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‘For a bit of cream on the seat? Oh, you stupid, pathetic man with your stupid penis extension. You can't see further than what's between your legs, which clearly, if you need a car like that, isn't big enough!’

‘Evie!’ Malcolm's eyes were thunderous now. ‘She's not been well,’ he explained nervously over his shoulder as he seized my arm and tried to hustle me towards the door. ‘Family troubles. A bit overwrought.’ He found my ear and hissed, ‘Evie, he's my partner, for God's sake. Button it!’

‘Well, I'm sorry I've ruined your “suede seats”,’ I made quotation marks in the air and rolled expressive eyes over my shoulder as Malcolm propelled me out. ‘Sorry I've made your shagging couch look like it's been used before, like it's actually seen a bit of action!’

‘EVIE!’ Malcolm roared, pushing me bodily through the door, and out onto the pavement.

‘You need help,’ was the last thing I heard Poo-Face deliver scathingly at my back, before the door clanged shut behind us.

‘For God's sake!’ Malcolm hissed, giving me a little shake.

Once outside in the fresh air, I held my head again. It was that old popping-off sensation. ‘Oh God.’ I shut my eyes. When I opened them, Malcolm had lit a cigarette. He was watching me closely. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘Bit strong, I admit. It just all came out.’

‘I'll say it did.’ He handed the cigarette to me.

‘I've given up.’

‘It's like riding a bike. Just suck.’

I did. Then coughed dramatically too, but after a few drags, it all came flooding back. Heaven.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered again, at length. ‘So sorry, Malc. I don't know what came over me.’ I felt a bit dazed. Light-headed too, with the smoke. I shook my head in an effort to clear it. ‘The thing is, I've got all men in the same category at the moment. Can't keep their trousers on. Only want one thing.’ I looked at him helplessly. ‘It's symptomatic, I suppose, of what's happened. I feel all the points on my moral compass have shifted.’

I handed him back the cigarette. He took a deep drag, right down to his Italian shoes, then blew the smoke out thoughtfully in a thin blue line. ‘Go home, poppet. Go home to Ant and Anna. Realign your compass points and make it work, hm? It would be an awful shame not to.’

I nodded, knowing tears threatened again, and knowing that he was right. We hugged each other tight on the pavement. As I gazed numbly over his shoulder, I caught Poo-Face's eye through the window. He hurriedly turned away, busying himself with a pile of books on a table.

As I drove home, I thought about what Malcolm had said. It would be an awful shame to throw it away. To blow it. Don't blow it, Evie, I urged, holding on tight to the wheel: you're very close to the edge right now. I swallowed. I was. Perilously proximate. Knew I was quite capable – as my little explosion at Malcolm's parlour had shown – of losing it. Knew at all costs, I must keep the flame away from the blue touchpaper.

Back at the house, all was quiet. Ominously quiet, I thought, as I shut the front door softly behind me. No screaming and shouting; no teenage daughter throwing the contents of her bedroom down the stairs and herself after it, gathering it all in her arms and slamming out of the front door. But wait: soft music from within. From the drawing room. I slipped off my jacket, dropped it on a chair, and padded down the hall. I pushed open the door.

Ant was sitting by the window in semi-darkness, just a small table lamp burning. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, fingers laced across his chest, as he listened to Mahler's Second Symphony. The saddest. He looked up and gave a wan smile as I came in; his eyes tired. Then he stretched out his hand.

‘Hi.’ Softly

‘Hi.’

I stole across the room, took his hand, and slipped in beside him on the sofa. His fingers curled tightly round mine, then he put his arm around my shoulders. I felt every fibre in my being relax; begin to hum with relief. I felt so safe.