more work,” Paul babbled.

“You never saw each other, huh?” Fenny said softly.

“No, not until…until I thought I’d surprise her at work one night. I couldn’t believe she was with that bastard,” Paul hissed.

“You actually caught her…” Fenny gasped.

“On his desk,” Paul cut in.

“Oh dear,” Fenny breathed.

“That was it really, we yelled a lot and she went to the States,” Paul sighed. “Christ, listen to me, I’m turning into a chick.”

“Hey, it’s good to share your problems,” Fenny perked.

“Yeah. So what’s your story then, Fenny,” Paul asked leaning back and raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, well, back in the States I was part of an improv group called the Hitchhikers,” Fenny began. “One night, Greg turned up at the club, we got talking and one thing led to another and we ended up…you know…”

Paul was speechless.

“Anyway, nothing came of that. It was one stupid night of passion. I started seeing a guy called Brad, he works on Whose Line is it Anyway?…”

“Yeah, I know the show,” Paul cut in.

“Things were going brilliantly until Greg showed up at my door one night and, well, one thing led to another and he spent the night,” Fenny grumbled.

“You were still with Brad though,” Paul countered.

“Yeah, and eventually Brad found out and went apeshit. So after a few months of moping I decided to head to L.A. and sort my life out. Didn’t go quite as planned. Brad was shacked up with psycho bitch Ritza,” Fenny spat.

“That name is familiar,” Paul muttered.

“Anyway, I was ready to give up everything and move to L.A to be with him, when Ritza announced she’s pregnant. So he stayed with her, and I came here.” Fenny finished and let out a heavy sigh.

“Our lives are really, really fucked up,” Paul muttered. “What were you doing having sex with Greg? You’re better than that.”

“I’m not better than anything,” Fenny sighed.

“Gina,” perked one her fellow journalists.

“What?” Gina grumbled.

“Visitor for you in reception,” the journalist replied, “some Yank.”

“Yank?” Gina queried.

“Hey, I just pass on the messages,” the journalist jeered.

Gina curiously got to her feet and headed into the reception area. She was expecting to see Greg and was surprised when it wasn’t.

“Brad,” Gina gasped.

“Hi,” Brad smiled.

“Ritza let you off the leash then?” she mused.

“Actually, Ritza and I aren’t together anymore,” he said nonchalantly.

“You mean there is a god. What about your kid?”

“It wasn’t my kid,” he said almost joyfully.

“The sneaky bitch,” she gasped.

“Yeah, it seems Ritza was fucking her ex-boyfriend the whole time.”

“Right, so I guess you’re looking for Fen then?”

“Yeah, her brother told me she was in Australia, and I figured she would be with you.”

“And how did you find me?”

“You’re a journalist, you’re bound to write for someone.”

“Oh yeah,” she giggled.

“Nice article about Greg by the way,” he jeered.

“Oh don’t start, I don’t have the energy. I’ve spent the last 24 hours trying to work out how I never figured my ex-husband is a good friend of his.”

“Oh, I know how your ex-husband must feel then.”

“If you’re going to be cheeky I won’t take you to Fen,” Gina huffed.

“Sorry,” Brad smiled.

“I’ll just make an excuse to my boss and we’ll go, yeah?”

“I just hope Fen will talk to me,” he sighed.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” she said with a smile.

After they had talked for over an hour, Paul left and Fenny was once again alone. She grabbed the mugs they’d used from the coffee table after they’d decided they could drink more tea after all. She took them into the kitchen and rinsed them under the tap.

“Aren’t you a good housekeeper,” a voice sneered.

Fenny froze and then slowly turned around. Ritza was leaning against the doorframe.

“How the hell did you get in?” Fenny gasped.

“Interesting question, but not nearly as important as what I’m going to do next.” Ritza smiled as she lifted a small handgun and pointed it at Fenny.

Fenny felt numb; Ritza really was a psycho, and in those few seconds, Fenny realised why no one wanted to talk about what had happened in Australia.