I pick up my bag and walk over to Tommy to give him a kiss. As I do, my heel gets stuck in the floorboards and I go flying across the living room. I land splat on my tummy and the contents of my bag empty all over the floor. Risky’s pink vibrator rolls slowly towards Janet’s foot.

‘Oh, what is this?’ she asks, picking it up. She turns over the bottom of it and realises it has three settings. ‘Oh Tommy, look!’ she says, gently running it over his face and body, at which he smiles and giggles. ‘He loves it,’ she says, joyfully. ‘Isn’t Mummy clever, I’ve never seen a toy like it.’

‘No, Janet. That isn’t a toy,’ I say, imagining Risky’s vagina juice rubbing all over my baby’s face.

‘What is it then?’ she asks, holding it up.

‘Yeah, what is it?’ Michael asks, going over and taking a closer look. Horror drenches his face as the realisation comes.

‘I’ll take that,’ he says, snatching it from his mother’s hand, stomping with it into the kitchen and throwing it in the bin.

‘What on earth was that about?’ Janet asks, before slowly catching up. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she says, rubbing her hands on her clothes, then running into the kitchen and holding them under the hot tap, applying endless soap, as if she just picked up dog shit with her bare hands. ‘Well I never!’ she exclaims. ‘Shocking!’

Michael is now standing in the middle of the living room staring at me. I pick up all of my things and put them back in my bag. Although embarrassment courses through every inch of my body, I do what any sensible woman would do and pretend absolutely nothing has happened.

‘Bye Tommy,’ I say, kissing him. ‘Shall we go?’

Michael follows me out of the door.

We walk in silence down the street, Michael so cross he is breathing like a wild boar that is about to charge and murder a threatening female, and me trying to keep up with him in my stupid shoes. I feel like a fat tart chasing a man who isn’t interested in her. I mean, maybe that is actually exactly what I am.

‘Michael, please, slow down.’

He stops suddenly, giving me a chance to catch up. A few blocks down we come to a little cafe that is open quite late and he ducks in. This was not what I had in mind for dinner.

‘Still serving?’ he asks a lady behind the counter. She is packing everything up but asks a man who looks to be the manager if it’s OK. He says it’s fine, and she starts putting the trays of sandwich fillers back out for display.