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‘No, Mum, you need to look at yourself.’ She took my shoulders and swung me round to the full-length mirror. ‘You need a reality check.’

‘Turn it off!’

I wriggled out of her grip and lunged for the light cord, but she got there first, holding it out of my reach. She was taller than me. I hastened to draw the curtains, and as I reached up to grab them both, hands outstretched in a crucifix position, I saw a man across the street turn before he put his key in his front door. I whipped the curtains together smartly, but not before I'd caught the unmistakable features of Poo-Face, and the astonishment in his eyes as he looked me up and down.

15

I spun round flat against the wall. Oh dear God. Did he think I was after him? Yes, of course he did. Here I was in my knickers again; these wretched knickers, semaphoring for him to come hither, like some tart in Amsterdam. I'd have a sign up soon – ‘Tasty New Babe Upstairs.’ I shut my eyes, gave a little moan, and slid down the wall on my bottom.

Anna, flicking me a last withering look, had flounced out. I listened to her go: heard her stomping downstairs, slamming the kitchen door, making her teenage feelings felt as she was perfectly entitled to. I sat for a moment on the carpet. Glanced down. A rather unattractive sight met my eyes. Knees up, tummy sagging and in a less than coquettish position, I looked, as Anna had so rightly said, gross. ‘Arrgh!’ I leaped to my feet and in a few swift motions had ripped off the hateful garments and jumped in the bath.

So what? So flaming what? I sank down under the bubbles, holding my nose, immersing myself completely. I came up for air. That unpleasant man could go hang himself for all I cared. In the scheme of things, he couldn't matter less. What did matter, right now, was keeping my family together. My precious little family. Being strong when they needed me, keeping them on track. Yes, this might be my chance to shine: to show what I was made of. I wiped the bubbles from my face. What was that Kipling quote? If you can be strong when all around you de da de da… keep your head when something something… then you'll be a man, my son. OK, not entirely appropriate, but still. I squared my shoulders in the bath. I could be a woman. More like a tigress, perhaps. What was that other one? About the tiger? Burning bright, in the something of the night. Blimey, I could do this; throw out literary allusions if I felt like it. Perhaps because I felt like a tigress in the face of someone threatening my brood. I gazed at my knees sticking out of the bubbles. My brood. They were scared, the pair of them, and neither frightened easily. They were made of sterner stuff than me, but now, I'd be the one looking into the eye of the storm… another quote? Or just a cliché? But then, clichés often were quotes, Ant said. So yes, looking into the eye of the storm… or was it a needle? And something about a camel? Anyway, whosever eye it was, I was there, pushing on through it. Absolutely.

The following day, tastefully and maturely dressed in a Country Casuals skirt and blouse I'd once bought in a curious, home-maker moment, I took Anna to school. She had her games kit with her so couldn't cycle. She eyed me warily as she opened her car door to get out.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Nowhere special, darling.’

‘So what's with the Miss Jean Brodie look? You haven't got all that kinky stuff on underneath, have you?’

‘Don't be ridiculous, of course not.’

She lunged across and felt my thigh. I flinched.

‘Just checking for suspenders. Don't go all weird on me, Mum, I can't cope. Just maintain the generation gap, OK?’

And with that she got out and slammed the door.

I watched her walk up the road, turn in at the school gates: long hair shining, short skirt swinging, bags slung over her shoulder. Usually, as I watched her go, I'd think – lovely. So carefree, no worries, clever, popular, never bullied, never struggling, only now I thought – struggling. Struggling to come to terms with something she shouldn't have to. Shouldn't have to face at such a vulnerable