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sipping her tea, the topaz pendant around her neck gleaming away. And even when I get to the bit about kissing Guy goodbye, she only gives a little sideways smirk, because when I’m down about something, Gladys can always tell.
    Once I’ve told her everything – except the bit about fondling my tenant’s bum – she reaches across and takes my hands, golden bangles clinking. ‘I just thought you’d like a rich guy who worshipped your feet. If he’s not for you, he’s not for you. But he’ll understand, girl. From what I’ve seen, he’s pretty decent.’
    ‘What makes you think I don’t like him?’ I ask.
    Gladys rolls her eyes. ‘Energy … tone … blah, blah, blah … Plus you’re my mate. I know these things.’
    I give a sigh. ‘Gladys, I think I’m having a mid-life crisis.’
    Gladys snorts. ‘Join the effing club. I’m thinking of taking up belly dancing in Madeira and having sex with five oiled Chippendales. Does that sound like non-crisis behaviour?’ I grin because I can’t help it – Gladys can’t fail to make me abandon my cares. ‘Seriously,’ she says, ‘Think about my life.’ So I do.
    Thing is, Gladys divorced a guy who started beating on her after their son took off to heaven knows where. Sometimes, this son drops her an email. She doesn’t think he ever reads her replies. This, I have decided, would be enough to drive any vegetarian back towards meat pies. ‘And every time I get a guy home, I go off him,’ Gladys says, toying with half a sausage. ‘Take Guy. Nice man. Like him a lot. But in bed, he pulls out halfway through – well, halfway through
for me
– and comes all over my shoes, hand jerking away like he’s shaking a bottle of ketchup. And I’m not like you, Debs. I like my shoes, but there’s a limit.’
    I make a face, like I’m appalled – especially since she clearly thinks I’d want this kind of attention! But in truth she isn’t wrong because I feel a little turned on. Me and my fricking libido.
    ‘Thank God for my trusty vibe,’ she says.
    ‘Your what?’
    ‘Vibrator,’ she says. And I have to look at my hands – I’ve never been so embarrassed. ‘You do
have
a sex toy, don’t you?’ she says. ‘A vibe or a dildo? Or a porn vid or two?’ And when she sees me shake my head, she says, ‘Holy smoke, I can’t believe we’ve never talked about this. No vibrator? Really? I mean, how do you survive?’
    Holy punch-bag, Kitten! Suddenly,
any
topic of conversation is better than ‘things to stick up your privates’ so I decide to trust her and spill the beans about my latest problem. ‘Listen, Glads,’ I say. ‘Can you keep a secret?’
    ‘My lips are sealed,’ she says, chewing on some sausage.
    ‘I think … I might have the hots for my tenant.’
    Gladys’s face lights up. ‘You old dog!’ she cries, laughing and slamming the table so everything jolts and clanks. Then her brow furrows as the cogs turn. ‘Hold on,’ she says, ‘I thought your tenant was a girl.’
    ‘She is.’
    Gladys stops chewing. ‘Oh,’ she says, putting her fork back down. She looks at me for a while, her head tipped. Then she raises her eyebrows and falls back in her chair. ‘Well, is this tenant a lezzie too?’
    I nod, trying to ignore the L-word.
    ‘Bull’s-eye,’ Gladys announces. ‘So where’s the prob?’
    The ease with which she says this takes me aback. ‘She’s got a girlfriend,’ I say.
    ‘Are they serious?’ she asks.
    I say I don’t think so – it looked like they were fighting last night.
    Gladys throws up her hands. ‘Again I say, where’s the prob?’
    ‘Glads, she’s twenty-something. It would be like child abuse.’
    ‘Don’t be silly. Why d’you think Guy came on to me? I’m twenty years his senior! Because all the young ones are screwing forty-year-olds these days. We oldies are a fetish. Haven’t you heard of cougars?’
    ‘That’s a man thing, isn’t it?’
    Gladys gives another snort. ‘Sweetie,’ she says,