My Secret Lover

employ the expression ‘to have a good time’). The question ‘is
human happiness possible?’ doesn’t ever arise in the Big Brother house,
but if it did, the answer would almost certainly be ‘yes, as long as there are
adequate supplies of alcohol and cigarettes’.
    I’m not saying that if I were a
housemate I would want a continuous Socratic dialogue, but talking about that
sort of stuff might pass the time.
    Perhaps they do, and they edit it out
of the highlights?
    ‘Do you think we’re all just waiting
for something to happen?’ I ask.
    ‘They’ve done their weekly task,’
says Michelle.
    ‘Not Big Brother. The world.
Is the world holding its breath?’
    ‘Why are you suddenly so interested
in the world?’ says Michelle.
    ‘I’ve always been interested in the
world,’ I tell her. ‘That’s why I wanted to be an air hostess.’
    ‘You know the really weird thing,’
says Michelle, flicking idly through the channels.
    ‘No.’ I say.
    ‘They don’t have a telly,’ she says.
‘At least it would give them something to do.’
    ‘Stop!’
    Michelle stops on BBC 2. It’s Newsnight.
    There’s a round-the-table chat in the
studio.
    ‘I think she’s the one I saw at Mr
Kong,’ I say pointing. ‘She looks a lot thinner in real life.’
    ‘According to a comprehensive
analysis of last year’s programming,’ says the blonde presenter, ‘the British
are becoming increasingly ignorant of how eighty per cent of the world lives,
thinks and acts because television has abandoned serious examinations...’
     
    ‘Look, it’s that nice reporter,’ says
Michelle, pointing at one of the studio guests.
     
    ‘...Andy, you’ve reported from some
of the places mentioned in the report. Now you’re poacher turned gamekeeper.
Presumably you think we should be worried by this?’ the presenter asks him.
    ‘Yes, I do...’ the nice one begins.
     
    ‘So it is,’ I say. ‘I didn’t
recognize him in a T-shirt.’
     
    ‘...sometimes it really does feel as
if the balance between seriousness and trivia is tipping too far in the
direction of trivia,’ he continues.
    ‘How come they let him wear a T-shirt
in the studio, when it was smart casual in the Tora Bora?’ Michelle wants to
know.
    ‘Ssssh!’ I shout at her.
     
    ‘...I’m afraid we’re going to have to
leave it there,’ says the presenter. ‘But thank you all for coming in, and,
Andy, good luck in your new job.’
     
    ‘What’s his new job?’ I ask.
    The presenter turns towards a
different camera.
    ‘Jeremy will be back tomorrow, but
from all of us here...’
     
    ‘I think she said gamekeeper,’ says Michelle.
     
    * * *
     
    There are no new messages in my
Inbox.
     
    Click on COMPOSE.
     
    Have I seen you on television? L
     
    There is no reply.
     
    He’s probably given up on me.
    Who could blame him?
    Anyway. I have other fish to fry.
    Fish again!

56
     
    Am I happy?
    I have a lovely little house and a
job I love.
    My car has been stolen, but as soon
as the insurance claim is settled, I shall buy a newer, smaller, more
eco-friendly model, and, in the meantime, I have virtually sole use of Joanna’s
4-wheel drive after I’ve dropped the twins at their school.
     
    The cars behind do not beep half as
much at a big powerful car.
     
    I have possibly been conducting a
correspondence with a television reporter, which sounds very grown up.
     
    I am not getting married, but I have
the prospect of a date with a handsome man who already has a child, so probably
won’t care about having any more.
     
    The car behind is beeping.
    I’ve missed green.
    Oh F off your F-ing self!
     
    * * *
     
    ‘Miss, what is a secret weapon?’
Ethan asks.
    He’s last in the line-up and we walk
in together.
    ‘Where have you heard it?’ I say.
    I have great difficulty resisting the
urge to give him a great big hug and kiss on the top of his head, but that can
wait until I am no longer his teacher.
    ‘You’re one, Miss, and we’re going to
be seeing a lot more of you...’
    ‘I’m a secret weapon?’
    Must have been something he has heard
his father say.
    Secret Lover, perhaps? Or even
bombshell?
    Surely not. .
    Not on the basis of just one kiss.
    Although it was a long one. Powerful
urgency melting into questioning, exploratory tenderness, firing again into
passionate, probing, intensity, yielding, quivering, helpless, oh my God,
gorgeous, please don’t stop...
    ‘Miss?’ says Geri.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Why are you