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want it to be hard work, I wanted it to be easy and fun and to be with someone who made me laugh, and who looked after me. Someone I felt safe with. As it was, Connor had now become another one of the things that was not going right with my five year plan. That and the fact that my five year plan had so far taken six years…
    *
    Why do people insist on having a roast dinner whatever the weather, just because it’s Sunday? Blisteringly hot outside and my parent’s kitchen was like a sauna. All the windows were steamed up after excessive vegetable boiling in The Massive Saucepan.
    I‘m not entirely sure where I developed a love of cooking from, but it probably had something to do with that saucepan.
    ‘Can we open the back door, at least?’ I asked.
    ‘No, we’ll have next door’s cat after the roast.’ Mum insisted.
    ‘Makes a change from rice pudding,’ said Dad, putting his Sunday paper down.
    Mum didn’t get it. Me and Dad both laughed as Mum attempted to remove blackened Yorkshires from an oven tray.
    ‘Where’s that poser of a boyfriend, then?’
    ‘Working,’ I said, not wanting to think about him or get Mum started on how marvellous he was again. I was still seething with him.
    ‘Never done a decent day’s work in his life, I bet’ Dad muttered. Dad wasn’t in the Connor fan club like Mum was.
    ‘Oh what a thing to say!’ said Mum, ‘Fiona’s done herself proud managing to catch someone like Connor. I wonder when you will get married. Maybe you could do what Brendan and Katie next door did and get married abroad.’
    She was spooning peas onto the plate now, rapidly.
    ‘Careful with those peas Maureen,’ Dad said.
    She ignored him and carried on piling peas until they were reaching critical mass.
    ‘I don’t think he’s that keen anyway,’ I said, wondering if he was planning to ask me properly. A proper proposal.
    ‘Don’t be silly Fiona, I am sure he will be asking you any day now.’
    ‘Now they’re back from their honeymoon, Brendan and Katie are taking their whole family on a fake-cation. The whole family and all the grandchildren. Can you imagine?’ She looked wistful and said ‘A Fay Cay Tion’ again quietly, punctuating the air with her fork after each syllable.
    ‘And what the bloody hell is a fake-cation when it’s at home?’ Dad asked her, putting his knife and fork down.
    ‘Well,’ she began, taking a breath and then putting on her posh phone voice. ‘Say if you really wanted to go to the Bahamas, well, you don’t go to the Bahamas, you go to Costa Brava or to Devon to a place they make look like the Bahamas. So they go to Lloret de Mar but they stay at the Hotel Caribe and they eat Caribbean food and have themed dances and they pretend they are in the Bahamas. It’s all
themed
you see. Oh can you imagine. It’s a themed Fay Cay Tion.’ Again, with the punctuation fork. She looked so pleased with herself.
    ‘And what would be the bleeding point of that, now?’ said Dad, winking at me.
    ‘It’s for the recession!’ she said sharply.
    ‘What do you mean, it’s for the recession? That bloody lot could afford to go to the real thing if they wanted. They must be earning a fortune, big house like that.’ He muttered something about council tax bands.
    I was enjoying Dad having a go at the neighbours.
    ‘But that’s the wonderful thing. They said they can afford to go to the Bahamas but they wanted to go on the fake-cation anyway. They said they wanted to give something back. Isn’t that wonderful? All the money they have and they want to give something back.’ She beamed. She was calmer now having been on holiday in her head with the Callaghans.
    She turned to me. ‘Wouldn’t you like to go on a fake-cation? It would make me so proud if you did, Fiona. Maybe you could ask Connor to take you.’
    I took this to mean ‘Wouldn’t you like to be like the next door neighbours and marry Connor and then go on a fake-cation?’
    ‘Of course I bloody well