'And you need to get your shit together, Julie. You used to be the prettiest of all us sisters. Stop letting your children rule your life. Stop using them as an excuse for everything. Go on a diet, exercise, lose weight, put on some makeup and get some decent clothes. Stop moaning about it and talking about it and just bloody do it.'

'You try looking good with four boys! You try putting makeup on with triplets pulling at you and dropping your mascara into the toilet.'

'Punish them and they won't do it again.'

'It's not that simple.'

'It's not that complicated.'

'If I punished them every time they did something naughty, they'd live in the bloody bold room. You can't keep punishing kids. They need some leeway they need to be allowed to express themselves. I can't keep them on a leash.'

'Maybe you should try. They need a firmer hand.'

'You don't know anything about it. You're too selfish to have another child and give poor Jess a playmate. You don't want your perfect life interrupted by a screaming baby. You don't want anyone or anything interfering with your ten holidays a year and your yoga.'

'That is total bullshit. Jack and I are trying for another baby and I am not selfish.'

'When was the last time you did something for someone else?'

'Today! When I had you and your boys back to my house, and look what happened.'

'Well, you won't have to worry about that ever again. Send me the bill for the washing-machine.' I grabbed my bag, picked up Tom and pushed the triplets out of the door.

It was only when I got to the car that I realized none of us had our shoes on.

When Harry got home late that night, I told him about the fight.

'Can't say I'm surprised,' he said, taking his tie off and throwing it over the chair beside him.

'What do you mean?'

'Sophie likes things to be perfect. Having the boys running wild in her house is her idea of hell.'

'It's not as if we're there every day. We haven't called into her in months. I only ever go there with Tom. She avoids the triplets like the plague.'

'I agree she's high maintenance, but she's generous in other ways.'

'What? Buying oversized presents for Christmas and their birthday?'

'Well, yes, and she has offered to send Mimi over to clean the house, but for some reason you keep saying no.'

'I don't want to owe her anything. I don't want her having done me any favours. She'll just throw it back in my face if we ever have a fight like the bloody suede jacket she keeps bringing up.'

'What make was the washing-machine the boys wrecked?' Harry asked.

'I don't know some fancy German one.'

'God, it'll probably cost a fortune to fix.'

'She won't let me pay for it. Sophie's not like that.'

'We should, though. Our kids broke it.'

'I know, but there's no way Sophie's going to send me a bill. She's selfish with things, not money. Besides, she'll probably just throw it out and order a new one.'

'It's the principle of the matter. I don't want Jack slagging me off about my kids trashing his house and him having to pay for it.'

'If he does, ignore him.'

'I try to.'

'He's not the worst, he's just a bit '

'Of a tosser?'

'Yes, but Sophie said his family are really patronizing to him and that they consider him a failure so I think he's probably insecure.'

'He hides it well. It must be buried very deeply underneath that over-confident exterior.'

'I suppose all that financial success would give you a bit of a swagger.'

'I wish I could spoil you more. Get you a nanny and buy you nice jewellery.'

'The best thing you could do to spoil me is take the boys out on Saturday morning and give me a lie-in. That would be the best present ever.'

'It's a deal. But I do wish I earned more, so you could have some help.'

'Look, Harry, you do the best you can and I think you're brilliant. We have everything we need. Besides, there is light at the end of the tunnel. The triplets will be going to proper school next year from nine until one thirty, with the option of after-school care until five thirty. It'll be bliss.'

'Money would make things easier, though.'

'It doesn't necessarily bring you happiness. I think Sophie's life is really empty. She has far too much time on her hands. She's obsessed with her appearance, her clothes and her car. It's all about status, not about real life. Mind you, she looks great, doesn't she?'

'God, no. Her face is strange because of all that crap she injects into it and she's far too thin and bony. I like a bit of flesh on my women.'

'Well, you've certainly got that here.'

Harry put his arm around me. 'You're gorgeous and sexy.' He bent down to kiss me.

'Are you angling for sex?'

'It's been ages and I'm horny as hell.'

I giggled. 'OK, let's go before you start humping bus stops.'

Harry grabbed my hand and sprinted towards the bedroom.

Five minutes later he was fast asleep with a happy grin on his face and I was wide awake, trying to avoid the wet spot.

I couldn't sleep. I kept going over my fight with Sophie. I got out of bed and crept into the kitchen. I took out my phone to text my sister, but there was a message from her already: Sry I freaked. Dont wry bout washg mchn, is working fine.

That was the thing about Sophie. She wasn't a sulker. She didn't like any tension or bad feeling in her life. She liked everything to be sorted out and in its rightful place. I knew she was lying about the washing-machine being fine, but if I paid for it to be fixed, it would become this big thing and Sophie wanted the quarrel to be over. She wanted the whole day to be in the past.

I wrote back: I'm sry too. Feel awful for shouting.

She texted back immediately: Lets 4get whole thing.

And I knew that would be the last I heard of it. Sophie's slate was wiped clean. It was good because, of course, I didn't want to continue arguing with her, but some of the things she had said had really hurt. I know I'd said awful things too, but I was feeling pretty crap about myself and her comments had stung. Mind you, she was right: it was up to me to take control of my life and my weight. It was up to me to find myself again.

I made some tea and logged on to the computer. I went to www.mumskeepingsane.com. It was my guilty pleasure. I loved the chat rooms and reading the things other mothers said. I always felt less lonely, less of a bad mother and less of a bad person when I read how much other people were struggling. I'd never posted any comments, but tonight I felt the need to write, so I began to type.

Threescompany was the name I chose for myself.

Hi, Mums, This is my first time posting anything. I just wanted to know if any of you were feeling the same way. Despite having four children (four-year-old triplets and an eighteen-month-old all boys) and never having a minute to myself, I feel lonely all the time.

I have a lovely husband and my children are healthy. I have nothing to complain about, but I find myself crying almost every day. Sometimes everything just gets on top of me. I didn't sign up for this. I didn't get married to end up drowning under a pile of laundry. Who the hell would apply for the job of wife and mother? Can you imagine the ad?

WANTED: female slave. No salary, no bonuses (fyi, husbands, sex is not a bonus when you're exhausted). No promotions, no sick days, no holidays, no medical care, no life insurance, no pension. Job involves cooking, cleaning, tidying up twenty times a day, washing, changing sheets, ironing, bathing and wiping arses not just your own kids' but their friends' arses too. It will also require you to be a nurse, counsellor, maid, chef and peacemaker. You will also need the persuasive powers of a UN mediator to convince your kids that broccoli is not a tasteless, fuzzy, dry, grass-like food: it is delicious not to mention nutritious. You will not get any breaks cigarette, coffee or even toilet. You will never be alone even if you do eventually make it to the toilet, you will always have company. There is no personal space in this job. All of your belongings are now open to being dribbled on, sucked, chewed, bent, pulled, broken and, on many occasions, flushed down the toilet. Your clothes will be covered with food carrot stains never wash out and snot. Your sleep will be interrupted every night a type of torture favoured in Guantanamo Bay. You will learn to sing songs over and over again until your head splits ... And NEVER expect to be thanked, patted on the back, encouraged, cheered on or praised. You will, however, be criticized, moaned at, shouted at, told you are the worst person in the world, screamed at, screeched at, and have toys thrown at you. Sometimes you may be kicked, thumped and, on a very bad day, even spat at.

Would you apply for this job? What sane person wouldn't run screaming in the opposite direction? And yet that's it, that's a mother's lot. And you know what really bugs me? It's that my husband thinks women are born with a mummy gene. That 'motherhood' comes naturally to us. It's bullshit. We're not born with a special gene or chip or whatever it is well, I certainly wasn't. I literally just stagger through each day trying not to kill my children or myself.

I love my boys. They are brilliant and funny and sweet, but sometimes (quite regularly, if I'm being honest) I want to walk out the door and leave them. Just for a day. I think if I could walk away for twenty-four hours, I'd be OK. I'd find sanity again.

I used to be quite pretty. I had shiny, bouncy, curly hair, big brown eyes and clear skin. I was never thin, but I wasn't chubby. I was just a little curvy, in a good way, in the right places. Now my eyes are smaller, due to lack of sleep; my hair is limp due to lack of care (I have to wash it during my ten-second shower and rarely get time to rinse the shampoo out properly); and I'm curvy in all the wrong places.

I had an argument with my sister today. She's gorgeous and slim and wears amazing clothes and has one perfect daughter. She told me to stop using my kids as an excuse. She said if I wanted to lose weight I just needed to stop talking about it and bloody get on with it. And she's right. But every time I decide to do it, something happens. One of the triplets breaks an arm, or they get chickenpox, or flu, or a chest infection, or expelled from school, or my little guy gets an ear infection, or is up all night teething, or falls out of his cot ... and I'm too tired to exercise that day so I put it off until the next ... and on it goes.

I'm turning forty this year and I keep looking at my life and thinking, Is this where I want to be? Is this how I want my life to continue? Is this how I want to look? Where did I go? Who am I?

11.

Louise.

I'd been really uncomfortable all day in the office. Not big, pregnant, waddly uncomfortable, but sore in my vagina. It hurt to sit down. I felt as if I was sitting on big lumps. I had no idea what was going on. My body was spreading in every direction, but this was obviously something else.

When I got home I had a shower and tried to see what was going on. But it was impossible as my belly was in the way. So after towelling myself dry, I got out my hand mirror and had a proper look.

Aargh.

There were big red lumps everywhere. The whole area was completely swollen. What was it? Were they cancerous? Was it a sign that the baby was coming early? Was my vagina infected? What the hell was going on?

I called Julie.

'Can I call you back?' she asked.

'No! Do not hang up,' I barked.

'OK, hold on ... BOYS, I NEED TO TALK TO LOUISE. PUT THE TV ON AND MAKE SURE TOM DOESN'T SWALLOW ANYTHING DANGEROUS. IF HE STARTS CHOKING COME AND GET ME. OTHERWISE DON'T COME NEAR ME ... I'm listening, Lou, shoot.'

'I have just discovered big lumps all over my vagina. It hurts when I sit down and it's all swollen.'

'Gross.'

'Yes, it bloody is. What is it? Is it normal? Did you get it? Is it pregnancy-related or am I dying?'

'I never got lumps down there and I don't know anyone who did, or certainly no one who admitted to it. Do they look like boils?'

'What does a boil look like?'

'I dunno big and red and throbby, I suppose.'

'No, they're not angry-looking. They're just big and lumpy and disgusting.'

'I bet you Marian would know. I'll call her and ring you back.'

'No you'll get distracted with the kids and call me back in five days' time. Give me her number. I'll conference her in.'

'Cool, can you do that?'

'Yes get her number for me.' Julie read it out and I dialled it.

Marian answered: 'No, I am not interested in getting better rates from some telephone company in Outer Mongolia. Stop fucking ringing me at night-time with your bullshit offers. If you don't take me off your list of people to torment, I will come over there to Delhi or Mumbai, or wherever the hell your call centre is, and poke your eyes out.'

'Marian!' Julie shouted. 'It's me.'

'What number are you ringing me from?' Marian asked.

'It's my sister Louise's. She's got you on conference call from London.'

'God, sorry I thought you were one of those telesales people.'

'Hi, Marian, sorry to bother you, it's Louise here.'

'The genius who got pregnant?'

Julie coughed nervously. Clearly Marian knew a lot more about me than I did about her except her obvious aversion to tele-marketeers.

I wanted to get on with it. 'Julie said you might be able to help. I've just discovered lumps all over my vagina and I don't know what the hell is going on.'

'Jeez, Louise, get to the point, will you?' Marian cackled.

'Sorry I just need to find out what it is and Julie thought you could help.'