‘No. He’s adamant he won’t take money from him.’ I sigh and wander across to drop my bag on the table and take the weight off my feet. I’m tired. Unfit, obviously. I’m not used to running around, playing football. That’s usually Jason’s job.

‘Oh dear.’ Mum sighs in turn and joins me at the table with two mugs of tea. ‘It’s a self-esteem thing,’ she imparts, pushing the biscuit barrel towards me. ‘A man’s ego is a delicate beast.’

Aware of that, and that I’d badly bruised Jason’s last night, I smile sadly and help myself to a biscuit, reminding myself to watch the calories. After giving birth twice, I’m not likely to be able to compete with the perfectly sculpted woman on his phone. Piling on the pounds now, therefore, is possibly not a good idea.

‘We’ll each have to get ourselves a carefree toy boy,’ Mum says, giving me a conspiratorial wink.

I smile half-heartedly. I wish now that I hadn’t danced quite so enthusiastically with him. A nice mover, muscular and very well-packaged in a tight white T-shirt and jeans, his attributes would certainly score a ten. I think of the double standard regarding men ogling women and vice versa. Am I being too judgemental of Jason? Paranoid, because of the problems between us? He was jealous. He would hardly have cut in, looking most definitely put out, if he didn’t care about me, would he?

But does he love me? Caring is not loving, and he doesn’t often say that he does.

‘Can I ask you something, Mum?’ Furrowing my brow, I reach for my bag.

‘As long as it’s nothing technical,’ Mum says, glancing uncertainly at the phone I pull out.

‘It’s not,’ I assure her, and quickly check over my shoulder. I’d hate one of the children to wander in. ‘We argued,’ I explain, taking a breath, ‘after the party.’

‘Not about the toy boy?’ Mum’s expression is a cross between bemused and amused.

‘No,’ I say quickly, feeling defensive of Jason. ‘Well, sort of. Jason was a bit miffed I was dancing with him, but that wasn’t what we argued about.’

‘I don’t see why he’d be miffed,’ Mum says, looking po-faced on my behalf. ‘You’re an attractive young woman. If he couldn’t be bothered to dance with you, then he really shouldn’t object to you dancing with someone else.’

‘Dad had been on at him,’ I say.

Mum’s face straightens at that. ‘Oh. I see,’ she says. She’s seen how Dad belittles him sometimes and has reprimanded him for it. She tries to make Jason feel welcome here, but sadly he doesn’t. The way Dad treats him, I can’t blame him.