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started a French au pair. She was dying for her to meet new friends, and she invited myself, Samira and John over to her house the following afternoon for tea.
    Samira didn’t show much interest in the idea and simply shrugged when I told her where we were going. “Sheelagh’s au pair, Claudine, is eighteen too, and she’s from France,” I told her, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.
    Samira just shrugged. “Oh.”
    I pretended not to notice her complete lack of interest and continued talking. “So, anyway, Sheelagh’s little girl is nine months old and she lives nearby. I’m thinking it would be lovely for you and Claudine to take the prams along the seafront together if the weather is nice.”
    “Yeah, okay,” she said, examining her nails with a look of boredom on her face.
    I felt like giving her a shake. She just wasn’t showing any enthusiasm. I hoped things would get better when we got around to Sheelagh’s. I found directions to her house on Google maps. It was a nice terraced house that had been newly painted and carpeted. Sheelagh was a short, lovely bubbly woman of around thirty-eight years of age with a big welcoming smile on her face. She gave myself and Samira a hug and then cooed over John, telling me what a gorgeous, bonny baby he was. I was surprised to hear her Scottish accent as I had just presumed she was Irish.
    “No, I’m from Aberdeen and I’ve been living here four years now,” she laughed.
    “Your house is really cute, like something straight out of an interiors magazine.” I looked around in appreciation.
    “Thank you!”
    “Where’s your baby?” I then said. “Is she asleep?”
    “Yeah, Lisa’s asleep at the moment and Claudine has gone out for a jog. She loves running by the sea as she is from inland France. Living by the sea is a huge treat for her. She tells me it’s like being on holiday all the time.”
    I couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit envious of Sheelagh with her sprightly au pair. It would be lovely to have somebody positive looking after your child. I was already becoming tired of Samira’s permanently gloomy face.
    We sat down in Sheelagh’s homely kitchen as she made us tea and produced a homemade carrot cake. I was very impressed. “ Mmm m . I’ll have to get the recipe for this cake from you,” I said after taking a mouthful and savouring it. “This is truly delicious. You could give that one Nigella Lawson a run for her money!”
    Beside me, Samira slowly ate her slice of cake but didn’t make any comment about it.
    “I used to be a full-time pastry chef before I moved to Ireland,” Sheelagh told me. “Now I work four days a week part-time in a café in Dún Laoghaire. I bake scones and cakes in the back kitchen and the café sells them to the lunchtime crowd. They’re quite popular even though I say so myself!”
    “You know, you should really think about selling these to a few places. You could make a fortune.”
    Sheelagh gave a little smile. “I might do that. People have said before that I should start my own business, but I’ve never really had the confidence and then . . . well, with my separation and everything . . .”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were separated.”
    A flicker of hurt seemed to flash across her face. Just for a split second. I hoped I wasn’t making her feel uncomfortable. After all, I’d only just met the woman fifteen minutes ago. We were interrupted by somebody coming through the door. It was obviously Claudine. She rushed over to me and shook my hand. Then she shook Samira’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she said, brimming with goodwill. She was a little out of breath from her run and her cheeks were slightly rosy. She was tall and slender with glossy hair tied back in a high ponytail and looked the picture of good health.
    “Have some cake,” Sheelagh offered.
    “Thank you, but maybe later,” Claudine answered sweetly. She went to the sink and poured herself a