There’s no need to shout. I had not shouted.

I was lying flat with a baby in each arm and a voice that was barely working.

But it put me in the wrong, pre-emptively, so that anything I said afterwards was already the behaviour of a woman who shouts.

It won’t be doing you any good. Concern.

She was worried about my blood pressure, twenty minutes after telling her son his daughters were somebody else’s.

Since you’re in such a muddle about it. I was not the one in a muddle.