Woman to woman [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEAisling stared at the crumpled-up receipt in her hand and tried desperately not to cry. A credit card counterfoil with smudged writing, it lay forlornly on the palm of her hand with the words 'Lingerie de Paris' plainly printed on the left-hand side.Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled out a chair arid sat down by the kitchen table, blind to the fact that her sleeve was resting on an island of marmalade and toast crumbs left by the boys' usual breakfast commando raid. She closed her eyes and crunched the receipt into a ball, willing the words to have changed when she looked again.Just moments before, Friday had stretched out in front of her in a comforting and familiar routine A visit to the dry-cleaner's with Michael's suits, a quick detour to the hairdresser's to get her hair blow-dried for the party and coffee with Fiona in the Merrion Centre for a thoroughly enjoyable gossip over a slightly too-big slice of carrot cake smothered in cream.No carrot cake, she admonished herself automatically. A brown scone with a tiny bit of Flora and a cup of black coffee with no sugar. Got to stick to the diet. The first week was always the hardest but you've got to stick to it, or so the diet gurus repeated endlessly.Diet1. What am I thinking about bloody diets for, she wailed out loud. What was the point of living on dry toast and two ounces of lean turkey with a mini-Kit Kat treat a day when your entire life had just disintegrated.Suddenly her regular trip to the dry-cleaner's and the bitching session with Fiona seemed a million miles away.Michael never remembered to leave his suits out for dry-cleaning and she'd stopped reminding him since it was easier to1