My Secret Wish List

Takes complicated and convoluted ten-minute conversation to discover she means underpants. I immediately start fantasising about new neighbour all over again—this time featuring in a Calvin Klein ad.

Neighbour is holding out her glass for more wine. Funny how I’d never realised before how much we have in common. Ask her if she has ever considered services of a life-coach.

Start to explain to her what one is, and stop when realise she isn’t listening. Discover that the reason for her lack of response is that she is lying flat out on kitchen floor. Out of sisterly consideration I turn her on her side when she starts to snore.

Wake up from truly horrid dream in which I was sitting on kitchen floor drinking cleaning fluid with dreadful nosy parker neighbour from three doors up whilst sexy new neighbour went through whole strip routine from Full Monty! Thank God it was only a dream.

Phone rings. Pick it up.

Caller’s my niece Georgie. Well, actually Derek’s niece. Actually, she started life as Derek’s nephew, but then in all honesty it never was clear right from the start just what he or she was. We all blamed the doctor who delivered George. Well, he wasn’t really a doctor then, more of a medical student who was the conductor on the bus Derek’s sister Alicia was travelling on. Afterwards, he—Travers—said that if he’d had a son with a widget as small as Georgie’s he’d have been glad to have a doctor claim he was a girl to prevent him from suffering any embarrassment when the boy grew up.

Anyway, it all got sorted out in the end. Georgie had the operation ten years ago, and after that she really blossomed. It’s amazing what hormones and a skilled hair-removal practitioner can do.

Georgie says she’s heard the news about Derek and that she and her partner Erica want to come round and offer me their sisterly support.

It’s Derek’s own fault they’ve taken my side. Derek never did mange to hide his squeamishness when Georgie proudly showed him that jar with the widget in it.

Try to explain that I have pounding headache no doubt brought on by stress and grief. (Which life-coach has told me must be eradicated from my thought processes.)

I try also to remember what I am supposed to chant every morning, but then realise am going to be sick. Dash to the loo, and then realise that I have agreed to cook for Georgie and Erica this evening!

Three hours later am now feeling well enough to go to shops and buy something for Georgie and Erica to eat.

Remembering life-coach’s stern warning that I must not let myself go, and that pride is equal to self-respect, I shower, put on best clothes and make-up.

This has nothing to do with fact that am going to walk past No. 14, of course. Am simply following life-coach’s instructions!

Just get close to No. 14 when I suddenly feel sure I have seen beginnings of a run in tights. I put down basket and inspect my leg, casting surreptitious look towards drive of No. 14 at same time.

Obviously I would have made an excellent detective as I see immediately that expensive shiny black car is in the drive.

Unfortunately I do not see equally shiny and expensive young woman getting out of passenger side of it until hear her exclaim in anxious voice. ‘Oh, Tate, look at that poor woman there. I think she must be feeling ill. Her face looks dreadfully red.’

Mortified, I stand up quickly—too quickly in view of delicate state of stomach. Red face must have been reflection from my skirt, ’cos it now feels very green.

Shiny expensive young woman is even more shiny and expensive at close quarters—bare, tanned legs, tight-fitting denim skirt clinging to the narrowest little hips I have even seen, bare, tanned midriff, thick glossy mane of streaked blonde hair…

Sexy man has protective hand under her elbow—no doubt afraid a breeze might blow her away. I see him frowning as he looks at me, so I make a grab for my basket and walk quickly away.

Suddenly feel very old and lonely—must be the red skirt. Personally, I never liked it. Derek chose it because it was in the sale…

At shops feel so low that am forced to buy huge block of chocolate with milk money, and decide Georgia and Erica will have to make do with spag bol from freezer.

Punish myself by walking long way home, so that I don’t get to go past sexy man’s house.

Get home and spend rest of afternoon getting ready for Georgie and Erica’s visit.

Drink glass of red wine whilst cooking spag bol to cheer self up. Also take off red skirt and pull on comfy joggers and old shirt of Derek’s with iron burn on back.

Heard the doorbell ring and go to answer it, yanking door back with wide smile and cheerful speech.

‘Small willies must run in your family, because Derek’s—’

Discover it’s not Georgie and Erica standing outside, but new sexy neighbour!

Now my face is bright red! Neighbour glances back to where black shiny car is parked outside his house.

‘I think you dropped this earlier,’ he tells me in the most gorgeous sexy American accent I have ever heard, as he hands me dog-eared prescription for next lot of HRT! Must have fallen out of bag when I checked tights.

Out of corner of my eye, see Georgie’s car pull up. It’s an ancient Beetle covered in many battle wounds, which she drives with total disregard for law and traffic.

Georgie gets out accompanied by Erica. Erica is inflated by v. obvious baby bulge.

I am too shocked to be able to reply coherently to neighbour, who is now walking back to his own house, whilst Georgie carefully shepherds Erica up the path.

‘We’ve got a surprise for you.’ Georgie beams as soon as they get into the house. ‘Erica is pregnant.’

Am not sure what to say, so offer weak smile.

Once in kitchen Georgie and Erica explain that the baby’s father has been chosen carefully so that baby will grow up with no sexual hang-ups. Georgie informs me that sperm donor chosen by them has incredibly high IQ, so baby will probably win Nobel prize and become an icon others will turn to for inspiration.

Erica gives me a dreamy look and adds that donor also six foot three, blond-haired, and a superb athlete.

Start to feel slightly anxious about the distinct froideur in the air as parents-to-be begin a polite and earnest discussion about the relative merits of brain over brawn. Erica gets my vote when she says there’s no reason why their son shouldn’t have both.

Further earnest discussion ensues about the colour scheme for the nursery. I put television on to catch up with soaps and give them privacy to discuss in peace, but Georgie requests that it be turned off. Apparently they are afraid of baby being contaminated by rubbishy TV programmes and are only allowing him to hear sounds that educate and enlighten him.

Must be red wine that entices me to comment that he must have found argument between them about colour of nursery very enlightening.

When Georgie sulks she looks very like Derek. Feel glad for baby’s sake that it was fathered by donated sperm.

However, immediately feel v. guilty when, after spag bol—Erica is only eating organic food from known recommended sources—Georgie announces that they want me to be an older adult member of the baby’s specially-chosen life circle of non-biological family.

Georgie and Erica ask about my plans for future. I explain about lack of money and necessity of having to get a job. Also tell them that Derek is determined to sell house.