‘We’ll stay open for a bit for you,’ the man says, unashamedly giving me the once-over. Michael takes a seat and I totter up to the table. The bright cafe lights are glaring, making me ashamed of all my make-up. My fat, wobbly arms feeling like jelly, my tight dress doing nothing for me, other than showing off all the things I suddenly feel very self-conscious of. I sit down.

‘What do you want?’ Michael asks me, throwing the menu in my direction. He gets up before I have chance to speak.

‘I’ll get the prawn Marie Rose on brown, please,’ he tells the man. ‘And a glass of milk. Beth?’

I get up again, the dress feeling tighter now, the shoes even higher. I look at all the food.

‘Can I have the chicken mayonnaise with avocado on white please?’

‘Brown,’ Michael interjects, correcting my order. It startles me so much I forget to order a drink.

We sit back down. There is no music. The two people who work here are now making our order together to get it out quickly so they can close. I hate everything about what I am wearing.

‘It’s not like she saw me using it,’ I say, needing to break the ice.

Michael leans forward. ‘What is the matter with you?’ he says, through a tight mouth.

‘Nothing is the matter with me.’ I pause, knowing he needs an explanation, but I’m not quite able to rationalise it’s a second-hand one! ‘I just treated myself to a sex toy. Lots of women have them, it’s not a big deal.’

‘You think seeing my mother rub my wife’s vibrator on my child’s face isn’t a big deal?’

I spare another thought for Risky’s vagina juice. Please, please, let her have washed it.

‘It was clean,’ I say, as two sandwiches are put in front of us.

‘And here’s a complimentary bowl of crisps,’ the lady says, putting them in the middle. Michael pulls them towards him and starts layering them into his sandwich.

‘Mum will be so upset,’ he says, through a mouthful of prawns and mayonnaise. He often talks to me like I am gross, when his table manners are actually horrible.

‘It’s very unfortunate that it happened, but it was in my bag and I tripped. It was an accident.’

‘Dressing like that wasn’t an accident though, was it?’

‘No,’ I say, dropping my head. ‘No, I did this on purpose hoping you would like it.’

‘You know I like you in jeans.’

We sit in silence for a while and eat our sandwiches in the very bright cafe on what was supposed to be our date night. He can hardly bring himself to look at me. I have no idea what to say. I just want things to be better. So eventually I give in.