Jack has picked me up when I was on my knees with worry over Matthew, he has spurred me on when my confidence was on the floor, he knows from how my voice sounds if I’m worried about something or when I need one of his manly hugs. He knows I love spring more than summer, that I prefer dark chocolate to milk, that I take two sugars in my tea at certain times of the month but don’t bother with it the rest of the time. Jack knows me inside out. Tom has only seen me at my best, whereas Jack has seen me at my worst and he loves me even more for it.

Would I give up what I have with Jack for a stab-in-the-dark chance of another me? No, I wouldn’t. I’ve turned a corner at long last.

‘Happy birthday, gorgeous!’

It’s the most beautiful Saturday afternoon in late March, the streets are lined with fluffy pink cherry blossoms and I’m celebrating my twenty-ninth birthday and the beginning of my thirtieth year on this planet with a glass of Prosecco, a picnic lunch of exquisite bites, including black-bean crunch wraps and stuffed focaccia, in Phoenix Park. It has all been prepared and arranged by Sophie, who is sitting with me watching the world go by.

‘Is turning thirty as scary as it sounds?’ I ask her, feeling the bubbles from the drink in my hand making me merry already. The sun is shining, Sophie’s dogs Milo and Jess are running around enjoying the freedom of the open space and I turn my face up to the sky to catch some rays.

‘It definitely raises some questions,’ says Sophie in her clipped Dublin accent, which is so different to my own more rounded, country twang. ‘I know that when I turned thirty, even though Harry and I were just married, was when my mother stepped up her game in wanting me to push out a set of triplets in a puff of smoke, but I still don’t feel ready for motherhood. Do you?’

I take a sip of my Prosecco and contemplate the question.

‘It has crossed my mind, yes, especially when my days are filled with children and mothers with babies at the school gates,’ I admit, ‘but to be fair, I can’t say that Mam expects anything from me just yet. She understands that Jack and I are still in early days.’

I hasten to add that my mother and Sophie’s are like chalk and cheese in every way possible, plus I adore my mother. Sophie hates hers.

‘And your sister?’ she asks. ‘Doesn’t she feel the pinch now she’s married or is that a really personal question? Gosh, my mother will have a fit if I don’t give her a grandchild to show off sometime soon. The pressure!’