I sat staring sulkily into my soup like a child as my father and boyfriend laughed jovially about some aspect of sport that I didn’t care about. Across from me, my step-mum smiled along with the conversation, ignoring any looks I shot her way. I think she could tell that I wasn’t happy with this.

Is this too soon? It feels too soon.

I excused myself from the table and I could feel three pairs of eyes boring into the back of my head. I needed to splash myself a bit. Why did this seem so serious?

He had said I was too young for this to be a significant moment; that only older people said “I want you to meet my father” when it was a hurdle.

But I hadn’t asked. I was cornered, and the corner was small. Dad had said he needed to, to be sure. Rik had said it would give us more freedom. And me? I protested in both directions, but my voice was snuffed out.

In the bathroom I wiped the water from my forehead as my leg shook wildly.

This has to be a dream. A bad dream!

But I didn’t wake up.