My Secret Lover

ending too. What was Ethan’s ending, Robbie?’
    ‘Can’t remember.’
    ‘It was all a dream. Ethan, you can
write your name in the Happy Book. Who can think of some other good endings for
stories? Gwyneth?’
    ‘They lived happily ever after?’
    She smiles at Robbie, who actually
blushes.
    ‘Very good. Anyone else?’
    ‘It was all a nightmare.’
    ‘Excellent. Can you tell us what a
nightmare is?’
    ‘It’s a scary dream.’
    ‘Very good. So that would be a good
ending for a scary story.’
    Several of the boys make ghost
noises.
     
    Ethan’s father is standing on his
own, smiling at me. ‘That colour suits you,’ he says.
    If I didn’t already have bare arms, I
would say he was undressing me with his eyes. Since I do, I suppose technically
he’s dressing me.
    If he’s an osteopath, he could just
be noticing my posture, of course.
    In any case, what I was going to say
to him comes out all wrong.
    ‘I’ve been wanting to get you on your
own.’
    ‘I’ve been having similar thoughts,’
he says with one of his adult smiles.
    He’s very confident, but if he were
my dentist, I don’t think I’d be able to lie still enough.
    ‘Have you signed up for your parent
interview?’ I ask, as primly as I can. ‘There’s a timetable blu-tacked to the
door. Slots are going fast.’
    ‘I bet they are,’ says Ethan’s dad.
    ‘Guess what?’ says Ethan, rushing up.
    ‘What?’ his father asks, bending down
to take his lunch box, his sweatshirt and his baseball cap, and giving him a
kiss on the top of his head.
    ‘I’ve got a very good ending,’ Ethan
tells him as they walk off together hand in hand.

50
     
    ‘Have you voted yet?’ says Michelle.
    ‘No. I don’t like any of this lot.’
    ‘You are still watching, though,’
says Michelle.
    ‘Just the highlights.’
    ‘What do you want to drink?’
    ‘White wine.’
    She pours me a large glass.
    ‘Aren’t you having any?’
    She looks at me.
    I look at her.
    ‘I did a test after you mentioned
it,’ she says. ‘Mentioned what?’
    ‘Me being pregnant.’
    I sit down.
    ‘Bloody hell!’ I say. ‘Is it
Declan’s?’
    ‘Who else’s would it be?’ Michelle
says hotly, like I’m casting aspersions on her fidelity.
    ‘What does he think?’
    ‘Do you think I’d tell him before I
told you?’
    Like I’m casting aspersions on our
friendship. She always gets like this. I think it must be the hormones.
    ‘Anyway,’ she says, ‘there’s
something I want to discuss with you first.’
     
    *
     
    Michelle has to call me a minicab
home. It is the Chinese driver again. He keeps smiling at me in the rear-view
mirror, as if he’s open to another conversation, but I’ve got things whirling
round my mind.
     
    * * *
     
    My mouse glides over:
    Big Brother: Who will be the next to
go?
    and:
    Can England win the World Cup?
     
    There is one new message in my Inbox.
     
    I'm in Kashmir. 1. But on my way home
soon as things seem to have quietened down. A
     
    Kashmir ? I can't believe it. You're the US special envoy? On behalf of ordinary people throughout the world, thank you very much
for your efforts. L
     
    I am not the US special envoy. And you've just run out of questions. A
     
    Does that mean it's over between us?
L
     
    Do you want it to be? A
     
    No. Sorry I jumped down your Inbox
the other day. L
     
    That's OK. A
     
    The reason was, I can't have
children. Not of my own, anyway. Bit sensitive on the subject. Michelle made me
promise never to click on send when I'm drunk, but fuck it, what have I got to
lose? L
     
    I don't know what to say. A
     
    Nobody does. I never talk about it.
Grisly operation when I was 22. You don't want to go there. Yes, that is when I
decided to become a teacher if that's what you're thinking, but that was more
to do with Dad. He was a teacher and it was something I knew he'd be happy about.
And I do love kids. I'm only crying, actually, because I've had a bottle of
Chardonnay on my own and I never got to say goodbye to Dad. L
     
    I'm really sorry. A
     
    It's my own fault. I could have
stopped, but Michelle said I might as well because she didn't want Charlene
getting hold of it again. L
     
    I meant about children. And your dad.
A
     
    I read the other day that the more
successful you are, the less you're likely to have children, if you're a woman.
In the Guardian, so it's official. Which means I must be very
successful, doesn't it? And I can sleep as long as I want on Sunday mornings,
and