My Secret Lover

to explode a
nuclear bomb that close to the US coast,’ says Andy.
    I knew the name was familiar.
    ‘Wait a minute,’ says Andy.
    He writes down The Marshall Islands,
which I’ve never even heard of.
    ‘How did you know that?’
    ‘I did American History O level. Is
there something wrong?’
    ‘No.’ I sigh.
    We win, of course. The Marshall Islands clinched it. ‘Remember my ribs!’ I say, as Andy kisses me.
    ‘Just about,’ he says.
    Which is quite a sweet way of saying
he’s missed me. He hasn’t mentioned my tan, but then he hasn’t mentioned my
extra pounds either. Andy simply doesn’t notice things. And that works both
ways.
     
    *
     
    It’s terribly difficult to find a
comfortable sleeping position.
    Andy’s snoring.
    I could do some marking.
    I could prepare my graphs showing
time against sunflower height and print out thirty copies so that I didn’t have
to hog the photocopier on Monday morning.
    My mouse glides over:
    Royal Marines hunt Taliban
    and clicks on:
    Sexy Swedes: Sven and Ulrika Latest
     
    She has made a statement saying it’s
over, which, technically, means it must have begun.
    You’d never think it to look at him.
     
    I will not look in my Inbox.
    I will save myself the disappointment.
    There’s never anything but spam
anyway.
    Although, come to think of it, I did
put my e-mail address on my senior teacher application and it would be a shame
to miss a call for interview, especially after making so much of my IT
expertise.
     
    There is one new message in my Inbox.
     
    Lose Weight While You Sleep!
     
    I delete immediately.
     
    * * *
     
    ‘There’s a letter for you,’ says
Andy, putting a cup of tea down on my bedside table and flapping a brown envelope
in front my determinedly closed eyes.
    I usually leave brown envelopes until
the end of the week.
    It is the end of the week.
    ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’
    It’s bad enough, frankly, having
someone else wander around your house when you’re fast asleep, let alone pick
up your post from the mat, let alone expect to know what’s in it.
    The tea only goes some way to
compensating.
    If it’s a parking fine I shall own
up.
    If it’s a speeding offence, I shall
deny it.
    It may, of course, just be the
reminder that my tax disc is about to run out.
    Have I really had that car a whole
year?
    It’s an interview for the senior
teacher’s job!
    ‘Good news?’ Andy asks, watching my
smile.
    ‘I suppose so.’
    Haven’t actually told Andy about
going for the job. I think it’s a superstition thing.
    ‘Well?’
    I am going to have to get used to sharing things.
    ‘My smear was negative,’ I tell him.
    ‘Congratulations,’ says Andy, looking
awkward.

33
     
    Fern has booked herself a holistic
holiday on a Greek island where you live in a hut and learn some sort of
alternative skill like yoga or creative writing. It’s a community so you all
have to muck in, and it’s ecologically friendly, which means that you can’t
flush the toilet too much. Sounds a bit too much like guide camp to me, but I
pretend to be enthusiastic for her sake.
    We’re eating the detoxifying salads
she’s brought in for lunch sitting at the bus stop. It’s the only place there’s
a bench, apart from the recreation ground which is littered with dog poo and
syringes, and you can’t walk and eat alfalfa at the same time. Desperate
measures are called for to lose the extra pounds. Bad enough to be a size 14 in
Monsoon without it creasing up round my thighs.
    My mother’s suggestion is that we try
Jaeger, where the sizing is more generous. Or forget about the fish tail hem.
    ‘You could get something specially made,’
she says, staring at my hips where the red-on-red devoré velvet dress is meant
to hang straight down. At the moment, it clings to my bum like something J Lo
might wear if she was determined to appear in another Worst Dressed list.
     
    *
     
    ‘You can expand your personal
horizons by learning new skills, like pottery or windsurfing, explore your
problems in drama therapy, or simply get back in touch with yourself,’ Fern
tells me.
    A bus pulls to a stop and we wave it
on. The driver revs a cloud of exhaust in our faces which probably negates the
cleansing effect of the fresh herbs.
    ‘When you get back in touch with
yourself, are you getting back in touch with the person you were before you got
rid of all the personality problems or somebody else, in which case, how do you
know you’re going to get