Gina looked accusingly at the coffee table, as if it were its fault the night had turned to shit. Jaguar appeared from the bathroom for an unknown reason and looked at her sympathetically, or at least as sympathetically as a cat can.

“You do realise I have to go and deal with this now?” Gina announced to the confused moggy. “I’m going to have to go and try and abate what could possibly be world war three, the dropping of the bomb, and the loss of all my dignity combined,” she added as she got to her feet. She padded across the living room and to the guestroom. She was worried that it was so quiet behind the door and hoped Paul hadn’t done something awful. She gingerly opened the door and was greeted by blackness.

Paul was lying in the centre of the bed, his hands behind his head staring at the ceiling. Gina wandered over to the bed and crawled onto it beside him. He didn’t flinch; she sat nervously for a few moments.

“Do you hate me?” she asked.

“Working on it,” Paul replied.

“Is it because I got jealous when I caught Fen and Greg in the sack together?”

“Not really.”

“The erotic dreams about Brad, then?”

“The dreams don’t bother me, so much as disgust me. It’s the nearly reenacting them which makes me a little bit tense,” he scowled as he sat up.

“Trust me, nothing was going to happen, it’s all in Brad’s head.”

“Head, try his pants,” he grumbled.

“That’s my point, I would never do that. Not to Fenny, and especially not to you,” Gina declared.

“Then why are you having sexually explicit dreams about him? What do these dreams entail, huh? Three pink poodles, a selection of rubber gardening implements, and a banana?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask to have them,” she sulked. “And it’s more about the place than what was used.”

“The place?” he queried.

“Billabongs, pool tables, the ripping off of tuxedos…that kinda thing,” she shrugged.

“Darlin’, you can do all that with me. In fact, we probably bloody have.”

“I know, trust me, I’ve been feeling so guilty, and I haven’t even done anything,” she sighed.

“Be a first.”

“Thanks, Hon.”

They fell quiet for a moment. Gina twisted her wedding ring on her finger, and Paul clicked his tongue.

“Do you ever get jealous when girls throw themselves at me?” he piped up.

“I get jealous when men throw themselves at you,” she mused. “Hell, I get jealous when you hang out with Fen.”

“Fen? Why?” Paul asked, bemused.

“Um, well…you two have got so much in common, with your art and everything. You always seem to be having a ball.” Gina sighed. “I mean that’s how you guys met, you were chatting her up, right?”

“Actually, I was pointing out some phallic artwork. I don’t really know why I did that, for some reason it seemed like the right idea at the time,” Paul mused. “I like Fen, just not in a sexual way.”

“What if she hadn’t been my friend? Would you have tried to get into her Zeppelin shirt then?”

“No, Genie I’ve never cheated on you, and I’m not about to do the horizontal mambo with Fen.”

“I mean I wouldn’t blame you if you had, did, or thought about cheating on me. I’d deserve it,” she babbled.

“Do you want me to cheat on you?”

“No.”

“Then shut up about it,” Paul ordered. “Stop being so insecure, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Sorry. You don’t think that’s my problem, do you? Being insecure?” Gina asked nonchalantly as she switched on the bedside lamp. “I mean, you are, like, this huge celebrity that women just throw themselves at. People worship you, man. I’m just an unhappy journalist who cooks dinner and fucks with your emotions.”

Paul looked at her and smiled. “Hold on, are you saying you don’t think you’re good enough for me?”

“I guess I am,” Gina shrugged.

“Does the fact I married you mean nothing? You mentioned jealousy before. You want to know jealous? When we were in Australia, every time Proops touched you I wanted to rip his chest open, tear out his heart and stick my fist in the cavity. I was so green, I lay awake every night that you weren’t with me, praying that you weren’t with him and cursing that you weren’t with me,” Paul declared.

“You never said,” she breathed.

“Of course I didn’t, I’m an Australian male,” he grunted and looked away. He turned back to her and took one of her hands in his. “I love you, ok, and if anything, I’m not worthy of you. You’re gorgeous, intelligent, successful, you can cook and you understand how to work every remote in the house.” He smiled again and kissed her hand.

Brad drank the remainder of his third straight scotch. He wouldn’t usually drink scotch, but he needed something to calm himself down. He was furious about being the only one who didn’t know about Fenny’s tryst with Greg, and he was angry with himself for using the stupid flirtations with Gina to hurt her. He was feeling like the world’s – no, the galaxy’s biggest idiot, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He got to his feet, not even close to lightly fuzzy, and headed for the door of the bar. He had to go home and talk to Fenny, even though she was more likely to throw things at him or hit him with kitchen utensils.

He shuffled out into the street as a light rain began to fall. Unusual weather, he thought, and then concluded that he probably had his own little rain cloud of misery hanging over him. He had walked a block when he heard a clatter from behind him. Expecting it to be muggers or cats, he was surprised to see a soggy looking puppy pawing an empty soda can. The puppy looked like a miniature version of Lassie, and it got excited when it realised Brad had stopped to look.

“No, go home,” Brad demanded and continued walking. He glanced over his shoulder as he felt his clothes getting damp from the rain, and noticed the puppy was still following. It trotted up beside him and Brad glared at it. “You’re not coming with me, go home.”

By the time Brad had made it to the end of the street, the puppy had began to wear him down. Brad stopped and crouched down. The puppy ran between his legs and jumped at his face, licking frantically. Brad burst into giggles and ended up sitting on the sidewalk in the rain, rubbing the puppy’s stomach.

“So that’s why you love me, I know how to use the remote,” Gina teased.

“That sounds so Ozzy Osbourne,” Paul groaned.

“Hey, after a hard night of partying, you are Ozzy Osbourne,” she giggled.

He sniggered too. “I’ll start calling you Sharon, shall I?”

“Only if I can throw various food stuffs at the neighbours.”

“Throw fondue at Moonstar,” he giggled as he mimed flinging fondue.

They both lost it and fell into hysterical giggles at their own stupidity.

“We’re so not normal,” she sighed as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

“That’s for sure, we try to fight and end up talking about The Osbournes,” he agreed.

“Actually, since we’re seemingly happy again, can I ask you like a huge favour.”

“I’m not growing my hair long and talking in a British accent.”

Gina rolled her eyes. “Can you check on Fen? I don’t think I’d be too popular with her at the moment.”

“Do I have to?” Paul grumbled, getting to his feet.

“It’s a necessary evil.”

“I can’t wait until we get home, away from these fucked up yanks,” he breathed and headed for the door.

“Wait,” Gina peeped, leapt off the bed and wrapped Paul up in a passionate kiss. “We can have the whole kinky make-up sex thing when you get back.”

“I’ll be two minutes, time me,” he grinned and dashed out the door.

Fenny had flumped onto her bed and spent her time alone tying one of Brad’s shirts into knots. She was livid, not just because Brad had been having lewd thoughts about her best friend, but because he was up on his high horse about something that, essentially, had nothing to do with him. At least she regretted that night with Greg, and she hadn’t spawned his child nine months later. Nor had she been unfaithful to Brad since – only with that surfer in Australia, and she regretted that as well. Her thoughts were interrupted by the door creaking open. She grabbed the closest thing to her, a book on Feng Shui, and hurled it in the direction of the door.

“FUCK OFF,” she snapped.

Paul ducked as the book sailed over him and knocked Jaguar off the back of a chair.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Paul screamed. “YOU NEARLY KILLED ME WITH BAD LITRATURE.”

“Sorry, I thought you were Brad,” Fenny grumbled.

“Oh yeah, we just look so alike,” he scowled as he sauntered into the room and closed the door.

“Are you here for a reason?” she breathed.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” Paul replied and began to pace the floor at the bottom of the bed. “Fen, I know what your problem is. Now, I’m not a professional relationship counsellor, nor would I ever choose to be, but there is something quite obvious emanating from yourself and Brad’s relationship issues. There’s a pattern that’s kinda evolved to the point that, when it comes to the fore…YOU FUCK EVERYBODY ELSE’S LIVES UP.”

Fenny could see Paul wasn’t happy. She wasn’t used to this side of him. She’d seen him acting angry, but there was no acting now.

“I know what you’re thinking, he’s going to stick up for Brad, and you know what? You’d be wrong.” Paul paused and pulled his earlobe and then started pacing again. “Fen, your problem comes in two parts. Firstly, you never, ever talk about your problems. You bottle them up until you end up crying in a corner. Brad is exactly the same. You guys just yell at each other and then storm out. Ever thought of using that little thing called ‘maturity’ and talking things through? Obviously not, huh!”

“You’ve seen what happens when I open my mouth, I fuck things up,” Fenny sobbed.

“Ah, and this is the second part of your problem. You’re always the victim. Fen, you’re not a fucking victim. You create these situations you’re in. You gave in and fucked Greg, no one asked you to, and you could have said no. In fact, you chose to fuck him while your were seeing Brad. Then what was it that was wrong? Ritza was pregnant. Fair enough, not a lot you can do. Apart from, I don’t know, fight for your man. You let that psycho bitch swan in and manipulate him, and look at things now. Granted, Brad fucked up. But by Jesus, any normal woman would be crying out for a man that dedicated to his kid. He’s trying to do right by you, and all you can say is, ‘I don’t like kids,’ and, ‘I don’t want to be its Mum.’ Well fucking don’t then. Get outta here and get a life. Otherwise, deal with it like a responsible adult, because frankly, you’re starting to do my head in.”

Fenny couldn’t look at Paul, who was glaring at her and who was, as usual, right. “So you’re ok about him wanting to fuck your wife then?” she hissed.

“For some inane reason, I trust my wife. Now trust, there’s a thing. You should try it some time,” he hissed back.

“It’s pretty hard when you’re left wondering if your man is thinking about your best friend while you’re doing it,” she breathed.

“Of course he’s not, he’s a man. We can’t do two things at once.”

“Stop acting like you know everything. You know very little about me or my problems,” she snapped.

“I don’t need a fucking guide, the cracks would be obvious to a fucking child,” he countered.

“Yeah, well why don’t you just go back to your loyal and loving wife and ask her about her meeting with Greg the other day, huh?” she spat.

Paul shook his head and crossed his arms. “See, you’re doing it again, avoiding your problems.” He raised an eyebrow before turning and walking out of the room. He closed the door behind him. Fenny grabbed a pillow and chucked it at the door, then buried her face in the cover to muffle her frustrated scream.

Brad unlocked the door of the apartment and glanced around. It was unsettlingly quiet as he carried the puppy through the living room and into the bathroom. He put it on the floor and grabbed a towel to dry it. The puppy licked him appreciatively.

“What am I gonna call you, hey?” he sighed as the puppy pulled away to shake. “Hmm, what do you like?”

The puppy bounced excitedly around the bathroom, until it slipped on the wet floor, slid into the dangling towels and ended up wrapped in a selection of red and white towels.

“Mochrie,” he grinned, “you’re definitely a Mochrie.”

The puppy yapped, tried to get to its feet and fell back down.

Gina looked up as Paul re-entered the bedroom. He looked worryingly tense.

“What was all the yelling about?” Gina asked.

“Just telling Fen a few home truths,” he replied, sitting on the end of the bed.

“Bet that went down well,” she sighed.

“Shit happens,” he shrugged.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, noting Paul’s unhappy body language.

“Did you meet Greg the other day?” he asked, twisting around to look at her.

Gina’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “Yeah, I did.”

“Did anything happen?”

“Not really, he told me for the millionth time he loved me and…” Gina’s voice trailed off.

“And?” he asked, crawling up the bed to join her.

“And he kissed me, but it was very brief and the second he stopped I saw you and came straight back,” she babbled.

“Saw me? When you went to get the ice-cream, you saw him then?”

She nodded. “That’s the only time I’ve seen him, I swear.”

Paul looked at her; he’d told Fenny that he trusted Gina. There was nothing left but to believe his own words. He fell back onto the bed and rubbed his face. “I’m so over this.”

“Over what?” Gina asked.

“Having to deal with everybody else’s problems, I keep dishing out advice and yet, we’re still in the same fucking hole we’ve been in for weeks.”

“You don’t think we’ve progressed? If sporting our wedding rings and talking through our problems isn’t progress, then give me a Brazilian and call me Conchita,” she declared.

Paul, despite himself, cracked up laughing. “This, this is why we’re together: we’re both nutbars.”

“I’m actually envious of Brad and Fen. I want a full-blown fight and then rampant, kinky make-up sex,” she mused.

“Fine, fuck you,” Paul jeered.

“Get stuffed,” Gina countered.

“Can we have the kinky make-up sex now?” he asked.

Gina thwacked him with a pillow and they both started giggling again.

Brad found some leftovers to feed Mochrie, and left him in the kitchen as he padded across to his bedroom to finally get out of his soggy clothes. He opened the door and was greeted by only the glow from the clock. Fenny was curled up in bed. He quickly stripped down to his boxers and then hunted out a clean pair in the dark. He’d just finished changing when the light came on. Fenny rolled over and narrowed her eyes.

“Get out,” she breathed.

“Excuse me,” he gasped.

“You’re not sleeping in here,” she announced.

“Fen, can we talk about…”

She turned over and pulled the covers over her head. Brad, who was not going to go unheard, crawled onto the bed and pulled the covers back.

“I’m trying to talk to you,” he hissed.

“I’m sick of talking,” she snapped.

“With who? You haven’t talked to me.”

“So sorry, there’s not an awful lot of time between ‘Lilly’ and ‘Harder’,” she sarced.

“I didn’t realise three and a half minutes on your back took up so much of your time,” he spat, and as the words left his mouth he was greeted with a stinging slap across the face.

“I said get out and I meant it,” she spat venomously.

“Fine, like I’ve ever needed you anyway,” Brad growled as he rubbed his cheek. He grabbed a pillow and blanket and slammed the door behind him.

Brad puffed the pillow up and dropped it at one end of the couch, before getting himself comfortable and pulling the blanket over himself. Mochrie appeared and leapt between his legs and fell asleep instantly. Brad was too hyped up to be tired and too angry to relax. His cheek stung, as did his ego. Not only that, but at that very moment he actually wondered if he still loved Fenny.