His beard trimmed, his teeth cleaned and wearing a pair of knee-length pyjama bottoms, he hung up his damp towel on the radiator and conceded that he couldn’t put off going to bed any longer. It was show time.

But when he opened the door, he was greeted with Martha looking like sex was the last thing on her mind.

‘Can you believe it,’ she said, waving her mobile phone at him. ‘Willow now says she can’t make it on Saturday. She’s decided that that’s when she’s moving in with Rick instead of meeting Mum’s fancy man.’

The words ‘fancy man’ jarred with Tom, but he let them go. For now, the man they had yet to meet was the enemy in Martha’s mind and Tom would be foolish to think otherwise.

‘Can we change it to Sunday?’ he asked.

‘No, because Willow says she’ll be sorting out her things at Rick’s. Why does she always have to ruin things? Now we’ll have to wait until the following weekend.’

‘Well, it’s just one of those things, isn’t it?’ he said, getting in the bed beside her. ‘Or why don’t we suggest an evening next week?’

‘I tried that as well and Willow claims to be working the evening shift all next week.’

‘Then there’s nothing else for it, we have to be patient and wait for your sister to be free. It’s no big deal.’

Martha frowned. ‘How can you say that when it’s an immensely big deal? This is my mother we’re talking about, who has some strange man getting his hooks into her. Honestly, I could throttle my sister sometimes. I swear she’s being deliberately awkward, putting this meeting off.’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘Head in the sand syndrome. If she can’t see the problem, then in her mind it doesn’t exist.’

‘Then why don’t we meet up with your mother and her chap without Willow?’

‘No. I want it to be a united front, you, me and Willow. Together.’

‘What about Rick?’ It was a loaded question, but he’d risked it anyway.

‘Hmm … I suppose so. I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?’

‘It would be an olive branch after—’

‘There’s no need to say it,’ Martha interrupted him. ‘An olive branch to smooth over the way I spoke to him at Mum’s. I get it.’

‘There again,’ said Tom, trying to be helpful, ‘just the two of us might seem less confrontational. For your mother’s sake, if nothing else,’ he added, knowing full well that with or without Willow, Martha would inevitably take a confrontational stance.

Giving him no more than a sigh for an answer, she put her mobile on the bedside table and switched off her lamp. She then turned to look at him. ‘According to my temperature chart, I’m at my peak fertility window.’

‘Right,’ he said with what he hoped was his best attempt at a smile of enthusiasm, at the same time extinguishing the light from his bedside lamp. ‘We’d better get down to business then.’