My Secret Lover

people who use
‘ironic’ to mean the joke’s not very funny.
    Richard eats his sandwich quite fast,
then scrapes his chair back noisily.
    ‘Work to do,’ he says, sensing he’s
not wanted.
    ‘See you later!’ I say breezily, as
if it’s quite normal for him to leave first.
    Outside the window, he stops and
lights a cigarette, then blows the first smoke out, smiles, and waves brightly
at us.
    ‘Have you got digital TV?’ asks New
Andy.
    ‘I have.’
    Treated myself to a widescreen
television last birthday. It’s the first time I’ve been asked, and I feel
rather grown up.
    ‘There’s a Kurosawa film on FilmFour
tonight.’
    ‘It’s my gym night,’ I tell him.
    It isn’t really a lie, because
frankly I would rather work out for three hours than watch some Japanese art
movie in black and white.
    ‘Maybe some other time, if you’re not
doing anything. It’s just that my folks don’t have nonterrestrial,’ says Andy.
    ‘I think I can make an exception for
Kawasaka,’ I say quickly.
    In a list of ten sentences I am least
likely to utter, this would come pretty near the top.
    ‘To be honest, I never actually go to
the gym,’ I add.
    ‘I’ve been bad lately, I used to go
three times a week when I was in town,’ says New Andy.
    ‘...on Thursdays. Tuesdays and
weekends are all I seem to be able to manage.’
    ‘Which gym?’
    ‘The one down the road.’
    I should offer to show him round. You
get a free sports towel if you introduce a new member.
    ‘Any good?’
    ‘Depends what you’re looking for,’ I
say enigmatically.
    If I thought he might be there, all
lean in cycling shorts, I would never even bother to spend the time thinking
about going, before sensing the onset of a cold and deciding it was sensible to
give it a miss.
    So does he want to come round to
watch Kawa what’sit or not? I’m not sure how to ask.
    My mobile phone rings.
    ‘Is that Lydia?’ says a male voice I
do not immediately recognize.
    Am I the only person in the world who
wonders what I’ve done wrong when I answer the phone to an unfamiliar male
voice?
    ‘Yes?’ I admit.
    ‘I have Joanna on the line for you,’
says the voice. Alas my love you do me wrong to cast me off discourteously...
    ‘Lydia. Thank God I’ve tracked you
down!’
    I feel instantly guilty, as if I have
been deliberately difficult to get hold of.
    ‘What is it?’
    My tone of voice is so urgent that
New Andy looks up over his second chocolate mousse.
    ‘Emergency,’ says my sister.
    I imagine an ambulance with my mother
in it and lots of drips and things.
    ‘Bloody au pair’s let us down,’ says
Joanna. ‘That really is the last one from Eastern Europe. Thing is, we’ve got a
dinner party and I absolutely can’t have the children wandering in and out and
screaming the place down, so would you come over?’
    ‘When?’
    ‘Tonight. I know it’s short notice,
Lyd, but I absolutely can’t cancel, I’ve got the food ordered.’
    ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got other plans.’
    ‘What plans?’
    ‘Seeing Andy.’
    Rather pleased with myself about that
one. True, but doesn’t make me look uncool.
    ‘Bring him too!’ she says, magnanimously.
‘Listen, could you make it by seven because I’ve got a hair appointment and I
need someone to let the girls in. Actually don’t bring Andy. He wouldn’t fit in
and the children don’t like him.’
    ‘What girls?’
    ‘The caterers.’
    ‘How many people are you having?’
    ‘Just six, but it makes such a
difference, especially mid week.’
    ‘But where will the children be?’
    ‘God! Well remembered! Look could you
pick them up from school on your way over? I’ll get Kim to call the school now
and tell them it’ll be you.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘Don’t worry if you’re a bit late. I
pay them enough.’
    ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t tonight,’ I
say.
    And all but my lady Greensleeves...
    No point in ringing back because I
know Kim, who is as loyal to Joanna as any gay man could be to a woman, won’t
let me through.
    ‘I guess that’s a no?’ says New Andy.
     
    ‘This afternoon we are going to have
a writers’ workshop.’
    Six hands go in the air.
    ‘Nikita?’
    ‘What’s a writers’ workshop?’
    ‘I was hoping someone would ask me
that.’
    I smile at her.
    ‘A writers’ workshop is when we write
a story together.’
     
    All I remember from school about
writing a story was that it had to have a beginning, a middle and an end. Our
teacher used to read us How the