Anyway, the best and probably the only part of the evening that I actually can look back on fondly, comes right after the gig, when everyone’s clustered around a glowing Maggie, congratulating her. Even Sam gets his oar in and not only invites her to his birthday bash, but asks if she’ll do a reprise of her act to entertain the guests. There’ll be lots of influential people there, he tells her, who’ll make wonderful contacts for her.

Looking around, I think I was the only person who found this vomit-inducingly patronising. Everyone else oohs and aahs, all looking at Sam like he’s the next Simon Cowell. Next thing, a guy of about forty comes up to Maggie and hands her his business card, saying he’s a comedy agent and that he’d really like to represent her. Could they possibly meet for lunch whenever she has a window? Tomorrow, possibly?

Maggie and I look at each other dumbfounded. OK, so she may not have won, but this is the best result she could ever have asked for, isn’t it?

‘Oh, you’re Jessie Woods, hi!’ the agent says, shaking my hand as he instantly recognises me. ‘Are you a friend of Maggie’s?’

‘No,’ says Maggie stoutly. Then with a fond look, she slips her arm around my shoulder and says, ‘She’s…my sister. We’re family.’

It’s the nicest thing that’s happened the whole miserable, God-awful evening.

Hours later, Sharon and I are in our room; she’s painstakingly taking off make-up, while I just lie on the bed, staring in silence at the ceiling. Desperately trying to comb some sense out of the tumult of emotions that’s thundering over me.

‘Four calls and six texts so far,’ she says with her back to me, staring at her reflection in the mirror and playing with her mobile phone.

‘Hmm?’

‘From Matt. So far, since I dumped him. Says I’m making a big mistake and should give him another chance.’

‘So what will you do?’ My questions are all dull. Automatic. Mainly because I’m not even thinking straight.

‘I told you. I’ve set my sights elsewhere. I’ve someone else on my radar now and what’s more I think he’s interested. All I have to do is play it cool and reel him in.’

Suddenly I sit up. ‘Sharon, this new guy you’ve met. By any chance…I mean, is it anyone I’ve already met?’

But I know the answer before she even tells me. ‘Course you know him, you gobshite. It’s Steve. Who else?’

Chapter Twenty-Three

Needless to say, I don’t shut my eyes for the whole night. I just lie there, alternately thinking, worrying, stressing, tossing, turning, then reverting back to plain old-fashioned agonising again. And when that all gets too much for me, I keep checking to see if Sharon’s awake, just in case there’s any chance I could talk to her. Because I have to talk to her, there’s no side-stepping this.

But what the f**k do I say? Idon’tknowIdon’tknowIdon’tknowIhaven’tthefirstclue…

One thing’s for certain, there’s no getting away from the one inalienable truth that’s staring me in the face. I am without doubt the greatest, most witless moron on the face of the earth. I mean, what in the name of Jaysus is wrong with me? All my life, I’ve only ever wanted two things: a television career and Sam Hughes. And now, both have been handed back to me on a plate and all I can do is obsess about Steve.

Steve. Who declared himself to me. My darling friend. God, even just thinking about life without him is like a stab to the heart. And the thing is, if I choose Sam, then that’s exactly what will happen. Because I know Steve so well and I know there’ll be no going back.

So what does this Cinderella Rockefeller do? Go off into the sunset with my Prince Charming? Back to a life of palatial mansions and fabulousness? Or choose Steve, who’s been like a rock to me? Who I care about so, so much too. And, let’s be honest, who I think I fancy a lot of the time too. Because he’d never let me down, or turn his back on me. Never.

So what’s it to be? Buttons or Prince Charming?

And then there’s Sharon, snoring her head off in the bed beside mine. Then a fresh worry. Suppose she and Steve are meant to be together and not him and me? Suddenly a dozen instances pop into my head of really lovely things they’ve both said about each other to me over the summer. I remember Sharon referring to him as Fertiliser Man because he slowly grows on you. And, what’s more, I remember Steve saying over and again how well she was looking and how much softer she seemed lately. That was the exact word he used, softer.

There’s nothing else for it. I have to come clean to Sharon and take the consequences. Trouble is, there isn’t a bit of peace or privacy to be had at home next morning. Maggie has taken the day off work and is faffing around the place up to high doh on account of the comedy agent she’s arranged to meet for lunch today. That, coupled with the fact that she’s doing a reprise of her gig at Sam’s birthday shindig tonight, has her tearing round the place, even more up to the ceiling with nerves than she was yesterday. Funny, but I thought I’d seen all incarnations of Maggie. From couch potato, to passive-aggressive put-down artist, to blossoming stand-up comedienne. But I’ve never in all my years seen this side of her; she’s pressured, busy, motivated, buzzing around the place and…happy. Actually happy. Probably the only person in the shagging house who is.

Joan, who’s wandering around the kitchen in one of her Barbara Cartland dressing gowns, is spewing fire because she’s just heard the news about Sharon dumping Matt. ‘Is that how I reared you, you ungrateful little idiot? To toss aside perfectly eligible young men?’

‘We broke up, Ma. It happens,’ says Sharon, munching on her breakfast of left-over pizza. ‘Get over it.’

‘Well you can’t just dump him like that. It’s…it’s…illegal dumping for a start.’

‘Jeez, Ma, will you cool the head?’

‘What I’d very much like to know is this: what’s life going to be like round here when Jessica moves out? Because if we’re back to the days of you slumped night after night in front of the TV, then I’m telling you right now, young lady, you’ll have me to answer to. That Matt was a perfectly acceptable fella who worshipped the ground you walked on…’

‘Ma, we’d nothing in common, he didn’t even drink or smoke, for feck’s sake.’

‘Well, no one’s perfect. You could have broken him in gradually. But the point is, you were a different person when he was around, you were actually getting out of the house for a change, and now what? Back to watching repeats of X Factorad nauseam? And you won’t have Maggie for company this time, you know, madam. She has a whole new career opening up for her now.’

‘I won’t be doing that, Ma. As it happens, there’s someone else that I’ve my eye on.’

At this point, I step in. ‘Sharon, I need to talk to you. Can we go upstairs for a minute please?’

‘NO ONE leaves the room until this row is over!’ screeches Joan, as Sharon and I scarper for cover.

But my planned chat with her doesn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped.

‘So, let me get this straight,’ says Sharon, angrily lighting up a fag and pacing the bedroom. ‘You spend months on end mooning over tufty-head Sam, then the minute he comes back to you, I’m sorry, but her ladyship now wants the only fella I’ve fancied, properly fancied, in ages. Are you fecking kiddingme? What is wrong with you?’

I’m actually ready to burst into tears now. As it is, all I can do is nod mutely. Mortified and hating every second of this. Tell you something, honesty is a highly overrated virtue.

‘Well, you want to know something?’ snaps Sharon, more furious than I think I’ve ever seen her before. ‘I don’t care if you did snog Steve and I don’t care what he said to you last night. I really think he likes me. He even offered to take me to the party on his bike tonight. So to hell with you, Jessie. Go back to Sam where you belong and stop interfering in my life!’