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killer hangover. This table has everything I need on it.’

      Pause.

      ‘I haven’t had a proper hangover in years, I just couldn’t do it with my two,’ she says, and the rest of the parents mumble in agreement.

      ‘Oh, I know. My mum has Annie on Friday nights, so I can go out and have a sleep in. I’m not sure I could handle it otherwise.’

      Tracey glances back at the group. I wonder if she’s been sent over to get information.

      ‘And I suppose you can do weekend swaps with Annie’s dad too? I mean, God forbid anything ever happen with me and James, but a bit of child sharing must be nice?’

      It’s not unusual for people to presume that Annie’s dad and I split up. It is unusual for me to be asked about it in front of an audience of mums and dads at a Disney-themed birthday party. This topic gives me extreme anxiety at the best of time. Mix that with hangover fear, and I suddenly realise that my face is very sweaty.

      ‘Oh, actually Annie doesn’t have a dad,’ I say, stuffing half a blue cupcake into my mouth and hoping she moves on.

      ‘Oh. Yes, some of the girls and I were just saying, we don’t really know much about you, we just wanted to get to know you a little better.’

      Girls, I think. Why do women refer to themselves as girls? It’s so weird.

      ‘Oh, right,’ I say, eating more cupcake.

      ‘So, was it a bad breakup?’ she asks, after watching me chew and swallow the whole thing.

      ‘No, nope. No, we were never actually together.’

      The other mums have now moved closer. I wonder how many cupcakes I can get in my mouth at one time, so I don’t have to speak.

      ‘Oh, sorry I shouldn’t pry!’ Pause. ‘So, what, just a fling?’

      I could just say yes, but as the Bloody Mary kicks in and joins last night’s alcohol that is still buzzing around my system, I have an unfamiliar wave of bravado.

      ‘Nope. Not a fling, a one-night stand. Well, there was a bit of flinging, I suppose. In that he flung some sperm up my vagina and into my uterus.’ I laugh, thinking that was pretty funny. Then I look at all of their faces, and realise it wasn’t.

      ‘That’s quite the image,’ Tracey says, picking up a cupcake she obviously has no intention of eating. ‘So he didn’t want to be involved?’ she asks, like a human lie detector that I know I won’t beat.

      ‘Nope. Actually he never knew. I never told him.’

      Silence. For what feels like a very long time. I eventually realise this isn’t one of her weird pauses, she just has no idea what to say. My nerves keep speaking.

      ‘Anyway, now I’m dating and looking for love, not sperm. Real, actual love. So don’t worry, your husbands are safe, ladies!’ I let out a raucous and crazy laugh. What am I doing? Who am I being? Why the hell did I say that about their husbands being safe?

      ‘Pete,’ shouts Amanda across the garden. ‘Pete, let’s get the cake.’ I hadn’t realised that he was standing behind me again.

      The crowd of parents disperses and spreads themselves into small groups around the garden. Every wife is making some sort of physical contact with their husband. I am left standing at the table alone, me and approximately 40,000 calories’ worth of blue puddings. I feel like the smashed-up sausage roll that nobody wants to eat.

      After a minute or two, my anxiety wins.

      ‘Annie, Annie, come on, we have to go,’ I say, rushing over to the bouncy castle and elbowing parents out of my way to get my daughter.

      ‘But Mummy, we haven’t had the cake yet,’ she says, looking embarrassed and worried that I am serious.

      ‘We’ll have cake at home. Come on, grab your cardboard box.’

      ‘But …’

      ‘ANNIE, now!’

      She does as she’s told, mortified that I just shouted at her in front of her friends. I don’t care, I’m too embarrassed to deal with judgement from these people. I also think I might be sick.

      I grab Annie’s hand and hurry through the house, feeling like I’m escaping an avalanche. As I open the front door, Vicky Thomson is standing there, her fist up to start knocking. I jump about three feet into the air.

      ‘Tara,’ she says, ‘are you leaving? God, I’m so late. Is the party over, why have you got a blue mouth?’

      So many questions. I push past her, dragging Annie by the hand.

      ‘OK, well, bye. And we should do coffee, I’ve written up a few more ideas, I really think one could …’

      But I’ve strapped Annie in and driven away before she has the chance to finish. When I get around the corner, I feel a little calmer. Then I look in the rear view mirror and see Annie’s face.

      My little princess is crying her eyes out.

       Cam

      ‘Hello, yeah I’ve been waiting for my pizza for over an hour … Yes, it’s Stacey … What? I spoke to you myself? … Oh, forget it, I’ll call Domino’s.’

      She hangs up.

      ‘That is so rubbish,’ Cam says to Mark, who is also very hungry but not the type to get annoyed. ‘It’s going to take ages to get here now.’

      She storms over to the kitchen and aggressively opens and slams shut all of the cupboards and the fridge. They are all empty.

      ‘Babe, you get so hangry,’ says Mark, infuriating Cam a little with his youthful slang.

      ‘I’ve been craving pizza all day,’ she says, huffing.

      ‘Well then, let’s go out and get some?’ Mark suggests, flippantly.

      ‘What, and bring it back here?’

      ‘No, let’s go eat somewhere. It’s Saturday night. Date Night!’

      Cam goes a little cold. Let’s go eat somewhere? As in, they sit opposite each other? In a restaurant? With clothes on? Making conversation? Is that possible?

      Before Cam has the chance to question it, Mark is standing by the door, ready to leave. ‘Come on then, I’m starving,’ he says.

      She picks up her keys, slips into some flip flops and follows him out. This is actually happening.

      As Mark reads the menu, Cam stares at him. It’s been a few months since they met in the line at Whole Foods, they’ve had sex in every position imaginable, but she has no idea if he even has a middle name. Sitting opposite him now, she can’t think of a single thing to say.

      ‘I’m going for the meat feast, I don’t even know why I bother to read the menu. What about you?’ Mark asks, putting the menu down and nodding at a waiter.

      ‘Me? What about me?’ Cam asks, worried he’s asking her to express some feelings.

      ‘Er, what pizza you going for?’

      ‘Oh, a Hawaiian, always.’

      ‘Nah, can’t do fruit on pizza,’ Mark says.

      ‘Oh right,’ replies Cam, making a face that she thinks shows she is enjoying getting to know the small details of who he is, despite finding this terribly awkward.

      It’s not that she doesn’t like Mark, or doesn’t like spending time with him. But she’s actively avoided traditional dating for most of her adult life; it isn’t what she’s good at. She’d rarely choose to sit opposite someone she

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