Secrets

She had something important to tell her son, but how would he react?

- By Raymond Jamieson

It's taken my son a while to realise I'm seeing someone. Jack's one of those 12-year-old boys who's either absorbed with his computer or playing football.

My preoccupation is a lanky 40-something engineer who turned up at my life-painting class one Saturday afternoon. At the time, I found it hugely embarrassing. We took turns at being the model. As luck would have it, I was sitting upright in a chair wearing not quite enough when he walked in.

Did he see the heat rise in my cheeks? Possibly not. His eyes were clearly elsewhere.

For two hours I sat there feeling self-conscious, aware of my body's imperfections.

The next time we met I was fully clothed. I was doing the weekly shop when there he was in the next aisle, pushing a trolley whose contents screamed, 'I live alone!'

My trolley was weighed down by the sheer quantity of food required to sustain a 12-year-old boy having a growth spurt. With extra pizzas and cola thrown in for his friends. Apart from the fact he lived alone, I also learnt his name was Alan.

This afternoon it's just me and Jack. It's raining, so football is cancelled. I've spent the morning wondering how to break my news. Well, the first part of it. Even Alan isn't fully in the picture.