Jess's eyes filled. 'But you're not their mummy, you're my mummy. I need you to look after me.'

I held her face in my hands. 'Jess, I will always be your mummy and you will always be the most important person in my life. I love you more than anything in this world and I'm always going to look after you, I promise. Now I have to go.' I kissed her and walked out of the door before I burst into tears and ruined my makeup.

I paused outside the front door of Beauty Spot. This was the agency that had launched my career, the agency that had represented me for fourteen years. It felt very strange walking in, although the decor hadn't changed much. The office was on the first floor of an old Georgian building in the centre of Dublin. It was actually only a five-minute walk from Louise's apartment.

The carpet had been updated from a dark blue to a dark green, but that was all. The reception area was still bright, with two comfy couches and a coffee-table laden with fashion magazines. Photos of the agency's better-known models covered the walls. My picture was still up there a black-and-white photo taken when I was twenty. I was wearing a bikini and a big straw hat. I looked gorgeous young, happy, carefree, wrinkle-free, stress-free, debt-free ...

The receptionist was new. She asked me to have a seat while I waited for Quentin. I flicked through the magazines on the coffee-table. Usually I would have stopped every time I saw something I liked and noted it on a piece of paper. Now I just kept flicking, looking but not seeing.

Quentin came out, wearing red trousers, a blue-and-red striped shirt and a lemon jacket somehow he got away with it. He hugged me. 'Darling Sophie, you look wonderful. Come on in.'

He led me into his office, which was completely minimalist except for a large colour photo of his current pug. Quentin was obsessed with pugs whenever one died, he immediately replaced it.

'New dog?' I asked.

'Yes. I called her Stella.'

'What happened to Coco?'

'Oh, honey, she died a million years ago. Since then I've had Dior, who choked on a chicken bone very traumatic, I didn't get out of bed for three weeks after it and Galliano, who got run over.'

'Sorry for your loss,' I said, sitting down.

'Not as sorry as I am for yours. Is it all gone, darling? Everything?'

I nodded. 'Every last penny.'

'It's a travesty, and you were so well suited to the good life. When you met Jack, I knew he was perfect. Handsome, confident, successful, and he adored you. It's a nightmare for you, but you'll bounce back. I always said you were one of the hardest-working girls I ever had on my books.'

I willed myself not to break down. 'Thanks, Quentin, it's been a shitty few months, but I need to start looking forward, not back.'

'How right you are. That's what my therapist kept saying after Dior passed away. Now, as I told you on the phone, I've already hired a booker to replace Jill. She's not amazing, but she's a lot better than the first two I found. I think what we'll do is get you to work with her. You can be like an assistant to her and then when you get up to speed you can start booking the girls directly.'

'That would be brilliant. When can I start?'

He clapped his hands, like a little child. 'Eager! That's the way I like it. You can start on Monday. We'll say ten till four for the first two months, until you're trained up, and then you can go nine to five. But, Sophie, I have to warn you, I can't pay you much starting out. Our bookings are still down twenty per cent. After tax you'll only be taking home sixteen hundred a month. But as soon as you start booking the girls yourself, you'll be on commission so it'll go up considerably.'

I stood up and grasped his hands. 'That's fine. I'll take it. Thank you, Quentin. I promise I'll do my very best for you.'

He kissed my cheek. 'I know you will. It's good to have you back.'

I left the agency on a high. I had a job! I had managed to get myself employed after six years out of the workplace. I was thrilled. I went for a celebratory cup of tea coffee was too expensive in a cafe around the corner and dug out a pen and paper. I began to break down my earnings. We'd been living rent free in Louise's flat but I was determined to give her something as soon as I got paid. She had admitted that nine hundred a month would cover her mortgage. That left seven hundred for petrol, insurance, tax, phone bills, electricity, heating and food. Last month all of our bills and sundries had come to almost six hundred euros. That left a hundred for extras.

I shook my head. Two months ago I would have spent a hundred euros on a T-shirt that I would have put into my wardrobe and probably never worn.

When I got home there was a note from Jack saying he had taken Jess to the park. I called his mobile. 'I got the job!'

'Brilliant. Well done. How much are you on?'

'Sixteen hundred.'

'Oh.'

'It's all he can afford right now.'

'Did you ask for more? Did you try to negotiate?'

'No, I bloody didn't. He's doing me a huge favour, Jack. No one else would hire me. I haven't worked for six years. I'm an ex-model, not a neurosurgeon.'

'OK, OK. I just thought it would be more, that's all.'

'Well, at least one of us will be earning and I'll be on commission soon so it'll go up. I start on Monday, so you're going to be looking after Jess full-time from then.'

'I can't! I need time to look for jobs.'

'You can do that while she's playing with her dolls or colouring.'

'I'm not going to call people while my daughter is singing beside me or asking me questions. It doesn't look very professional.'

'So put a movie on for her and call them from the bedroom.'

'It's not a solution, Sophie. I need a couple of free days a week to focus on finding a job.'

'I'm going to be working full-time and there isn't any money for childcare so you're just going to have to multitask. Women do it all the time.'

'Don't start with that feminist crap.'

'It's not crap, it's true.'

'Daddy!' Jess called.

'Hold on,' Jack said to her. 'I'm talking to Mummy.'

'Mummy,' my daughter came on the phone, 'did you get the job?'

'Yes, sweetie, I did.'

Jess burst into tears.

'It's OK I'll still see you all the time and Daddy's going to look after you while I'm working.'

'Everything's different and I hate it. I want it to be the same again. I want to go back to our house and see my friends.'

'I'm sorry, pet. I know it's been hard for you, but sometimes change can be good. It's all going to be OK. No more crying. I'm going to make chocolate Rice Krispies cakes to celebrate my new job.'

'Really? Will you? I thought I wasn't allowed to eat them because they're bad for my teeth and my skin.'

'Well, today you can. You can help me make them and you can lick the chocolate off the spoon.'

'Oh, Mummy, I can't wait.' She squealed with delight.

Later that night, when Jess was asleep and Jack had gone out to meet some old colleagues for a drink to talk about possible jobs, Julie called.

'Hi! Sorry I didn't ring earlier. How did you get on today?'

'I got the job. I start on Monday,' I said, feeling proud of myself. It was a strange sensation, one I hadn't felt in a long time. I had been happy with my life and the way I looked, but I hadn't felt real pride in myself for achieving something in ages. It felt good.

'Well done! That's bloody brilliant. Good for you.'

'I can't believe it, really, me going back to work.'

'I hope you're celebrating with a glass of wine.'

'Unfortunately not. Jack took our last twenty quid to go and meet some guy about a job, so I'm sitting here with a cup of tea.'

'Sod that. I'll call around with a bottle.'

'Brilliant.'

Julie arrived twenty minutes later with two bottles of wine. We opened one and toasted my new job. Before I had taken my first sip, Julie had downed her whole glass.

'Thirsty?'

'Long day.'

'Triplets acting up?'

'Um, yeah,' she said, pouring herself another glass.

I suddenly noticed how thin she looked. 'Julie, have you lost weight?'

'Yeah, a stone.'

'Wow, that's great well done. You must be pleased.'

'I should be I should be over the moon. I should be thrilled. I've wanted to shift a stone for years, but now that I have, I feel nothing. I hadn't even noticed until I realized that my clothes were suddenly really baggy on me.'

Julie knocked back her second glass of wine. I looked at her properly I'd been so wrapped up in my own situation that I'd barely registered other people. She was thinner and also very tired, really black around the eyes, much more so than normal. 'Julie, is everything OK?'

She began to cry.

'Julie, what is it? Is it the kids?'

'No,' she wailed.

'Is it Harry? Did he lose his job? Oh, no here's me banging on about Jack's job and everyone running to help me and Harry's lost his too. I'm so sorry, Julie. I've been so selfish, going on about my situation and there's you in a similar predicament. Look, we'll all pitch in. We'll work something out.'

'It's not his bloody job. I wish it was. I really, really wish he was unemployed. It's not that.'

'Well, what else could NO!'

'Yes.'

'No way not Harry.'

'Yes, Harry.'

'Who?'

'French bitch.'

'When?'

'Started when we went over to London for Clara's birth,' she sobbed.

'How did you '

'Text.'

'Harry?'

'Yes.'

'But he's not the type. He loves you and the kids.'

'Apparently he loves Christelle more!'

'Are you absolutely sure?'

'Positive.'

'Hold on, start from the beginning. Tell me everything ...'

34.

Julie.

I shouldn't have drunk the bloody wine. It was like a truth serum. The words tumbled out of my mouth like a waterfall. I hadn't planned on telling Sophie. I had genuinely called over to celebrate her job. I was really impressed that she had got one so soon. Maybe there was hope for me. Maybe I could get a job and support my family when Harry left us for that French whore.

When Sophie asked me how I was, I wanted to say, 'Fine,' but I just couldn't. The word refused to come out of my mouth. How could I say that when I was living in hell?

The last few weeks had been a nightmare. You'd think when you find out your husband is cheating on you that you'd confront him immediately. But I hadn't. When he'd come home that night, I'd opened my mouth and nothing had come out. I'd panicked and ended up acting as if nothing had happened. And the really weird part was that it hadn't been that difficult to hide my devastation. Harry and I never talked any more. We never looked at each other. We muttered to one another about the kids, the bills, and that was pretty much it. He hid in the TV room with his phone and his laptop, pretending to work on his project, and I stayed in the kitchen reading.