Free A Certain Age by Lynne Truss

meant nothing, but I knew perfectly well who it was, I just wanted to give him a hard time. I’d asked him to my birthday dinner on Friday, and he was ringing for details. He said that at Woodlands, he had noticed I had a very positive pink AURORA. I said I don’t know about that, but I am a spring person, and actually talking of pink I’m still all soft from the seaweed wrap as it happens, hurry, hurry, roll up, Gerald, anybody, it’ll wear off by the weekend – although of course I didn’t say that. I just said it’s nice to talk to someone who appreciates your aurora. I never know with the Rotter whether he’s looking at me or not. He stroked the back of my neck the next time he stayed. Sasha had gone up to bed but although I was tired I – well, I don’t know, but I particularly wanted to see the football. And we were sitting there alone watching England play Spurs I think, and he reached out and touched me, just lightly. I had on a rather good push-up bra under a beautiful cream angora sweater, so it was nice to know it worked, and besides this is my house, you know, I can do what I like.
    Sometimes I think I imagined it. The thing on the landing. The angora moment. When I look at him whenSasha’s around, or even when she isn’t sometimes, it’s like looking into a mirror that doesn’t reflect.
    Scene Three: background sound of beauty parlour. Celtic mood music. She is very relaxed
    Sasha’s present to me was a facial (to be honest, I did hint), so I’m having it now before the birthday dinner tomorrow night. With Megan, who is an absolute dear and massages my hands at the same time and tells me all the gossip about the other girls during the part when I can’t speak without cracking the mask and ruining it.
    [
Serious
] There’s a moment when they stroke your face, the Megans and the Maureens – and suddenly they go down to your neck, and sort-of gather you in, smoothing your neck and shoulders, even your ears. Sort of scooping you and caressing, scooping and caressing – and do you know, it makes me want to cry. Isn’t that silly? [
She is upset
] I don’t tell people, but once I did dabble in colonic irrigation, and it was frightfully weird and I certainly wouldn’t do it again now I know it involves your bottom, but the woman stroked my tummy so tenderly as she operated the extractor pump, or whatever it was, that I really did burst into tears. Blubbed. In Beauchamp Place. The woman said it happened all the time. She seemed awfully nice at first. She said we’re taught to think all our feelings are deep, deep inside, but actually, for most people, they are right on the surface. After all, the skin is our biggest organ, she said. “Would it be the size of a football pitch if you rolled it out?” I said; “I think I read that somewhere.” And she stopped rubbing my tummy and said of course your skin’s not the size of football pitch, how could it possiblybe? And I said, Oh, I’m sorry, I’m always getting things wrong. But I thought there was no need for her to ruin the mood like that. I was only trying to join in.
    Scene Four: evening of the birthday; she’s a bit drunk; sipping wine as she talks; music in background
    Sometimes I wonder how much I love Sasha. She won’t let me say anything to her. And of course, all her life, she hasn’t let me touch her. [
Drinks
] As a baby she screamed pretty well constantly, so it was hard to tell whether she was particularly distressed when I held her and nursed her. But later, there was no room for doubt, really. If I tried to pick her up, she would hit my face, or kick and scream. Doctor Hughes said it wasn’t personal. I wasn’t to take it personally. If Sasha has a touch taboo, it’s her problem, not yours. She doesn’t want your physical affection, Mrs Phipps, he said; and there’s no point feeling aggrieved. “It’s a one-way street, being a parent,” he said. That’s where I first heard the expression, I think: the one-way street.