Other People’s Diaries Read Online Free PDF

old-fashioned cowboy shirt.
    Alice’s eyes were drawn to someone standing behind Megan, near the door. It was a man of about forty, with curly hair reaching his shoulders and a goatee. Definitely not one of her invitees, but he was still looking their way. Alice smiled automatically and was surprised to see him walk toward the table.
    He held his hand out to Alice. ‘Ah, I’m Kerry Jenkins,’ heventured. ‘I feel like I’ve got something mixed up here. Is there a blokes’ table over the back?’ He peered over at the clearly empty tables further along.
    Despite her tension, Alice laughed. ‘No, just us. Have a seat.’ She gestured to a chair next to Rebecca.
    So much for an all-women group – she’d automatically assumed someone named Kerry was a woman. Not much she could do about it now, though. It was blindingly obvious this was going to be a disaster. If only she hadn’t come up with this bloody stupid idea in the first place. She wanted to be at home sorting the washing so much that it almost hurt.
    Miraculously the waiter reappeared. Alice nodded in response to his silent request and he filled the extra glasses. She made a mental note to leave him a big tip.
    Alice had received thirty entry forms. That was too many, even allowing for the ten forms which Megan had sent. In the end she’d chosen the ten people with Paddington addresses, figuring it would make any gatherings easier. She’d had no idea how many would come.
    Everyone was looking at her expectantly.
    Follow your script, she reminded herself.
    She’d just say her bit, they’d all think she was odd and then she would disappear as soon as possible. She’d pay the bill, feel like an idiot, but pretend it had never happened. It wasn’t a big deal.
    At least she hadn’t told Andrew. That was one less humiliation she’d have to face.
    Figuring if she started again it would be clear she was following a script, she decided to just keep going.
    â€˜As I was saying … I don’t think I am the first woman to discover that domestic life and writing aren’t always wonderful bedfellows. My second book was what’s known in the trade as a stinker and I figured that maybe one good book was all I had in me.’
    She’d thought long and hard about whether or not to mention the second book and decided it would be dishonest not to.
    â€˜But recently I had an idea that follows on from Her Life, My Life and try as I might I can’t make it go away.’
    She smiled. This was the bit when they were all supposed to smile back sympathetically.
    They didn’t.
    She wished she could somehow make them all drink faster. This would sound much better if they weren’t sober. For want of any better options, she took a large sip herself.
    This wasn’t working. Mentally she drew a thick red line through the next few paragraphs and skipped right to the end of her speech.
    She looked at the ring of faces, their expressions ranging from interest through to clear suspicion.
    â€˜Before I wrote Her Life, My Life I was studying at university. In one of my subjects the lecturer told us that the biggest challenge facing society would be how to use all of the spare time that modern technology was going to deliver. Big chunks of time were going to open up to the whole population. He said we’d be living in the Age of Leisure.’
    She paused for a moment.
    â€˜I often recall that lecture, because he was absolutely and totally wrong. For all the promises of efficient technology, we somehow have less time than ever. Everybody I know is juggling a thousand things, running from one thing to another without enough sleep.’
    Alice caught herself. That hadn’t been part of the script.
    â€˜I travelled overseas to promote Her Life, My Life . The thing I still remember about my trip to France is that everyone stops for lunch. It doesn’t matter how busy their day is,