My Secret Lover

have ground to cover.
    ‘Well remembered. We should all eat
five portions of fruit or vegetables every day. What’s the matter, Gwyneth?’
    ‘My mum only put one apple in my
lunch box.’
    ‘That’s fine.’
    ‘I’m supposed to have five!’
    ‘One apple is absolutely fine at
lunchtime. In fact, anyone who has an apple in their lunch box can write their
name in the Happy Book. After lunch!’ I say, as there’s movement in the lunch
box trolley direction.
    The Happy Book is an exercise book
with an orange cover which says Happy Book on the front in letters I cut out of
different coloured paper. They can write their name if I say so. It is an
honour I bestow rarely, or when I’m desperate. Simple thing, but it does
magically make them happy and means they have to practise their handwriting. At
the end of the week we count up the names and the person with the most gets a
sticker saying Terrific!
    ‘What about a banana?’ Robbie asks.
     
    ‘Celine Dion goes into a bar. The
bartender says, “Why the long face?” ’ says New Andy, biting into his double
cheeseburger.
    I smile weakly.
    ‘What’s up?’
    There’s a little smear of ketchup at
the side of his mouth that I would love to lick away. But I don’t tell him
that.
    ‘Hungover.’
    ‘I never drink on Sunday evenings,’
he says.
    ‘Nor do I. This was Saturday.’
    ‘Wow. A two-day hangover.’
    ‘You’ll understand when you get to my
age,’ I tell him.
    Let’s have it out there. I’m too old
for him. And that’s before we even start on league tables. And I am spoken for
anyway.
     
    We’ve both gone for the vegetarian
option, which I’m counting as two portions of vegetables. I asked Richard Batty
about chips but apparently they’re not eligible, which seems a bit mean of the
Government, since it’s the only vegetable most of the kids ever see.
    The roasted-vegetable lasagne has
been heated up in a microwave. The top, which is so hard it’s as if the pasta
hasn’t been cooked, eventually yields up a bubbling interior.
    My dilemma is whether to keep the
blisteringly hot slice of courgette in my mouth, or spit it into a tissue.
    Unfortunately I do not have a tissue.
    Richard offers the saucer from his
teacup.
    The three of us look at the
toothmarked vegetable circle like the thing in Alien. Richard pours me a
glass of water, but the damage is done. There are soft loose bits of skin in
the roof of my mouth and my taste buds have been destroyed.
    ‘I’m not supposed to be eating dairy
or wheat, anyway,’ I say, dismally tapping the unforgiving crust with my fork.
    ‘Food intolerance?’ asks New Andy.
    ‘Possibly,’ I say, because detox
sounds as if I want to look like Carol Vorderman. I’ve never really got it with
Carol Vorderman. So, she can do sums. I think it’s a male thing.
    ‘Can I get you something else?’
Richard’s asking.
    ‘No thanks.’
    I’m sore now, and grumpy, like a
child with a grazed knee after the initial thrill of showing everyone the blood
has worn off.
    I wish there was a Happy Book for
grown-ups.
     
    I have drawn rough approximations of
an owl, a boy, a girl, a princess, a monster and the Mummy on the whiteboard.
    ‘So, we’ve got our characters. The
next thing we need to think about is what happens. What happens? Does anyone
have any ideas? Yes, Geri?’
    ‘Forgotten.’
    I am going to have to make
suggestions.
    ‘Sometimes it helps to ask a
question. A question like what if...? What if one of our characters were to
meet another one of our characters... yes, Gwyneth?’
    ‘What if Barbie meets a handsome
prince?’
    ‘There isn’t a handsome prince,’ Geri
points out. ‘Nicole?’
    ‘What if Barbie meets the Mummy?’
    I doubt we’ll sell it to Nora Ephron
but it will do. ‘What happens when the beautiful princess Barbie meets the ugly
old Mummy?’
    ‘Do they become secret lovers?’ asks
Ethan.
    He must have heard it on television.
Normally the only secrets Ethan knows about are wishes, and he can never keep
those to himself.
    ‘That’s girls’ stuff,’ Dean sneers.
    ‘So what do you think happened,
Dean?’
    ‘The Mummy smashed through the wall
of Barbie’s house, and Barbie was still in bed and then...’
    I’m on the edge of my seat wondering
at which point to censor. He can certainly hold an audience.
    ‘...and the Mummy says, “Get up, you
lazy cow, because you’ve got to help me save the world,” because, guess what?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘He wasn’t really the