I booked her for a marketing campaign at a new DIY shop that was opening in Dublin. It was a very successful UK firm that wanted to expand into Ireland. Their PR guy, who was very pushy, said they wanted Avril because she had a profile people knew who she was. For the campaign, they wanted her to dress up in a boiler suit with oil on her face and hands. They didn't want anything overtly sexy because it was a mum-and-dad store.

'I'm not dressing up in some baggy boiler suit,' she snapped, when I told her. 'I don't starve myself for my body to be hidden under guys' clothes with oil on my face.'

I took a deep breath. 'It's a big UK company that's planning to open up lots of stores here, if this one is successful. They're paying top rate for you. Don't blow it.'

She flicked back her long wavy bleached hair. 'Tell them I'll wear short, tight dungarees and a push-up bra and stand beside a hunky guy in a boiler suit that way I look hot and they'll still get the whole DIY message.'

'Avril, they've been very specific about what they want. If you won't do it, I'll get someone else.'

'Fine. Get me something decent. I like doing club openings find me one of those.'

'After your last performance, the phone hasn't exactly been ringing off the hook,' I reminded her.

'They got loads of publicity.'

'Bad publicity of you falling out of their club.'

She frowned. 'You're new here and you obviously haven't a clue how this works. If you knew anything about this business, you'd understand that there's no such thing as bad publicity.'

I leant across the desk. 'Avril, I was Quentin's number-one model for almost ten years. I know exactly how this works. Bad publicity will destroy your career.'

'Maybe back in your day, but in the modern world, all publicity is good. Look at Kate Moss, for God's sake. She got loads of amazing contracts after those pictures of her snorting cocaine came out.'

Sadly, she had a point. Bad publicity did seem to work for some people. Depending on how you handled it, it could enhance your career. What kind of a world was my daughter growing up in? There was no way in hell Jess was ever going to model. Now it was all about celebrity and notoriety and less about hard work, beauty and charisma.

Avril was only twenty-one. She thought she knew it all. She thought she was so street-smart and sassy, but she was clueless. I felt sorry for her because she wouldn't last a year if she didn't change her attitude. Ireland was a village. Everyone was cutting their budgets and people promoting their businesses wouldn't consider an unprofessional model. 'Listen to me, Avril. We live in a very small country and people are not going to book someone who turns up late, gets drunk or refuses to wear what they're asked to. You're a gorgeous-looking girl with a potentially great career ahead of you. Don't blow it with a bad attitude. Take my advice. The more professional you are, the more in demand you'll be and the more money you'll make.'

She reapplied her lip-gloss. 'Look, Sophie, I have a mother. I don't need your advice. I know exactly what I'm doing. Maybe, like, forty years ago when you were a model everyone was a tee-totaller and a virgin, but nowadays women can vote and it's not considered a sin to have fun. I didn't get into modelling to have crappy photos of me wearing overalls. Call me when something decent comes in.' She flounced out of the office in her micro-mini and wedge platforms.

I somehow resisted the urge to follow her out and slap her arrogant face. I called the PR guy and said Avril wasn't available, and suggested Fiona, one of our other models who looked like Avril but was sweet and eager to please. I knew she'd wear anything they wanted and would be a pleasure to work with.

'No,' he said. 'We want the saucy one who's always in the papers. We can change the date to suit her.'

I then had to explain, as tactfully as I could, that Avril wasn't keen on wearing a boiler suit and wanted to wear dungarees.

'She's right,' he said. 'She should get her tits out. OK, find me a male model with big muscles and we'll run with Avril's idea. I'll sell it to my boss. Let's face it, it's mostly men who go to DIY shops and we blokes like a sexy bird.'

I hung up and sighed. For the first time in my life I felt old. I, who had prided myself on looking ten years younger and always considered myself to be young at heart and 'cool' for my age, was completely out of touch with the modern world.

Things at home weren't good. Jack and I were still fighting a lot, although I have to confess he was great with Jess. At first he seemed at a loss as to what to do with her, but Jess told him which parks she liked, what programmes she watched and which food she ate, and he began to find a rhythm. I came home one day to find them cooking pancakes together there was flour everywhere. I didn't like Jess eating pancakes because they were full of butter, but she was blissfully happy so I bit my tongue and even ate one myself.

Jack took her to the zoo, played football with her and was trying to teach her how to cycle without stabilizers. He now knew the words to all of her favourite songs from The Princess and the Frog. He knew what stories she liked, that her favourite colours were pink, purple, red and yellow, and that she was afraid of spiders and snails. He found out that she could colour really well, hardly ever going outside the lines. He could tell that she was tired and needed to go home when she started twirling her hair. He knew she liked to go to sleep with her princess lamp on. He was even able to put her hair into a ponytail without causing her too much pain.

Sometimes when I came home from work in those first few weeks I felt jealous. I was envious of the time they were spending together, of them having fun together while I worked. I missed being with my daughter. I only saw her in the evenings when she was tired and at her worst.

But the biggest problem was Jack spending my money. He asked for money to meet up with old colleagues or potential employers or just to 'network'. I resented giving him my hard-earned cash to go drinking or out to dinner while I stayed at home and ate porridge. Things came to a head when he told me he needed my credit card because he was going to dinner at Le Manoir with one of his UK contacts.

'No way,' I said. 'It's the most expensive restaurant in Dublin. We can't afford it.'

'Jesus, Sophie, it's important. This guy is looking to set up a fund here and wants to discuss it with me.'

'You said the same thing last week. Nothing came of it and you spent thirty quid on drinks. Le Manoir will cost a fortune.'

'He's the best shot I've had at getting a job.'

'So let him pay for the meal.'

'He probably will, but I can't get caught out. I have to be able to offer to pay. I don't want to look like I'm desperate. I'm trying to give an impression of confidence and self-assurance. I can't do that if I'm sweating about the bill all night.'

'Why can't you go for a drink instead?'

'Because he asked me to book a table there. He heard the food was fantastic.'

'But if you end up paying for dinner, it'll cost a week's wages. We have bills to pay.'

'I'm aware of that. I paid all of our bills for years, remember?'

'Well, you haven't contributed anything for months and if this guy wants to hire you, if he's really interested in you, he can meet you for coffee. Wining and dining in fine restaurants is not on and I'm not funding it.'

Jack's face reddened. 'I never begrudged you anything,' he snapped. 'While I was working fourteen-hour days, killing myself so you could have everything you wanted the big house, the clothes, the jewels and the shoes I never complained. You spent the money as fast as I made it. And when you wanted a forty-thousand-euro kitchen, I said, "OK, honey," and worked harder. I gave you everything and now that I need a little help you're saying no.'

'We don't have the money,' I reminded him. 'You lost it all, remember? And I gave up work to be the perfect wife for you because Jack Wells wanted his wife on call. He wanted his wife to look good, smell good, dress well, be skinny, beautiful, manicured, pedicured, waxed, buffed, groomed, shiny, bright, happy, available for sex and to accompany him on work trips whenever he needed her.'

'Oh, boo-hoo. Poor Sophie had to look pretty for her husband. What a chore that must have been, shopping and getting your nails done regularly. And can you please stop blaming me for my company going bust? I feel shit enough as it is. I don't need you constantly making me feel worse. Give me a break. Be a supportive wife for a change.'

'You selfish bastard!' I screamed, all of my pent-up anger bubbling to the surface. 'Because of you needing me to be perfect after Jess was born, and getting impatient and grumpy when I wasn't back to myself a week after giving birth, I had to take Prozac for a year. Yes, Jack, because of you and your expectations of perfection I ended up on anti-depressants. And now we're homeless and you want me to tell you how great you are?'

Jack stared at me, open-mouthed. 'What the hell are you talking about? Anti-depressants? I don't '

'Don't understand? Of course you don't. You were far too busy conquering the world to notice that I was having a meltdown after Jess was born. You didn't like me crying and looking wrecked with leaky boobs. You made that very clear.'

'I never said a word to you.'

'You didn't have to. Your disapproval was written all over your face. You liked your life the way it had been and you didn't want our baby to change anything. Well, guess what, Jack, babies change everything. I was so low I could barely get out of bed, but you arranged for us to go to a black-tie ball a few weeks after Jess was born and I was expected to fit into my dress and look amazing. I never wanted to end up on Prozac, but I had no choice. I wasn't allowed to work through my blues. You didn't support me or help me. You just presumed I'd get on with it and get back to normal. So I did.'

Jack was shocked. 'Jesus, Sophie, why didn't you say something?'

'Why didn't you ever ask me how I felt?'

'Because you seemed fine.'

'Exactly.'

'Oh, for God's sake, I'm not a mind-reader. You should have told me.'

'I was too depressed!' I shouted. 'And you should have noticed, but you didn't want to know.'

'You're not so great at being supportive yourself. Do you ever ask me how I feel? Have you once asked me if I'm OK? Shattered? Devastated? Is my confidence trashed? Do I feel like I've let down everyone I love? Am I depressed? Do I find it hard to get out of bed in the morning?'

'Gee, I'm sorry, Jack, but there isn't much time in my day to fit that in I'm working full-time to make money to keep a roof over our heads and in my "spare" time I'm trying to make sure our daughter is OK now that everything in her life's been turned upside-down.'

'Jess is fine. She's a very happy girl. She has her mum and her dad and that's all kids need to feel secure. The rest is just material stuff. I think when we get sorted and I'm working again we should really focus on having another child. Jess told me she'd love a baby sister.'

'I don't think so,' I said.

'Maybe we should see someone to check that nothing's wrong. It's been three years and you haven't got pregnant.'

I threw my head back and laughed. 'And why do you think that is, you idiot? Why do you think we haven't had a child?'

He looked at me, confused.

'Because I never came off the pill, Jack. Do you honestly think I'd dream of having another child with a man who refuses to understand that babies change your life that they don't fit into your schedule? Or who doesn't understand that a woman should be allowed to breast-feed for as long as she wants without her husband staring in disgust at her boobs? Or who doesn't see that some days his wife might be too tired to get dressed and shouldn't have to face reproving looks from him when he comes home from work? A husband who doesn't understand that his wife might not want to leave her kid every time he wants her to accompany him on a work trip or go to black-tie balls just after she's had a baby, or have sex for months after giving birth because it hurts? There's no way I'm going to have another baby because I know I'd end up getting depressed, that the pressure from you would be too much and I'd end up back on Prozac.'

Jack sank down into the couch. 'Why didn't you talk to me? All this time I thought we were trying for a baby and you were lying to me. Why didn't you just tell me? I had no idea you felt this way. I'd no idea you were so bad after Jess. I never meant to make you feel pressured. I just thought we should try to get our lives back to normal and not turn into one of those couples who live only for their children and forget about each other. I wanted to put our relationship before our kids. You were always my number-one priority and Jess was a very close second. I didn't mean to pressure you and the only reason I booked that ball was so that you could get out of the house and have some fun. I thought you seemed down in the dumps and needed a night out. You loved getting dressed up and going to balls. I thought I was doing something nice for you, cheering you up. Obviously I got it all wrong. I'm sorry, I really had no idea.' He put his head in his hands and looked like he was going to cry.

I sat down opposite him. Suddenly my anger was gone, leaving me feeling tired and lonely. 'It's OK. I should have told you, but I was ashamed that I couldn't handle motherhood and be a good wife. It should have been straightforward, especially as I had Mimi to help, but when I had Jess I found it hard to cope and eventually I realized I was depressed and needed help.' I sighed and looked down at my hands. 'Anyway, it's all in the past now.'

'But what about having other children? I don't want Jess to be an only child. I promise I'll be more supportive this time.'

I looked out of the window. 'Jack, I'm just about managing to muddle through the day at the moment. I can't even think about getting pregnant. Maybe in a year's time, if everything is calm and sorted out, I'll consider it, but I'm not sure. I have a lot to figure out and I can't make any big decisions now. All I want from you is that you get a job so we can rent a house and give Louise back her apartment.'

'I will, Sophie. I'm very good at what I do. I made millions for the fund. We'll be back on our feet soon and you can give up work, get back to having a nice lifestyle, meet up with your old pals.'

I snorted. 'Old pals? Those shallow bitches have barely bothered to get in touch. We're out, Jack. We're no longer welcome in the jet-set. We're losers, has-beens. Anyway, I don't think I'll ever give up work again. I want my own life, my own money, the security of knowing that if something goes wrong again, we won't lose our home.'

'I always thought Victoria was an awful pain in the arse, to be honest. She was so self-obsessed. To hell with them all. We'll make new friends, real friends. And I promise I'll never lose my job again.'

'You can't promise that, Jack. Your job is up and down, highs and lows, people get laid off all the time, funds collapse all the time. I understand that now, so I want to be able to help. I don't think all of the pressure to earn and support us should be on your shoulders. Besides, I was getting bored with my life and I like working. I like feeling that I'm doing something worthwhile. I do miss spending time with Jess, but if you get a job maybe I could work part-time. I want Jess to see the world as it is. I've been really stupid and filled her head with nonsense about money and diamonds. I want her to be realistic and understand that money doesn't grow on trees and that you have to work hard to make a life for yourself. I want her to go to college and have a good career.'

Jack held up his hands. 'Hang on a minute. I don't want her to think that success is all about intellectual ability. I want her to know that you can be successful in lots of ways not just by going to college and getting a degree. I don't want her to feel stupid, like I did, if she doesn't get into university to study medicine or learn to play chess or the violin. I want her to choose a career that makes her happy. I love my job thank God I didn't go into medicine because I'd have been a terrible doctor. I just want Jess to know she has choices.'

'Well, neither of her parents is an intellectual genius. With our DNA, chances are she won't be a rocket scientist.' I smiled.

'She might have my brother Roger's brains.'

'Or Louise's.'

'So she could be a rocket scientist.'

'Or a neurosurgeon.'

We laughed ... It had been months since we had spoken to each other civilly, not to mind laugh. It felt strange.

Jack looked at his watch. 'Shoot! I need to go. I'm meeting Harvey in twenty minutes. Look, I know it's hard for you to give me money for all this networking, but I promise it'll be worth it. I'll do my very best not to pay for anything, but I really do think something could come out of this dinner.'

I fished out my credit card and handed it to him. 'I hope so, Jack. I really do.'

37.

Julie.

Marian said she'd take the triplets for the two days I was in Paris, which was incredibly generous of her. I asked Mum to look after Tom, but when I told her to say nothing about it to Harry she got a bit suspicious. So I told her that he was going on a work trip and I was going to surprise him by joining him over there. She said she thought it was an excellent idea, and that I looked in desperate need of a break.

I had got hold of Harry's laptop and found the email where he told Christelle the details of his trip. He was staying in Hotel Jean Baptiste, rue Everett, and his Metro stop was St-Michel. Christelle told him to meet her at eight o'clock in the Cafe Le Petit Pont.

Marian and I Googled the hotel on her computer.

'Two-star it looks like a dump,' Marian said.

'Well, he can't afford anything else. We had to cancel my birthday trip to Paris, but now he's going over to see his mistress. It's the ultimate insult.' I sobbed.

'Julie, you've got to stop crying. Your eyes are going to fall out of your head. Seriously, if you stopped bawling and put some makeup on, Harry'd be gobsmacked. You've lost stones and your shorter hair takes ten years off you. I want you to look your absolute best when you confront the bastard. I'm going to lend you my skinny clothes. I only kept really good stuff after I had the kids because, realistically, I knew I'd never fit into it again, but now you've been on the misery diet, you'll get into them. At least one good thing came out of this. You got your figure back.'

'I wish I was twenty stone and happily married,' I wailed.

'OK, stop with the waterworks I don't want to drown. Come on, try some of these clothes on. I was a fucking knock-out in my early thirties.'

I wriggled into a red halter-neck dress. It was size twelve and it was even a little big.

'You cow! It's stunning on you. With some makeup and heels, you'll drive the French men wild. Now what about this?' She handed me a slinky black sequin dress with a very low back.

I tried it on. It fitted perfectly. I was so shocked by my figure that I actually stopped crying for five minutes. It looked really good on me.

'Jesus, you're a super-model.' Marian whistled.

Liam came into her bedroom. 'OUT!' Marian roared. 'No small people allowed upstairs.'

'I just want to ask Mummy something,' he said. Then, he stopped, open-mouthed. 'Mummy, you look weird.'

'Good weird or scary weird?' I asked.

'Just weird.'

'Do you like the dress?'

'I dunno, it's a bit shiny. But your eyes are funny. Are you still sad about your friend who died?'

Marian looked at me quizzically.

'The boys were wondering why I was crying a lot, so I told them about my friend who died,' I explained.

'Oh, yes, that was so sad. Your poor mummy's been very upset.'