I tried to let myself calm down. “Isn’t that mostly because her husbands keep getting murdered or disappearing mysteriously somewhere on Dartmoor?”

“Oh, now be fair, that only happened twice.”

Now that I was recovering from my brief was-Mum-a-stealth-homophobe scare, I realised she was trying to comfort me. And then I realised the reason she was trying to comfort me was because I might be too sucky to get married. “But…but…” I flailed. “Everybody is married. My best friend is married. My dickhead ex is married. What does it say about me—about us—if we’re the only ones who can’t make it work?”

“I know this is not very helpful”—Mum had gone back to the wiggenwolf—“but I think it means what you let it mean.”

I vindictively returned a piece of Moomin Papa’s top hat to the pile. “You’re right, Mum. That isn’t very helpful. Because what it means to me right now is that I’m a gigantic failure who can’t make it work even with a guy as amazing as Oliver.”

Mum sighed. “You know I love Oliver and I think he is very good for you, but he is also—and there is no getting away from this—kind of a messy bitch.”

“Mum,” I yelped.

“It’s okay. I’m using it in the reclaimed sense.”

“I should never have taught you that.”

“All I am saying is”—she gave a little shrug, then pounced on the piece of top hat I’d tried to hide from her—“you both have your issues. This is not about your failure or his. It’s about what’s right for both of you.”

“Well,” I told her, in a voice that was definitely decisive and not at all huffy, “what’s best for me at the moment is going to fucking bed.”

And, for the second time that day, I treated myself to a storm.

Chapter 36