Amy Cole has lost her mind: The perfect laugh out loud, feel-good comedy (The Amy Cole series Book 1)

by Elizabeth McGivern

  “All I ever wanted to do was help you find yourself, and I loved every second of it.

  “When Keith finally left and I knew he wasn’t coming back, I lashed out. Then when you told me things were on the mend with Ben, instead of being a decent friend and being happy for you, I was jealous. I’m sorry.

  “I pushed you away and I’ve regretted it every day since. I just want to know if there’s still room for me in your life? I would love if we could be friends again.

  “And please note, just because I’m a pathetic mess sitting on your doorstep that shouldn’t guilt you into saying ‘yes’”

  “Looking put together is overrated anyway,” I said. “I know I’m meant to say we should work through these feelings and address underlying issues but how about I say we both let each other down in the friendship and we should just wipe the slate clean?”

  “That’s very self-helpy. Have you been reading grown-up books?”

  “Celebrity biographies and trashy magazines, exclusively,” I said, with a solemn face.

  “Thatta girl,” she laughed.

  I was comforted that we could fall back into our nonsense repertoire without missing a beat. I didn't want to pull apart everything that had been going on since we last spoke but I didn’t want to gloss over the awkward conversations like I had done in the past. I wanted to be there.

  “How are you, really?” I asked.

  “Pretty shite. All his stuff has gone and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost a lot of my clients because I’ve been cancelling classes left, right and centre.”

  “You can get new people. You needed time to heal after the breakup. Now, have you posted at least ten inspirational quotes about ‘new beginnings’ with a few ‘I hate men’ ones in between on social media and considered getting a ‘live, laugh, love’ tattoo somewhere on your body? These are all legitimate stages of the break-up process.”

  “You’re a bitch, Princess,” she laughed. “Shouldn’t you leave the sarcasm until we get through this awkward first meeting? You’re meant to be helping me; I’m officially your next project.”

  “You’re right, what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered, honestly.

  “Well, I do. You’re going to pick yourself up – or let me help you do that – and you're going to find your inner badass.”

  “You sound like me.”

  “No better person to sound like.”

  “We’ll get your class numbers through the roof if that’s what you want, or help you start a whole new career if that’s what will ignite the fire in your belly again.”

  “I could be a writer?” she mused.

  “What would you write about?”

  “I don’t know, a blog about single girl sex in your thirties – or true crime investigations, I could ask Benny to come on board as a PI partner to help sniff out stories. He could use his hip flask and everything.”

  “Let’s maybe just put a pin in that idea for now and we can brainstorm later…”

  I stood up and pulled her to her feet.

  “We can start with a pity party tonight at mine if you like? Tomorrow, the real work begins. I can’t be seen about town with a wretch like you.”

  I gave her another hug and took the car keys from her hand. I decided to drive myself, and let her chat in the passenger seat. As we sped through the streets I could see her start to relax more in my company and tell me what she’d been up to over the last few weeks.

  Keith had found a new apartment and was trying to stick to a regular schedule for visiting the girls. He had no idea that she was taking the break up as badly as she was – even now, pride drove her to make sure she looked perfectly well if she knew he was calling to pick up the kids.

  “I think the hardest thing about all this is that I don’t even know when he properly checked out. I talk a good game about knowing we were toast but I still find myself trying to figure out when it all fell apart. I still don’t know, maybe I never will. I just want to get to a place where I stop hating him, he did give me the girls after all,” she continued.

  “You will, you both have their best interests at heart so you’re just going to have to keep working to get there. It’ll take time – give yourself time,” I said.

  “I have an idea. It’s completely irresponsible and petty but it might make you feel better?”

  “I think we’d better just get you to therapy,” she replied.

  “Really?”

  “No, we’ll do your plan super quick and you can go after to talk about your terrible life choices.”

  I took a left off the road we were travelling on and stopped at a corner shop, leaving a confused Elle in the car. I returned to the vehicle a few minutes later with my secret purchases and headed towards our destination.

  We pulled up outside Smug Club and I stopped the car. I reached into the carrier bag and took out a card which said ‘thank you’ on the front with a teddy holding a flower underneath.

  “I thought we could write something nice to Mrs Clunting. Thank her for bringing us together and bury the hatchet,” I explained.

  “Are you kidding me? You know she started a Facebook group about me telling people to boycott my classes because I was a secret swinger who used boogie bounce to pick people up? You want me to be the bigger person? She’s lucky I don’t walk in there and make a scene claiming she owes me money for heroin.”

  “Hear me out: firstly, I didn’t know she did that and secondly, I’m completely screwing with you – we’re here to egg the place.”

  I took out the box of eggs and handed her one.

  “Aren’t you afraid that Joseph will disown us for reigniting the gangland war on his doorstep?” said Elle, in mock indignation.

  “Nah, we’ve carved out a reputation for being these utter bitches so we should probably just give the public what they want, besides they have to catch us first.”

  We both shuffled over to the car park and decided against egging the building – we didn’t like the thought of causing more of a clean-up job for the maintenance worker, we just wanted to get a rise out of our nemesis.

  We took aim at her car and spent a frantic twenty seconds lobbing eggs at the back windscreen and laughing like hammy Bond villains.

  For some reason, I thought a dozen eggs would have lasted longer, but it was probably a good job they didn’t or we were running a bigger risk of being seen by someone from inside the building.

  We were breathless as we returned to the car and took off in a rush. By the time we got around the corner, I went back to the speed limit – I didn't fancy explaining what led to me getting a speeding ticket to Ben.

  I set off towards the therapist’s office and thought about why I was doing this, why I was going to confront things I’d spent my adult life avoiding.

  This time, I wasn’t afraid of what lay in front of me. This time I wanted to get better for my family – and I meant all my family, Elle included. She needed me too and I wanted to be well enough to get her through the next few tough months.

  This big-hearted weirdo saw something in me. Perhaps it was my potential – or my desperation – I didn’t care which. We needed each other.

  Elle had brought me back to life and now it was my turn to return the favour. Besides, the swear jar in Joseph’s could definitely help towards Mum’s birthday cruise.

  “What are you thinking of over there?” she asked.

  “Ah, nothing; I was just listening to you prattle on like a boring old, biddy.”

  We pulled up to Dr Kelly’s office, and I felt less brave about going ahead with my appointment.

  “Are you waiting? It could be an hour,” I said.

  “Yeah, I'll go for a walk and see if I can get any inspiration for my new career. What do you think of a website that offers masturbation techniques for your pet? I've always thought there could be something more rewarding for them than just humping a cushion.”

  “Perhaps,” I said as kindly as I could. “Mayb
e… just maybe, we should maybe keep thinking.”

  “That’s one ‘maybe’ too many. Fair enough, I’ll keep thinking; there’s bound to be a millionaire-making idea rattling around in there somewhere. I mean it can’t all be useless general knowledge or weird facts about Neil Diamond. Speaking of which, I decided to update his Wikipedia page to include the stuff about hamsters.”

  I grabbed my bag and took one more big breath before I got out to start the next battle against my brain.

  The inner bitch had been quiet as of late but I wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d gone.

  I stopped at the door and started to lose my nerve.

  I looked back at the car and saw Elle, standing outside, waving enthusiastically.

  “Go on, bitch! Go show ‘em what Amy fucking Cole is made of!”

  And so, I did.

  Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from book two:

  Amy Cole

  Is Zen

  As F*ck

  AMY COLE IS ZEN AS F*CK

  “Have you ever been sent a dick pic?” asked Elle.

  I managed to cover my mouth before coffee came spluttering out.

  “What?”

  “A dick pic,” she repeated, as if saying it again would make the question any less bizarre.

  “I bet you’ve got a whole host of them stashed away somewhere. Ben seems like the type.”

  “You’re saying my husband ‘seems like the type’ to take pictures of his penis and send them to me?”

  “Don't make it sound weird, it's quite fun – here look at this one.”

  She shoved her phone into my face and there it was; a rather flaccid-looking penis.

  “Why are you showing me this?” I said, as I tried to shield my eyes. “That image is now burned into my retinas. I feel like that constitutes some sort of assault.”

  “Stop being dramatic, Amy, I just wanted your opinion on it. I haven’t seen anyone’s penis – other than my scumbag ex’s – in a very long time. It doesn’t look like Keith’s. Does it look like Ben’s? Should I show it to Michael and Joseph and see if they think it’s normal looking?”

  I grabbed her hand to stop her from leaving the table and showing the picture to any other unsuspecting bystanders.

  “It looks a bit sad,” I said.

  “Yeah, doesn’t it? I know I’m new to this Internet dating, malarkey, but surely he could have taken a better picture than that? Or maybe that was the good picture, that’s a depressing thought.”

  Going against my better judgement, I picked up the phone and looked at the picture again.

  “Do you think he’s used a filter, or is it really that purple?”

  “I hope it’s a filter, or else I should just reply now and tell him to go get it checked out.”

  She sighed as she put down the phone and flopped back on her seat.

  “I’m bored of being single, Amy. I just want to meet a nice guy, who likes me and the girls and possibly has a normal-coloured penis. All I’m getting are these idiot ‘lads’, in their twenties, who just want to meet up for a quick fumble. I hate that I’m not happy on my own – I really never thought I would need a relationship to feel whole, but here I am. It’s pathetic.”

  I tried not to have a sympathetic look on my face but I was caught out and told to ‘stop it’.

  “You’ll meet someone, the right someone. I doubt you’ll get much success on that app you’re using by the sounds of it.”

  “No, I was told this was the one you needed to download if you wanted to find your soulmate. I’m sticking with it. Especially because it cost me £1.99 to download,” she added.

  “Let me see it then, maybe it’s something you’re exuding on your profile which is making all these undesirables flock to you. A bit of an edit could make all the difference.”

  She reluctantly handed over her mobile and I clicked on her profile.

  Her username was Elle’s Bells and the bio read:

  Hi to all you sexy guys out there. My name is Elle and I’m a 29-year-old, fun-loving MILF who knows how to party hard and fuck even harder.

  I stared at her incredulously.

  “Seriously, Elle? You think that profile is sending out an ‘I’m looking for a serious relationship’ vibe?”

  “Look, I know I said twenty nine but I figure the picture I’m using is a few years old and if we met at a dimly lit restaurant, I could probably get away with it,” she replied.

  “I’m not talking about the age lie – although I think we should definitely circle back to that – I’m talking about the party-girl persona who sounds like she’s here for the ride.”

  “Do you really think it reads that way? Seriously?”

  “How can you not think that? Of course these morons are you sending you dick pics.”

  “Well, that’s really given me some food for thought. I figured if I’m up against women really in their twenties I should have a catchy bio to reel them in.”

  “Look, if you want to screw around and have some uncomplicated, casual sex then go right ahead. I support you 100 percent, but don’t complain that you’re not being matched with Mr Right when you have ‘no gag reflex’ listened under the Special Skills section.”

  I could see that she was mulling things over and weighing up the advantages of just having a few one-night stands, compared to getting involved in a new relationship.

  “What do you think I should write then?”

  “Just be yourself, your awesome, 35-year-old self,” I smiled.

  “What should I do about purple penis?”

  “Delete the photo and maybe never say those words to me ever again,”

  “You’re no fun, now that you’re not mental anymore,” she said, sulkily.

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  Acknowledgements

  When I was five-years-old, I invented an imaginary world called: Congo, Bongo Land.

  Reading that back now, I realise I sound like a racist MP but when I was five, this place was amazing. I could do anything or be anyone. I eventually told my primary school teacher, Mrs Cunningham, about this place and she encouraged me to write about it. She gave me a jotter and – despite not being able to write yet – I drew pictures and bored my mother with endless stories about what they meant.

  Twenty-seven years later I’m still boring my mother with stories I want to write but this time, one has finally made it to print.

  I’m beyond grateful to so many people that have helped and inspired me to keep going with this project, despite my daily doubts that I’m a complete fraud and what I’ve written is utter shite.

  I’m very lucky to be surrounded by a huge, encouraging family that is always on hand to help. I could probably fill an entire book listing them here but a special thank you should be made to:

  Mum and Rachael, who made it through the first draft, in record time, and didn’t say it was awful.

  To Hannah-Louise and Natalie, who made it through the second draft and didn’t disown me.

  To Ciara, who told me to: “Just, fucking write.”

  To Dad and Martin who said they aren’t going to read the book, but will check it out if it ever becomes a film.

  To Mandy, Jenny, Carmel, Sarah and Lasairiona for the many nagging text messages to ask if it was finished yet. Your guilt sent me back to the laptop.

  To Ryan’s creativity, design skill and love of the colour lilac…

  To the McCarrunningbelliotts group for all the late-night procrastination conversations about Michael Fassbender and pushing me to go ahead with publishing.

  To the Carroll, McCamley, McGivern and Toner clan as a whole, thank you for putting up with the incessant pleas to
buy this – I won’t stop asking, so you might as well just go buy another copy after you’re finished with this one.

  And finally, to my one true love: Colin Firth. Your framed photo on my desk inspires me to be a better person.

  I suppose I should mention something about my husband and kids at this stage? Fine.

  My children are the human embodiment of perfection and I’m thanking no one else for that but me, so that just leaves my husband, Conor.

  Thank you for believing in me and this book, more than I did. Thank you for helping me deal with the frustrating setbacks and rejections with compassion and irritating optimism; and thank you for not starting divorce proceedings when I turned into a raging bitch during the editing process.

  Finally, (no really this time) thank you to every person that reads, comments and gets in touch with me through my blog, Mayhem and Beyond.

  What started out as a way to journal my early days as a parent turned into a place where I could be honest about being a mum who struggled with mental health issues. Each and every time you reach out and share your support – or tell me you’re going through something similar – it helps make a stay-at-home mum feel a little less isolated.

  I hope you enjoyed meeting Amy Cole as much as I enjoyed writing her, you have made my five-year-old self very happy.

  Elizabeth McGivern is a former journalist turned hostage-in-her-own-home surrounded by three men and a horrible dog named Dougal.

  In an effort to keep her sanity she decided to write a parenting blog after the birth of her first son so she could pinpoint the exact moment she failed as a mother.