“Don’t worry, you’ll meet someone. You won’t be a single mum forever," she says, sympathy piped into her voice like the rosettes on the Smurf-blue cake. We’re gathered around plastic tables laden with party packs of marshmallow fish, Flings and balloons festooned with ADAM’S ONE TODAY!! It’s the second one this week; September is popular for birthdays. Several pity-filled eyes glance my way; I’m one of the few already unhitched.

“Not banking on it,” I mumble. I’m here because my cousin will be miffed if I’m not. The price for averting a family feud: two hours in the dungeonlike hell of Jimmie Jungles. Cake, party packs, Other Mothers.

“You’re an attractive girl. You’ll find a man,” says another.

“Not necessarily,” I say dully, watching two kids pop a balloon.

“Sure you will.”

Sure I will. But until then, I’ll live where I want, and how I want, just my child and me. No snoring man, no shouting man, no frightening inconsistent lying man, no cheating man, no petulant overgrown child-man. Just us, free.