Free A Certain Age by Lynne Truss Page A

And I thought, well, I wouldn’t mind a one-way street if things moved along it. But unfortunately ours seems to be a one-way street that’s been gridlocked for the past twenty-one years.
    I used to watch mothers blowing raspberries on their babies’ stomachs, cuddling them, clasping them. I still do. Mothers petting their babies; holding hands to cross the road; primping the hair on their grown-up daughters. It’s such a natural thing – to reach out. [
She starts to cry
] She lets the Rotter touch her. She lets him touch her in front of me.
    Gerald rang. [
Drinks
] I was just getting ready for tonight,and thinking no, lemon socks, sorry, I really can’t lower my standards, and he rang up to say he couldn’t make it after all, he had a lecture on “Give and take in modern relationships”, but happy birthday Mrs P and perhaps he’d see me next time I was at Woodlands. I was furious. The facial. The seaweed. The incredibly clean navel. Do people think I do all this for my own benefit? I told him he was hardly in a position to lecture other people on give and take when he was clearly incapable of commitment himself, and I pitied anybody who had a modern relationship with him, I was certainly well off out of it myself, perhaps he was the one who needed professional help! He said quietly, “This is ridiculous, I hardly know you, Janey,” and I shouted, “That’s not the point. That’s not the point. I’m thinking if this is how you treat me, how must you treat other people? I’ve a good mind to report you to Woodlands.” And he said, “I think I detect a few rejection issues, Janey!” And he hung up.
    [
Drinks
] I do wish them well, you know, Sasha and Mike. They said they’d be back from the office at 7.30, the table is booked for nine. I’ll tell them Gerald was too much in awe of me; too afraid of what might happen. They’ll understand. Sasha has never been very keen on my boyfriends, anyway. So she’ll be happy. Or perhaps I’ll say I told him not to come? For her sake, I mean. That’s it. I didn’t want a stranger here. Because it’s true. More than anything, I want my daughter to be happy. [
Listens
] They’re home. [
Deep breath, puts down drink
] It’s not my fault if Mike fancies me. The point is, whatever happens, she must never know.
    Scene Five: steam bath/sauna; she’s agitated; it’s hot
    They said I can have a few minutes in the sauna before I see Maureen. It’s so hot in here! I mean, I know that’s the point. But there’s a limit, surely. It’s dark too. And they sent me the high-fibre muesli when they know I prefer the fruit. They’ll say, well, that’s what happens when you turn up at a health farm in the middle of the night. And I’ll say, yes, but it costs a fortune to come here to Woodlands, and you ought to make sure the night receptionist is properly trained, and besides you trade on people having a bad self-image, that’s what Sasha says, you trade on people having a bad self-image, so if my self-image is really really bad at the moment, if I turn to you because I need you, I shouldn’t have to face an inquisition to get in! But that’s what it felt like, like arguing your way into Soviet China or something. “No luggage?” he said. He seemed quite suspicious, just because I didn’t have any luggage, and was still in my cerise birthday taffeta. But in the end, he gave me a key to a top-of-the-range chalet; said they’d try to fit me into this morning’s massage schedule. “This isn’t a hotel,” he explained, more than once. “I know!” I said. “I’m a regular patron! For heaven’s sake, I only went home on Wednesday!” “I just wondered if you thought this was a hotel. Some people do. There’s a Travelodge up the road.” “I want to stay here!” I said. “I want to see Maureen! I know precisely what I want. Thank you!”
    So why doesn’t it feel right? It doesn’t feel right at all. Perhaps when I’ve seen Maureen; when she’s stroked it