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decent nurse.
    ‘I can't lose a tooth,’ Jasmine wailed. She was clearly not going to take this lying down. ‘What about my contract?’
    ‘I'm very sorry,’ he said. ‘But the tooth has got to come out. I'll make you a bridging unit, which I'll attach to the adjacent teeth. No one will ever know the difference.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ Jasmine eyed him suspiciously. ‘What if someone finds out?’
    ‘No one will find out,’ said Mark. ‘Your records are completely confidential.’
    ‘You sure about that?’ the Rottweiler jumped in, looking uncertain.
    ‘Yes,’ said Mark. ‘Now, I have to do something about this tooth. I can't leave it like this.’
    Eventually, Jasmine agreed. Luckily, the tooth came out relatively easily, and Mark took some impressions for her crown.
    ‘What if someone sees the gap?’ Jasmine demanded as she got down from the chair.
    ‘It's pretty unlikely,’ said Mark, ‘it's a back tooth, no one is likely to be looking. You could always try not to get photographed for a bit.’
    Which was as unlikely as him getting back with Sam, he realised. Jasmine was always splashed over one tabloid or another.
    ‘You'd better be right,’ Jasmine said, ‘or there will be trouble.’
    ‘I'll bear it in mind,’ Mark replied, before showing Jasmine and Kayla out to the desk, where Kerry was chatting animatedly to Tony, Jasmine's third-division footballer boyfriend. Jasmine shot Kerry a dirty look, clicked her fingers at Tony, and swept out imperiously, leaving Kayla to pay. Mark made a mental note to remind Kerry that it wasn't done to flirt with the clientele, before calling his next patient.
    Great. It was Mrs O'Leary, or Granny O'Leary as the girls had christened her: an ancient crone and toothless wonder who steadfastly clung to the ill-fitting dentures that her original butcher of a dentist had given her eons ago.
    Mark reflected that he must have done something
really
bad in a previous life to deserve Jasmine and Granny O'Leary on the same day. But he couldn't for the life of him think what.

Chapter Three
     
    ‘You're late,’ Katie said as Charlie came through the door. She didn't mean to sound accusing, but she was worn down by a hard day coping with the kids. The boys had been really naughty at bedtime and Molly had only just gone to sleep. The kitchen was still in chaos from tea, and she hadn't even managed to get into the lounge yet to tidy up. She could feel all her good intentions to rekindle their spark leaching out of her. Her plan to cook a candlelit dinner had gone completely to pot.
    ‘What's for tea?’ Charlie asked, ignoring her. She
hated
it when he did that.
    ‘Beans on toast.’ Katie felt wrong-footed.
    ‘You used to love cooking. You'd always have dinner ready for me,’ said Charlie.
    ‘Well, that was before we had Molly,’ snapped Katie.
    Katie would be the first to admit she was a control freak extraordinaire who wanted everything to be so perfect she made Anthea Turner look positively sluttish. She was the sort of woman who rose at six to clean out her kitchen cupboards, or iron and fold laundry. Charlie always teased her that her favourite room in the house was the large walk-in airing cupboard on the landing, where sheets, pillow cases, towels and blankets all sat neatly side by side in carefully orchestrated rows. White single sheets next to white doubles, coloured singles next to coloured doubles. Everything in its place, and everything easy to find.
    It always smelled fresh and wholesome, and Katie would never admit to anyone the illicit pleasure she felt in running her hand over the smooth surfaces of freshly ironed sheets. But it was hard work maintaining such high standards with children in the house, although, by and large, till Molly had come along she had managed. Of late, Katie could feel those standards slipping. She had been so desperate for a third baby, despite Charlie's reservations. Now there were days when even she wondered why.
    Charlie had