My Secret Lover

still got lots of questions left!
16 in fact. You could ask me about anything. L
     
    * * *
     
    What I can't stand is not knowing if
I'm going to hear from you again. OK? So just tell me. Yes or No. I won't even
deduct a point. L
     
    * * *
     
    If I haven't heard from you by
midnight on Sunday, I will assume that you are no longer interested in further
communication. L
     
    * * *
     
    Fine. I'll take that as a No then. L
     
    ‘What’s wrong with you?’ asks
Michelle.
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘Where have you been?’
    ‘Shopping.’
    ‘Again?’
    ‘Where’s Declan?’
    ‘Had to get his flight.’
    ‘Oh. Well, never mind,’ I say. ‘He’s
only down the road at home.’
    ‘It’s not the same.’
    ‘I know.’
    Michelle looks at me.
    Lent’s over now, so technically I can
start confiding in her again.
    ‘I’ve been having a bit of a thing
with someone,’ I confess. ‘Actually, not really a thing.’
    ‘I did wonder about all that
shopping.’
    ‘Nothing happened. It was purely
epistolary.’ Michelle raises her eyebrows. She always thin Vs words with more
than three syllables are rude.
    ‘That’s holiday romances,’ she says,
with a sigh. ‘Nothing ever happens in my life,’ I say, with a small stamp of my
foot. ‘If my life were a television series, it wouldn’t get past the pilot.’
    Michelle looks at me sympathetically.
    ‘At least you’ve got a tan,’ she
says.

31
     
    Am I happy?
    I’m getting married at the end of
this term. I have a house which has doubled in value since I bought it, a job I
love and, for the first time in my life, a proper tan. This morning I posted
off my letter of application for the Senior Teacher’s job.
    The roadworks have been completed and
there is only a small queue at the junction.
    I’m through the lights first time.
     
    What sort of person am I?
    I am a grown-up person with a proper
career trajectory, a fiancé, a house and a tan.
    Michelle was right. It is all in the
exfoliation, and the one benefit of cracked ribs is that you can’t move around
a lot. Normally I don’t have the patience.
     
    I am lovable, brown and altogether
not bad at all.
     
    ‘Somebody’s been in the sun,’ says
Mrs Wates.
    ‘You can get away with a lot with a
tan,’ says Mrs Vane, looking at my lime-green sundress.
    Perhaps it is a bit skimpy. Always
takes a while to adjust back to proper clothes after a holiday. I’d never wear
halter-necks in England normally.
    ‘Apparently, there’s an exponential
incidence of melanomas in Australia,’ says Miss Goodman.
    I shall ignore them because they are
jealous of my tan and because I will not have to listen to them ever again
after this term if I get the Senior Teacher job. And why shouldn’t I? My Ofsted
ratings are as good as anyone else’s. Not Richard Batty’s obviously. With a
tan, I can easily pass as a grown-up person.
     
    ‘Are you having a baby, Miss?’ asks
Geri.
    ‘No.’
    ‘You’ve got a fat tummy.’
    Those bloody little custard cakes.
Which wouldn’t have mattered, actually, if I had been able to do some exercise.
    ‘I think it’s just the way I’m
standing. I have broken some bones in my chest.’
    Geri looks sceptical. Children of six
are not generally very sympathetic to other people’s injuries.
    ‘Or maybe it’s this dress. You’re not
used to seeing me in a dress, are you?’
    Not the most practical garment for
doing PE in, but I shall stick to standing-up exercises.
    ‘Miss, you’ve got fat and you’ve gone
all brown!’ says Robbie.
    ‘So?’
    That stops him in his tracks.
    ‘I think you look like a beautiful
flower in your pretty dress,’ Ethan says.
    ‘Thank you, Ethan. At least there is
one child with good manners in my class. Now, who remembers our palm tree
exercise?’
    ‘Miss?’
    ‘Yes, Robbie?’
    ‘I think you look like a beautiful
tree in your dress.’
    ‘Thank you. AYYY!’
    Mistake to stretch my arms above my
head.
    Should have remembered after the
incident with the overhead locker. Still, at least it was Charlene who got hit
on the head with the vinho verde and not Michaela.
     
    ‘Can I be godfather?’ says New Andy,
pointing at my stomach.
    ‘I’ve cracked two ribs.’
    ‘Have you got bandaging on under
there?’
    ‘No, it’s just the way I’m sitting.
And I haven’t been able to go to the gym, obviously.’
    Now I wish I’d had the baked potato
with cottage cheese and asked them to hold the butter.
    ‘I just thought what with you getting
married