My Secret Lover

won’t be able to live in your three-bed semi on your own for
ever, silver surfing all day and going to the bridge club three evenings a
week. And what is going to happen then? It’s going to be me, isn’t it? I’m the
one who’s going to have to look after you, and it’s not that I can’t cope with
incontinence, it’s just that old people get so unreasonable and negative, and
you’re negative at the best of times. And if you want to know, I find the
prospect ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING, as a matter of fact.
    Of course I say nothing and just
seethe silently.

8
     
    ‘Why did you choose this place?’ Andy
asks, sucking the top off his pint.
    Why does he have to have Carlsberg
anyway, when the cool media types at the next table, one of whom looks familiar,
are drinking Tsing Tao from the bottle?
    ‘The other evening when I got a
minicab back from Michelle’s...’
    The minicab anecdote is quite funny
in retrospect, Richard Batty thought so, and the media types would enjoy it
too, I think.
    They’re all catching up on media
gossip. The one I vaguely recognize knows the maitre d’ well enough to
call him by his first name, which is apparently Edwin. A surprisingly
un-Chinese name.
    ‘I had this Chinese driver...’ I
continue, before realizing that if I’m not careful I’m going tc have to reveal
that I was drunk.
    ‘...and it reminded me that we hadn’t
had Chinese for a while.’
    ‘Good plan,’ says Andy.
    Newsnight. That’s where I know her from. Or is
it GMTV? I’m never properly awake for either.
    ‘What does Hong Kong mean?’ Andy’s
looking at the menu.
    ‘Fragrant Harbour.’
    ‘Correct.’
    I sip my Jasmine tea.
    ‘I’ve always wanted to go there,’ I
say.
    I’ve never actually thought about
going to Hong Kong until now, but it’s something grown-up people say, isn’t it?
    Somebody the media types know is
bonking a junior minister.
    ‘I’m sworn to secrecy,’ says media
woman.
    She smiles at me as I try to look
away without her noticing. I think she’s used to having people recognize her.
I’m tempted to jump in with my suggestion as her friends start to guess.
    ‘Name of the last Governor’s wife?’
Andy asks.
    ‘Lavender Patten.’
    Now I’ve missed the minister’s name.
    Next door, they’re all saying, ‘No!’
    ‘Amazing,’ says Andy.
    For a moment, I think he’s heard and
is about to tell me.
    ‘I knew it was something flowery, but
I would have guessed Daffodil,’ he says.
    What cool media people eat is
scallops on the half shell, prawn and coriander rolls, Emperor chicken, yam and
aubergine fritters, and some off-menu greens I don’t recognize.
    We’ve stuck with the quarter crispy
aromatic duck and things we know.
    ‘You get what you pay for,’ Andy says
appreciatively, which makes me feel better about the expense of it, which he
seemed to disapprove of at first, even though I’m the one who’s paying.
    Probably seakale, or something. “What
is seakale anyway?
    ‘They’re asking for newly weds on Millionaire,’ I tell Andy.
    ‘Are they?’
    ‘Shall we try?’
    Apparently if the Secretary of State
for Transport makes one more gaffe, he’s out. It’s official.
    ‘We’re not married yet,’ says Andy.
    ‘It includes people who are going to
be married by the date of the programme.’
    The media woman thinks he might
survive longer because he’s such a friend of Tony Blair.
    ‘It must increase the odds of getting
through, mustn’t it? How many newly wed couples can there be per season?’
    That appeals to the player in Andy.
    ‘Go on then,’ he says, picking up his
beer and clinking it against my handleless china cup.
    Shattered glass and beer all over our
main course.
    Edwin’s very nice about it, even
though I don’t think you’re supposed to have Sweet and Sour Pork in a place
like this.
     
    ‘I am Don Alfonso, by the way,’ says
Andy, when they’ve changed the tablecloth.
    ‘Remind me which one that is?’
    Best to be circumspect. He gets
annoyed when I confuse a tenor with a baritone. I think baritones have a bit of
a chip on their shoulder because of the Three You Know Whats which we’re not
allowed to mention in Andy’s presence, let alone play on the car CD.
    ‘It is, of course, a bass part,’ says
Andy. ‘But I have the lowest register of the bass baritones...’
    ‘You’ll be ideal then.’
    ‘Not ideal, by any stroke of the
imagination,’ says Andy, with a little smile.
    The Gazette commented of
Andy’s