‘Mummy, don’t be rude to my guest!’ Will slurred. 

Standing in his bedroom, staring at the two single mattresses pushed together, my date, Will*, pointed to the one on the left.

‘This is where I sleep’, he said. Without blinking, he moved his hand to the mattress on the right. 

A part of me knew what he was going to say next and I felt a panic rise in me.

‘…and this is where Mummy sleeps’. Alarm bells were ringing so loudly they were all I could hear.

The Oedipus complex was very real.

When we arrived at his house earlier that night, Will said his mum was out, but that I would most likely meet her later. 

I hadn’t expected to meet a parent so soon – this was only our second date – and by the end of the house tour, I was thoroughly shaken. 

I don’t know what compelled me to stay except a morbid curiosity to meet the woman who had borne such a weirdly attached son.

Will was pouring himself a whiskey, when his mum abruptly entered. 

I immediately stood up to greet her, but she didn’t exactly shake my hand back. In fact, she ignored me and instead, picked up an ironing board, bundle of clothing and began ironing – with a face like thunder. 

I sat back down, confused – I didn’t react, I was taken aback and sat in awkward silence.

‘Mummy, don’t be rude to my guest!’ Will slurred. 

She stormed off upstairs to their bedroom.

It takes a lot to make me uncomfortable, but this scene was undeniably awkward. 

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was merely trying to go on a sweet and innocent date – how did I end up here?

Earlier that month, as I was weaving through a dive venue with a pint, someone stumbled in my periphery. I turned around to apologise and was met with a blonde, twenty-something wearing an outrageously expensive suit. 

A little incongruous for this gig, it wasn’t really the dress code.

But instead of turning away, he started to engage in conversation. He was handsome, so I let it happen.

He theatrically pretended to be blown away by my perfume – ‘you smell incredible! What is that?!’ he yelled over the music. 

I replied that it was Dolce & Gabbana’s ‘Light Blue’, which I had doused myself in for a date – but I was there alone.

It had been six long months of singledom and I was ready to date again. I met a friend of a friend on a night out, and organised this date with him. But, standing there on the night, I realised he wasn’t going to turn up.

But, I must admit, I was enjoying Will’s attention. He asked me about my ‘situation’, to which I honestly answered, ‘single’. 

This gave him the signal he needed and he leaned in – we shared an electric and passionate kiss and swapped numbers. I soon forgot about being stood up. 

After a week of messaging, we met for a date in Soho. We sat at the bar mixing all our drinks and got tipsy quickly. 

The conversation flowed and we laughed a lot. At that point, I thought he was a promising date and I could see myself with him.

I noticed Will talked about his mum a lot, and at first, I admired his respect for her. When I brought up his dad, he brushed him off as an ‘idiot father’ with a grimace. He didn’t want to talk about him, so I continued to listen about his saint mother. 

The date ended with a kiss and when I arrived home, Will had messaged: ‘let’s do this again soon?’ 

I fancied him and was looking forward to lining up a second date.

The following week, Will was waiting for me at Ealing station and walked us to a bustling nearby pub. We still had chemistry, laughter and good conversation – so I ignored the potential mummy issues I clocked on the first date. 

After last orders, Will suggested drinks and a tour of his fixer-upper home. He claimed to be able to make a mean whiskey cocktail and had all the ingredients, so I accepted the invite – the pace felt right. 

I knew I should have fled after the bedroom tour and I regretted not going with my gut. But the time had finally come and I politely made my excuse to head home. 

I was freaked out. I told a couple of close friends whose jaws hit the floor.