It was as though if they were packaged they could speak to her in another language and the pain of the lack of belief in herself and in her work would disperse. She found a new energy. She started working late into the evenings, into the nights. She bought flowers for herself from Tesco sometimes when she was tired after working late. Tulips – often the purple ones that were that perfect mixed shade of bruises and hope.

I could have told her about real problems and fear of failure, of how I found it difficult as a child. How nobody picked me to join any team. Back then I wanted to be a football manager so I could get my own back. Nobody chose me, even though the coach said that I had great strength in my legs. Nobody cared about strength or its greatness. I was strong and nobody cared.

I hid my fear from Jenny. I told her that she wasn’t to give up. I knew that she needed to meet other artists, to share ideas, but I didn’t encourage that. I focused on her personal ambition. My dread of other people getting in the way, of us. I appeared sociable but I was burning up inside whenever we were invited anywhere. I was glad the children were young because they kept Jenny at home.

My fear became gargantuan but I couldn’t let on to Jenny. I continued to talk at her, half-heartedly, and encouraged her to go along to gallery events. I would watch the children, I assured her. I was a puppeteer with an unruly puppet who was getting mixed messages from its keeper, go out and mingle, no, stay here, stay with us. I wanted Jenny to be successful, I wanted her name out there, truly I did, but I held the strings. And I felt tired and I didn’t like all the work that Jenny had to do in order to achieve her ambition. I was using up my energy encouraging her and at the same time making her feel guilty for leaving us to our own devices. I was cooking all the time – Chicken Kiev for the boys and vegetarian dishes for Maeve.

And all the time I was suffering. I was trying to cover up my own disappointment, not getting anywhere with my artistic ambition. I was selling life assurance. I was tired, more often than somebody should be for their age. I would fall asleep on Saturday afternoons and when I woke up I would have a taste in my mouth that was at once sweet and bitter. People often say that you feel better after a power nap – twenty minutes or so. I didn’t feel any better, I felt terrible, despite the fact that there was nothing physically wrong with me.