‘You know something, Donna? That’s your problem. You don’t really know the difference. The lie she’s living is that she is there. All her married years she’s looking for that extra few quid to come in so she can dump the old man, get the kids out of their environment, help them better themselves. She daydreams of that, of the man coming back for her and finding her and taking her away from it all. Yet she sleeps in the same bed as the man she has come to despise. She allows him access to her body, but never to her mind. He isn’t even aware she’s got one. She puts up with all sorts of trouble and humiliations for him, and through him. Yet the lie, Donna, is always there.

‘She has his children, she’s the mother of his children, and that is all she is and she knows it. There’s no real respect, no real love, and she knows that as well. Her old man watches Benny Hill, reads the Sun and the Sport, and treats her once a year to a birthday present, usually something for the home - an iron or a kitchen set. She is a non-person, and the more time goes by, the more obvious it is to her. So she retreats more and more into what could have been, and what she should have been.

‘She is living more of a lie in fact than Jamesie, because he’s a man and can do what the fuck he likes. That privilege is rarely afforded to women, especially working-class women. You think you’ve got problems? Your old man’s banged up, big deal. You should try looking after three kids on the fucking Social. That would soon put paid to your smart mouth, I can tell you.’

There was silence in the car. Both were aware that Alan had gone too far and neither really knew what had brought on this tirade. All he knew for sure was that her long face was getting him down. He didn’t want her there, didn’t want her meeting people like Jamesie and others of his ilk. He wanted to protect her from it all, yet at the same time her complete disdain for his way of life, Jamesie’s way of life, and the mess they were all in, annoyed him. He was doing her old man a bloody big favour, and consequently he had to put up with her. It was all a mess.

Donna’s voice was quiet as she answered him.

‘For your information, Alan Cox, I would gladly have lived in a council flat if I could have had even one child.’