My Secret Lover

say,
trying to get them back to the point.
    A round of giggles.
    ‘Where does Mrs Large go to get her
five minutes’ peace?’
    I turn to the relevant page, which
shows an elephant in a bath with a tray full of comfort food beside her.
    ‘She shouldn’t eat cakes for breakfast,
should she, Miss?’
    ‘I suppose she shouldn’t really.’
    ‘She shouldn’t leave the children by
their own.’
    ‘On their own. Perhaps not—’
    ‘What if one of the children sets the
house on fire?’
    ‘They’d put it out with their trunks,
dur brain.’
    ‘You can’t put water on a chip-pan
fire. That fireman told us.’
    ‘Elephants don’t eat chips, do they,
Miss?’
    ‘Well...’
    ‘Mrs Large,’ says Ethan, after some
consideration, ‘is not really fit to be a mother at all, is she, Miss?’
     
    The National Curriculum is very keen
on encouraging lively literary analysis, and I think it’s generally been a
profitable day.
     
    ‘We’ve thrown in a few surprises,’
says the woman who’s selling tickets for the Wine and Wisdom. ‘I don’t think
you’ll find it quite as easy as last year.’
    ‘How exciting,’ I say.
    The Suburban Martyrs have thrown down
the gauntlet. Our only response can be victory on the night.
    ‘Do let me know if you’d like a hand
with the nibbles,’ I offer, to show willing, but she’s already involved in a
heated discussion on the relative merits of blind auctions and raffles.
    ‘My dad wants to ask you a question,’
says Ethan, taking my hand and dragging me across the playground.
    There’s a hint of an apology in
Ethan’s dad’s smile even before I greet him and my heart sinks. I should never have
offered to help in any way I could. Really, the marital problems of the parents
are nothing to do with me, and sad though it is, he will have to work it out
for himself. You have to ask yourself why a happily married woman was doing
karate in the first place. ‘Ethan is having a birthday party ‘I know. I’ve been
putting the invitations he brought in their reading folders.’
    ‘Err. The thing is, he wants to
invite you. You don’t have to come, obviously, but I promised I’d ask. I know
you like tea parties,’ he says, shooting a glance up and down my blue
shirtwaister and white bib apron.
    At least someone has recognized me.
    ‘It’s very nice of you, Ethan,’ I
bend down to his level, ‘but I’m afraid I’m busy.’
    ‘But I’m having it on the first day
of the holidays,’ says Ethan.
    ‘I’m sure you see enough of me at
school!’
    ‘No I don’t. I’d like to see you all
the time. At home too.’
    So sweet!
    ‘The thing is that I’m a bit old for
parties.’
    ‘My gran’s coming and she’s much
older than you. I think. Dad, how old is Gran?’
    ‘Oh, about sixty.’
    ‘Are you younger than sixty?’ Ethan
demands.
    His father smiles at me.
    It’s one of those adult smiles of
complicity and understanding.
    ‘You’re as old as you feel,’ I tell
Ethan, which actually makes me sound like an old person who is pretending to be
young. Probably the sort of thing Ethan’s gran would say.
    ‘Usually I feel about twenty-two,’ I
add hastily.
    Another wonderful smile. Ethan’s dad
is really very attractive. How could anyone leave him for a karate teacher?
    ‘I tell you what,’ I hear myself
saying, ‘you let me know where it is, and if I’m passing, then I’ll see if I
can pop in...’

25
     
    Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beeeeep!
    ‘BBC Radio 4. The News at Six
o’clock.’
    ‘Talks aimed at ending the siege of
the Church of Nativity have broken down...’
     
    I wonder why it is that if someone
asks me how old I am, I always think twenty-two first?
    I wonder how old Andy 42 is?
    The obvious guess would be forty-two
but he could be twenty-two or sixty-two or even ninety-two given his taste for
Tom Jones’ early hits.
    It’s also possible he could be some
age that doesn’t have a two in it at all.
     
    '... BBC Radio 4 News.’
     
    There is one new message in my Inbox.
     
    Lydia . Don't put off a promising career...
     
    It’s spam, so how did they get hold
of my name?
    And if they know so much, why don’t
they also know that I have a perfectly respectable 2.2 Honours degree, so I
don’t need to buy a dodgy-sounding Diploma from them, thank you very much. I
delete decisively.
     
    Click on COMPOSE.
     
    How old are you, by the way? L
     
    No reply.
     
    Andy 42 is not online. Silly of me,
really, to expect he’ll always be