I’m sitting in a café, and I’m supposed to be writing. In fact, I was writing, and it was going pretty well. But every now and then I found myself looking up to watch a group of middle aged women who are sitting having coffee. When they first arrived, there was just two of them, but they pulled extra chairs up to the table, so I guessed that more would be coming. Three more joined them a few minutes later, then another who had to drag over an extra chair. Ten minutes later the last one joined them, apologising for being late as she arrived. Seven women. One of them was having a birthday, as a few of them had handed her a gift bag as they arrived.

The more I glance across at them, the more I wonder about their lives. How do they all know one another? How did they become friends? Do they always all get along? And how often do they see each other? They all seem so different. One has closely cropped, grey hair, thick, square glasses and a sleeveless black top. She seems confident, relaxed, modern. Another looks more motherly, with her shoulder length bob and three quarter pants. Two are blonde, one looks grandmotherly, one is tall, thin, and business like; and the last one looks the youngest – long hair, wide belt and shorts.

As soon as I saw the last one turn up, I realised something. That might be us one day. I have a wonderful collection of different friends, some from school, some from work, and a fabulous group who I met when I first met my husband. But there is one particular group of girls who I’ve been friends with now for around fifteen years or more. There are seven of us. Seven girls who have stayed friends despite all of the constant changes throughout our lives. Despite times when we’ve drifted a little, because of stupid boyfriends who might have come between us, or times when we’ve fought because of a disagreement that would make us laugh now. One of us moved up the coast, but then, thankfully she came back. Another moved out to the country – but when she visits Sydney, it’s like she never left. Sometimes we get busy, many of us have children, one, two, three, or maybe just one on the way. We’ve studied at Uni or Tafe, worked in the city, out west, close to home. We met in Baulkham Hills but we’ve moved to Sutherland, Artarmon, Parramatta, Glendenning. We’ve travelled overseas, some with each other, some on our own, some with our partner.

We used to see each other at least five times a week. Now we can easily go five weeks without meeting up. When we see each other, our voices all start tumbling. We talk about our day, our week, our kids, our partners, our parents, our parents-in-law. We talk about work, we congratulate one another on success, we console one another over loss. We give advice – whether it’s wanted or not, we reminisce and we usually start laughing at some point, loudly enough to annoy the people at the next table.

I’m looking over at these women again, and I’m wondering if they’ve ever been drunk together. Have they ever cried over the phone with one another? Have they ever threatened to punch a boy because he broke their friend’s heart? Have they ever fought over religion or helped each other study for an exam? Have they held each other’s hair back when they were sick, shared secrets and fears? Have they cooked meals or cakes for one another? Have they ever watched a horror movie together and snuck lollies from K Mart into the cinema and laughed at the scary bits?

Each and every one of the girls in my group have been through so much: we’ve lost family members, been through IVF, suffered depression, seen divorce, dealt with abuse, struggled financially, been in car accidents, been in hospital, had bad jobs, mean bosses, bad break-ups, been betrayed and been hurt. And when each of these things were happening to each of my friends, I didn’t always know the right thing to say, or the right thing to do – but we were always all there for one another.

Between us we have degrees in law, environmental science, policing, an early childhood diploma, a marketing diploma, eleven children plus one on the way, three dogs, two cats, a rabbit, a farm; we’ve directed plays, published books, bought houses, been to business college, worked as travel agents, event coordinators, check-out-chicks, worked for the government, for Maccas, for recruitment firms, in customer service, in account management, in science labs, for  Nestle, Law Access, Coles, Bunnings… there’s more, I’m sure…

When I think of these women – of my girls, and of everything that they’ve each been through throughout their lives, and yet all of things that they have accomplished, I feel nothing but pride. Because each and every one of them are intelligent, beautiful, successful, wonderful women. Women who look out for me, even when there are a million things going on in their own lives.

If I find myself one day, sitting down in a café, waiting for my six school mates to arrive, and I look down to see that now I’m the one wearing Grandma slacks and a floral blouse, maybe I’ll think back to this day, maybe I’ll remember that group of older women I once watched and wondered about and maybe I’ll take a look around to see if anyone is watching me. And I’ll feel lucky, damn lucky that I’m part of such a beautiful group of friends.