My Secret Lover

I have been singled out. I’m slightly embarrassed, but mostly really
chuffed that it’s me not them.
    It’s a bit like being the one who
gets the Reading Prize (which I was two years running as a child when schools still
gave prizes — now, you can’t even win one for running on Sports Day unless the
whole class gets one for taking part).
    From Dean too! Of all people.
    ‘Well, sir,’ Dean begins.
    He turns towards me and smiles in a
nice way, a grateful, genuine way that I’ve never really seen before.
    ‘Well, sir, she gave my brother the
keys to her car, sir, and he sold it for a shit load of money, sir, and I got
all the new Star Wars toys!’
     
    I have to wait outside the
headmaster’s office while he deals with Luke from Year Six.
     
    The playground is deserted, except
for a man dressed in white and a small boy.
    I walk towards them.
    ‘Dad, Miss doesn’t know what a secret
weapon is,’ says Ethan, as I approach.
    Ethan’s father’s perfect smile
freezes for just a fraction of a second, but it tells me enough.
    It tells me that Ethan has said
something he shouldn’t have said, something that I wasn’t supposed to hear.
    Ethan’s dad tries to give me one of
his out-of-the-mouths-of-babes adult smiles, but can’t quite manage it today.
    ‘Apparently, I’m a secret weapon,’ I
say, making him suffer a bit.
    ‘In our Custard War!’ shouts Ethan.
    The penny finally drops.
    I should have trusted the League
Tables. We may not like them, but there’s no doubt they have their uses.
    Of course, he will have a far better
chance of keeping Ethan if he has a nice sensible primary school teacher on
board as his partner. Probably helps that I’m plain.
    ‘I suppose you thought I’d be the
ideal candidate to parade in front of the social services,’ I say.
    ‘It wasn’t just that...’ he begins.
    It’s a good effort. He employs an
authoritative, calm voice, similar, I imagine, to the one he’s trained to use
on a planeload of passengers when he’s going into an emergency landing.
    But I’m always a complete wreck at
the slightest judder of turbulence.
    ‘I’m afraid you chose the wrong
person,’ I say. ‘In a number of respects, actually.’
     
    * * *
     
    Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beeeeep.
    ‘BBC Radio 4. The News at Six
o’clock.’
    I switch straight over to Capital.

57
     
    Joanna and the boys are waiting for
me outside my house. She’s gleaming slightly.
    ‘Are you all right?’ I ask, taking
out my key.
    ‘Fine,’ says Joanna, stepping in
front of me. ‘Look, Lyd, I’ve had such a great idea, why don’t we all go back
to our place? The injunction’s been lifted!’
    ‘Great!’ I say, putting my key in the
lock.
    ‘So what are we waiting for?’ says
Joanna, holding her arm across the door. ‘Boys, get in the car!’
    They do. Meekly. Which is when I
realize there’s something wrong.
    ‘Let me just drop my stuff.’
    ‘Bring it with you!’
    ‘I need to change.’
    ‘I’ve got plenty of clothes you can
wear.’
    ‘You’re two sizes smaller than me.’
    ‘I’m sure I have some left over from
when I was pregnant.’
    I open my front door. And close it
again.
    Must be the wrong house because
inside, it’s just a pile of rubble.
    I look at Joanna.
    ‘It can be rebuilt,’ she says. ‘I’ve
already been on to Phil. He says you can have it just the same, or you could go
back to his idea about glass—’
    ‘I told you boys not to jump on my
bed!’ I shout.
    ‘A ceiling shouldn’t come down
because of two six year olds jumping!’ says Joanna.
    ‘They’re seven!’ I scream at her.
    I sit down on my doorstep.
    ‘I don’t believe this.’
    ‘You should have got a proper
builder,’ says Joanna. ‘If you’re knocking through, you need an RSJ...’
    ‘So it’s my fault?’ I say.
    Frankly, I’m too weary for any more
shouting.
    ‘It’s just a house,’ says Joanna.
    ‘That’s easy enough for you to say
with your two-million home in Notting Hill, your farmhouse in Norfolk and your
villa in Tuscany.’
    ‘I think it’s more like five
million,’ says Joanna. ‘And I only have the villa for half the year now.’
     
    ‘I’ve had such a great idea,’ says
Joanna later.
    ‘You’re full of them today.’
    We’re sitting at her kitchen table
with a bottle of champagne. Joanna only has champagne in the house.
    ‘Why don’t you come and live with
us?’
    ‘Permanently?’ I ask.
    ‘We could keep each other company,
and the children would