My Secret Lover

say to the assembled neighbours in our living room, as if Tupperware
had been a burning ambition denied her by marriage.
    Still, very nice of Fern to invite
me. My friends are rallying round.
    There’s a large woman sitting
diagonally opposite me whom I vaguely recognize. I smile at her. She blanks me.
    I’ve done this before with people I
think I know, but have in fact only seen on television. I said hello to Dermot
Murnaghan when I went to the races with Michelle when we won free entry in the
pub quiz but Andy was too honest to take the day off work. You don’t expect to
see a newsreader in that type of place. He was very nice and twinkly about it
even when I couldn’t stop myself telling him that I thought he was the best
newsreader of all time and my mother thought so too (which was actually a lie
because my mother prefers Michael Buerk). My horse had just come in at 5 to 1
and I was a bit light-headed after the champagne and prawn sandwiches.
    Michelle says she thinks they
probably love it anyway.
    ‘If a stranger came up to you and
told you were gorgeous,’ she says, ‘secretly, you wouldn’t mind a little
invasion of your privacy, would you?’
     
    The fat woman does not look famous.
     
    ‘This gel,’ says the Swede, rubbing a
little on everyone’s forearm, ‘will help to rebalance your hormones, boost your
immune system and soften your skin. It’s good for hot flushes...’ She looks
around the room. Several of the women look away, as if she’s pointed at them
and shouted, ‘Menopause!’
    ‘It is also an insect repellent, it
has mild disinfectant properties and, of course, it is marvellous at relieving stress.’
    ‘But can it take the rubbish out and
check my tyre pressure?’ I whisper to Fern.
    She’s not amused. Laughter, as far as
Fern’s concerned, is about the production of natural pheremones from utilizing
the muscles in your face, or something. She tells me this whenever I say
something like, You’ve got to laugh, haven’t you?
    It’s really an alternative version of
my mother informing me crossly that, ‘Smiling is actually good for you, Lydia. It’s been scientifically proved.’
    I circle the Rescue Me Gel with my
recycled pencil.
    Actually, Fern and my mother would
get on very well. Perhaps I should introduce them.
    Funny how you see people differently
when you go to their house.
    Fern’s is a surprisingly normal
semi-detached. I expected more of a teepee feel to it, but it’s as MFI as the
next person, except that she’s got a Buddha on the mantelpiece where everyone
else has a clock, and the whale music is coming from a perfectly conventional
mini sound system.
    It’s a bit too loud, as a matter of
fact. The whales could almost be in the room with us, which makes it pretty
crowded because there are already seven women not including the demonstrator.
    Oh my God, I do recognize the fat
woman. I think she is the one who trod on someone else’s glass at New Year.
Must have healed up, though, unless she’s got a dressing under her ankle boot.
    ‘I didn’t know you knew Fiordiligi?’
I whisper to Fern.
    ‘I’m a recent recruit. It’s about
expanding personal horizons, isn’t it?’ says Fern.
    ‘And being able to sing,’ I say. ‘So
you know Andy?’
    ‘Andy?’
    ‘Don Alfonso.’
    ‘There’s certainly a Don,’ says Fern.
    It’s my turn for the head massage.
    Very nice.
    Very relaxing.
    A bit vigorous.
    Ow!
    ‘You couldn’t turn the whales down a
bit, could you?’ I ask Fern, but she doesn’t hear.
    ‘COULD YOU TURN THE WHALES DOWN?’
    ‘But they’re—’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘They’re VERY RELAXING!’
    ‘Now, does anyone have any
questions?’ says the Swede.
    ‘Can you PLEASE stop thumping my
head?’
     
    Fern puts it down to the amount of
coffee I drink.
    I feel so guilty I buy an essential
oil burner and a long-handled brush for dry scrubbing my skin as well as my
products. Fern, as host, gets freebies to the value of ten per cent of what
everyone spends.
    ‘Would you like to host a
presentation?’ the Swede asks me, as she makes a note of my expiry date.
    Are you crazy? I’ve already spent my
holiday savings on smelly things I will never use!
    ‘I’d love to,’ I say, because if I
agree Fern gets a bonus bottle of Seawood Foamer, and, in the circumstances,
it’s the least I can do.
    It won’t be too bad. I’ll just invite
my mother and Joanna, who’ll buy the entire range, and then I’ll get so many
freebies, I’ll have to