This wasn't supposed to happen.

My ex wife asked me a few nights ago if she could move back in and live with me and our son. It might sound astonishingly brass-necked, but she and I haven't got round to divorcing yet (stupid I know) and I have probably been too supportive during her problems with her new bloke.

Anyway, she'd moved out from the home she bought with him - again.

"I've lost count of the number of times I've moved out," she said, trying to make light. "I've got it down to a fine art, just one bag, make-up, oatcakes, fruit, pyjamas, work stuff."

"Would it be alright if I stayed at yours tonight?" she asked. "I don't want to stay here on my own." She's staying at a friends, but he's away in Ireland. The house is empty.
Sigh. "Yes ok."
"I think it makes sense to be at yours, to move back in, I mean. It's more practical." She says it's practical for our son, she means practical for her too I guess.
Move in? Shit.
"I'm not going to discuss it on the phone. Come round."

In the half hour it takes for her to get round here, I sit on the sofa, my heart sinking.

A couple of nights earlier, I'd sat on the same sofa with the woman who'd been my lover for the last six months. She was married to an arsehole, but had given up on it. In November, she began a difficult divorce. Over Christmas, she finally sorted it out. So there she was, telling me she didn't know her own mind, maybe we'd start a relationship in six months, maybe never. Let's just see each other as friends, she said.

Bugger bugger bugger.
So in the space of two days I'm losing a girlfriend and gaining a high-maintenance ex-wife. It's definitely not meant to happen like this.
My heart sinks further.

And then, my ex arrives. She sits across the room from me and I say no. No. No. Politely but firmly, fucking no fucking way.
"It might be more practical for you, but it's not more practical for me. I had someone round here two nights ago, how would I do that if you were living here?" I asked her.

She concedes. We arrange that week's childcare. Even if she leaves her boyfriend, I reckon we can sort something out that keeps our son looked after without his mum moving back in.

Ok, so it was a bit of a lie. My not-quite girlfriend trumps my not-quite ex-wife.

And no, it's not ideal and yes there's lots more problems to come. But I was so relieved I'd said No, all the next day I was singing the chorus line from "Lets Dance to Joy Division"..... "cos we're so happy, so happy."

So happy. Let's see.