Coralie came home one night and went straight to bed. The next morning I scolded her for not having taken off her make-up.

“It’s not make-up, Mum, it’s a black eye.”
“A black eye? How?”

It took a while to get any sense out of her but finally she told me ‘her’ version of the truth.

Now she may be on the smaller side of the scale, but would you believe your daughter if she gave you this answer?

“I walked into a chair.”

Her boyfriend looked at me and raised his eyebrows, while I was trying to visualise a chair high enough for Coralie to walk into.

Nope. I still don’t buy her story.