My Secret Lover

because I’ve known her the longest, and partly because she finds me
gratifyingly hilarious.
    ‘You don’t have to call me Aunt Lyd
any more if you don’t want to,’ I say. ‘In fact, you never did have to. It was
just something your mother started to annoy me.’
    ‘I like calling you Aunt Lyd though.’
    ‘Well, all right, you may continue,
but I’m telling you now, if I ever hear the child calling me Great Aunt Lyd I
shall cut off your book tokens. The same goes for Big Lydia and Little Lydia,
if you are really set on calling her that.’
    ‘I am. Not just because of you.’
    ‘Why not because of me?’
    ‘I like the name.’
    ‘But you must like the name because
of its association with me.’
    ‘Not really.’
    ‘I don’t see how you can separate
them.’
    ‘Will you be godmother anyway?’
Michaela says. She’s always been good at soothing ruffled feathers. O r smoothing them. Whatever it is you do to feathers.
    ‘Oh, how lovely! Are you sure? I’m
honoured,’ I say, feigning surprise.
    Actually, I think it was the name bit
I was not meant to know.
    I pick up the menu.
    ‘What have they got which doesn’t
have listeria in it?’
    ‘You know a lot about it.’
    ‘Baby Lydia’ll be my sixth,’ I tell
her.
    ‘I’m thinking of Grace for a first
name.’
    ‘You can’t!’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘It’s my mother’s name. If you’re
having Grace, you can’t have Lydia,’ I tell her firmly.
    ‘Phoebe then.’
    ‘Phoebe I like, but have you thought
about when she’s learning to spell? You put the child at a disadvantage in
Reception and first impressions are important, even though they’re not meant to
be. Course they might have done away with baseline assessment by then...’
    ‘You can teach her to write before
she gets to school, like you did me,’ says Michaela.
    I’m touched she remembers.
    ‘OK, but I don’t want to push her too
much. What does Adam think?’
    ‘He prefers Courtney or Rachel, but
I’m not sure that’s just the names!’
    A generation of children are to be
called after Friends. Which is fine by me. Much more democratic than the
royal family. Although, actually, do the royal family set the fashion or follow
it? Were people starting to call their sons Harry before Diana did, and why
aren’t there more Williams?
    ‘I mean about you being pregnant.’
    ‘He’s cool. Best to get it over with
while we’re young.’
    ‘It was planned?’
    ‘I am so not that stupid.’
    It’s official. I am middle aged. I
come from the generation of women who spent their youth trying not to become
pregnant.
    Also, I do not regularly use the word
so to emphasize a negative. I am past my sell-by date. I am uncool. I am so
not young any more.
    ‘Can we talk about something else?’
Michaela asks. ‘Don’t you just hate the way you become a pregnant woman when
you’re pregnant?’
    Her mobile phone rings with a text
message. She texts back.
    ‘Just Mum,’ she says, looking up.
    ‘Michelle?’
    So she’s doing texting now. She never
tells me until she’s got the hang of it. Then it’s like ‘Texting? Everyone
does, don’t they?’ Well, actually, no. I don’t even know how to. Actually, I
don’t even know whether you can on my mobile phone, and the boy behind the desk
in Carphone Warehouse is an ex pupil so I can’t ask him.
    ‘What did she have to say for
herself?’ I ask.
    ‘She just sent you her love,’ says
Michaela.
    ‘I’m going to have the grilled goat’s
cheese...’ I tell the waiter.
    Might as well enjoy the benefits of
not being pregnant and consume a few life-threatening mini beasts. ‘...and a
cappuccino.’
    ‘Would you like chocolate on your
cappuccino?’
    ‘Why else would I want a cappuccino?’
    I notice Michaela’s more embarrassed
than amused by that one. Cappuccino can’t be cool any more. Probably cool’s not
cool either. I hope we’re not going back to bad instead of good, but only
sometimes.
    ‘Do you and all your friends chat to
people on the Internet?’ I ask Michaela, casually.
    ‘You have to be careful,’ says
Michaela, giving me a probing sort of look.
    ‘I know that,’ I say.
    The waiter returns with my coffee.
    ‘Why exactly is it dangerous?’ I ask
Michaela. ‘I mean, it’s only like talking to a man on the train. You can always
get off at the next stop if you think you’ve gone too far, can’t you? Even if
it means catching the next train and delaying your journey? It’s inconvenient,
yes, but hardly