When your son announces he's gay in his mid-forties, I thought maybe it'd be easier if they were told it was a recent development. Give them time to get their heads round the idea before being confronted with proof positive. Like a live-in boyfriend. Like a live-in boyfriend less than half my age. My mother cut Benedict off mid-sentence -- hanging the phone up -- and set the oven timer for an hour. I'll give her that, she believed in me enough to give me the chance to own up. After it went off that second time, I can see that it's just the timer that has been set: the oven itself isn't switched on. I wonder why my mother has so many sheets to soak. She gets up, taking her half finished plate over to the sink and tipping the leftover pie into the bin before switching the beeper off. She scrapes the plate loudly, then throws the cutlery into the washing-up bowl and bursts into tears. 'When did you start lying to me?' My mother waits by the sink for an answer, then sits down and asks me again. I push a crust to the side of my plate and try to smile. 'I know this is difficult for you to take in.' 'My son tells me he's gay. Fine, I'm happy if you're happy.' 'I've wanted to tell you for so long.' 'How long?' She waves her hand in my father's direction. 'He says he didn't know.