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poisoning her. Fear had been her constant companion. Was she feeding her enough or too much? Had she a temperature and was she ailing, or was she just hot? Were yellow poos normal? Was the rash on her scalp normal? It had been totally nerve-wracking and she had been on edge until Melissa was well into toddlerhood. She’d tried not to compare herself to other mothers who seemed to cope so efficiently and without worrying. All Aimee had wanted to do was to get back to work, keep her head down and let the crèche deal with all the problems.
    For the first time in her life, Aimee realized how good it would be to have someone she could talk with about her dilemma. Now was the time when a friend would be someone to lean on and confide in. And the one person she knew she could have done that with and not been judged or criticized would have been Gwen Larkin, one of her oldest friends. Unfortunately, they’d had a fairly nasty falling-out the day of Debbie’s wedding.
    Aimee chewed the inside of her lip. Gwen was right to be annoyed with her, she admitted grudgingly. Aimee had treated her badly, pretending she hardly knew her so she wouldn’t have to introduce her to Roger O’Leary, but she had looked a sight, with her hair falling out of the comb at the back of her head and her wearing a wrinkled jacket and shabby jeans. And her two kids squabbling. Aimee had been in full career-woman mode that day, dressed to the nines and in killer heels, for the wedding. Her affluent and well-connected client would have had good cause to wonder what sort of set Aimee mixed with had she introduced him to Gwen. Aimee had said hello, and said she’d ring some time. Gwen wasn’t a fool, she must have known Roger was a client and that Aimee was talking business with him.
    Her friend really had taken the hump. There was no need for her to have turned on her the way she did, and in front of Connie and Debbie, even if she did feel hard done by. Aimee’s cheeks burned at the memory. It had been mortifying. Gwen had been like a little fishwife, practically screeching with temper and accusing her of all kinds of things.
    Aimee straightened her shoulders and strode down to the lounge. She didn’t need Gwen, or Barry, or anyone. She could deal with her problem herself. And deal with it she would, once this meeting with Roger and his colleagues was over.

M ELISSA
    ‘Oh crap! Quick, it’s Nerdy Nolan. Go into the bookshop,’ Melissa Adams urged her friend Sarah as they dawdled along, taking a short cut through the shopping centre on their way to McDonald’s.
    They hastened through the entrance of Dubray bookshop, hoping against hope that their classmate hadn’t seen them. They couldn’t stand Evanna Nolan, one of the class swots, who looked down her pointy, pimply nose at them. She was a gangly beanpole with straight, greasy black hair who liked to think of herself as an intellectual, and Melissa and Sarah had been the victim of several of her acerbic put-downs in the past but, since she’d had a row with her best friend and fellow swot, Niamh Sampson, in a school debate discussing the literary merit of Jane Austen, she wasn’t quite so superior and had, in fact, on the few occasions they’d bumped into her around Dun Laoghaire, been cloyingly saccharine, which was most disconcerting.
    ‘Do you think that she thinks we’re nerdy enough to be friends with her now that she and Turdy Sampson have had a row and she’s got no one to hang with?’ Sarah agonized as they hastened behind a book stack, hoping against hope that Evanna would keep going.
    ‘Bloody hell, how majorly gross is that? You can’t be serious!’ Melissa exclaimed, aghast. It would be social suicide to be associated with Nerdy Nolan and her set. Keeping in with the cool crowd in their class was of the utmost importance if their school days were not to become a worse nightmare than they already were.
    Melissa sighed deeply. It was so hard having to put on a bright, bubbly,