My mother did her best to embarrass me throughout the course of the evening. First, she told Ian how, when I was six, I’d wet myself in a corn field as I was adamant that I could pee standing up just like my father. When that didn’t get a reaction, she followed it up with how I’d got into trouble at high school for making a pass at my teacher. All variations of the truth, but there was no point in correcting her whilst she was in full flow. I was too nervous she was going to tell Ian about the contact lenses just to be vindictive. I sat at the table refilling my glass, becoming more intoxicated as I listened to her subtle jibes; while Ian defended me with compliments. It was like watching a game of tennis. The conversation was so strange, the polite match of one-upmanship, which I was happy to see Ian winning hands down.

In the end my mother gave up and said she was going to bed. The evening had been much tamer than I expected, no hurling of abuse or furniture. Ian seemed to have defused the situation every time I thought she might kick off. The gin bottle now empty, she stumbled off, taking her clinking handbag with her into the lounge before shutting the door.

Ian stared at me and shook his head. ‘She’s something else.’

‘Tell me about it.’ I replied, although he had a cheek.

I was exhausted, the battle had been won tonight, but it was bound to continue tomorrow morning. I wanted Ian to leave so I could go to bed, but instead he poured us both a glass of wine. Mixing wine with gin was making my head fuzzy, I hadn’t drunk this much alcohol in ages. I drank it anyway, partly to be polite, partly because I was grateful he’d seen her off.

‘I’m sorry about my mother.’ I wasn’t sorry but I had to keep him onside, play my part of submissive Eve.

‘Don’t worry about it. I know how to handle people like that.’ He looked pleased with himself, but I wasn’t in the mood to inflate his ego.

‘Thanks for the Chinese.’ I stood and lingered by the door, gazing at my bed, across the hall.

‘You’re welcome.’ Ian joined me in the doorway and kissed me hard. My head throbbed, and the room tipped, like I was on a boat at sea.

‘I’m really tired, Ian,’ I said, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he manoeuvred me into my bedroom. I didn’t feel sober enough to put up much of a fight.