My Secret Lover

me
suddenly realize that he is in fact Andy 42 who I have been talking to in the
middle of the night for months.
    And there is absolutely no need to
have the conversation I am dreading.
    Luckily, I’ve never said anything derogatory
about him in my e-mails except calling him the kilt and — quick thinking here —
since he is in fact Andy 42, he started it anyway.
     
    ‘I’ve told you I can’t do anything
about the honeymoon until the Barber’s sorted,’ says Andy irritably.
     
    ‘Portland, Plymouth, Biscay...?’ says
the publican.
    ‘It’s the shipping forecast,’ I say,
which surely comes under geography.
    ‘You’re the one who listens to Radio
4,’ says Andy, throwing back the responsibility.
    ‘I’m usually in the car.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘Not on a ship.’
    ‘But you still hear it.’
    ‘Not consciously.’
    ‘Come on then, let’s work it out,’
says Andy, with a significant sigh.
    On the edge of a beer mat, he draws a
rough map of the coastline of Western Europe.
    It hadn’t occurred to me before that
the names in the shipping forecast correspond to actual places. I had in mind
currents or isobars or some boaty type of thing.
    ‘I think it might be Finisterre,’
says Andy, sucking the top of his biro.
    I’ve actually been to Finisterre.
It’s in the cold bit of Spain. Sounds exciting when they call it the Most
Westerly Point of Continental Europe in the guide book, but it’s just cliffs
with sea round it. I think Land’s End in Cornwall is actually further west. For
me the ultimate Nothing-but-Ocean-between-Here-and-New-York experience is the Aran Islands off the West Coast of Ireland, where you can also buy a handmade jumper.
    ‘Finisterre sounds right to me,’ I
say.
     
    ‘C. Day Lewis, John Betjemen, Ted
Hughes...?’ says the publican.
    I write down Andrew Motion.
    You see what I mean about everyone of
a certain age being called Andrew? You only have to look at the telly. There’s
Andrew Neil on Despatch Box. Jonathan Ross’s sidekick Andy. Andy
Townsend the ex-Ireland footballer with a cockney accent who gave another
dimension to the ITV World Cup Commentary team, Andrew Marr with the ears...
     
    ‘I wasn’t actually talking about the
honeymoon,’ I whisper.
    ‘Meeting, engagement, marriage...?’
Andy repeats. He’s concentrating hard.
    ‘Not sex, is it?’ he asks.
    ‘No, that comes between meeting and
engagement.’
    ‘Doesn’t it continue after?’
    This is a conversation we can have at
another time.
    I can see I am going to have to spell
it out. Unless he’s avoiding it for some deep psychological reason, the obvious
progression from marriage to children simply hasn’t occurred to a mind with a
genius IQ. That’s how interested Andy is in children.
    So, really, I have my answer before
I’ve asked the question.
    But I’ve started so I’ll finish.
    ‘Children,’ I whisper.
     
    ‘Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus...?’ says
the publican.
    Andy writes Deuteronomy.
    ‘Isn’t it Numbers?’ I say to him.
    A vicar used to come to our primary
school and ask us what the first five books of the Bible were. It’s all the
religious education I can remember. Much better now with the National
Curriculum. I’ve had to learn all about Judaism and Christianity, although I’m
not sure how much I’ve managed to transmit to the children. Dean told me he
wanted to be a Jew the other day because they go to the cinema every Saturday.
    ‘I think you’re right,’ says Andy, with
another impressed smile.
     
    ‘Children’ I say, in a slightly
louder whisper. ‘Would you like to have children?’
    ‘If it happens, it happens,’ says
Andy.
    ‘But what if it doesn’t happen?’
    I’m starting to hiss again.
    ‘It doesn’t happen,’ he says.
    ‘But what if we found out we
couldn’t? Lots of people can’t, especially at our age,’ I say, exasperated.
    ‘Especially if they don’t have sex,’
says Andy.
    ‘Assuming they do have lots, all
unprotected,’ I say.
    It’s a difficult enough conversation
without him trying to divert it all the time.
     
    *
     
    ‘One, one, two, three, five, eight...?’
says the publican.
     
    Andy smiles at me.
    ‘We could always adopt,’ he says.
    At least, that’s what I think he
says. There’s a scream of feedback from the mike.
    He writes down thirteen.
    Wow! It’s a great feeling when you
find out that you’ve underestimated the person you’re about to marry.
    I smile at my fiancé.
    He does have hidden depths,