Miles is still fast asleep in bed. I kiss him on the forehead – my favourite place, and tiptoe out, past the boys’ bedrooms. Hayley promised to get up early to look after the children today. It’s so early even Caprice hasn’t woken yet. She is often up before us, preening in the kitchen, making sure Miles and I don’t have any time alone with our family in the morning.

I make a cup of Nescafé and stand looking out of the window, enjoying the peace. Staring at the private playpark she has bought to bribe the children. Never missing an opportunity to remind them that she paid for it. Caprice makes sure she keeps them on her side. The children. My children. My stomach feels heavy. What if she breaks up our family? I press my jaws together and swallow. I will not allow her to do that.

My prospective client is waiting for me at The Ned. A former bank in Central London that has been converted into a club and restaurant complex. Anyone who is anybody entertains here these days. He is sitting on a pink sofa by the window, in Millie’s lounge. Joshua Cassidy. Twenty-five years old. Professional footballer. Currently injured but due to be back on the squad in three weeks – all being well. Paid the sort of fortune per week that most people don’t make in a year.

Maybe he has seen my photo on the BPC website, because he recognises me as I walk towards his table, and stands up to greet me. He leans towards me and shakes my hand. He is wearing diamond stud earrings. And I notice a diamond in the bottom right of his left front tooth, as he smiles. What if it comes out while he’s playing? He could swallow it and choke.

He’s smaller than I imagined. About five foot eleven – not quite six foot. I thought internationally acclaimed footballers would be enormous; the bigger the better to succeed at sport.

I slide onto the pink sofa opposite him. He pushes the menu towards me.

‘I’m a bit tight for time so I’ve already ordered. Why don’t you order quickly so that the kitchen can get us in synch?’

I place the menu on the table in front of me. ‘No need to worry about me. I’ll just have a coffee and a smoothie.’

Joshua smiles and his diamonds glint in the light from the window behind us. ‘I bet a smoothie has just as many calories as breakfast,’ he says.

‘It’s not about calories. It’s about what I want,’ I reply.

He pushes young brown puppy-dog eyes into mine. ‘I like a woman who knows what she wants.’