immediately I could feel it, my old familiar enemy, rearing its head at Fiona's accusation, going right for the jugular: Working mother's guilt.

And you're ahead of millions of mothers all around the world just for realising that that's you and not Fiona, and that she's not the enemy.

I can remember my tenth birthday party. At least I think it's my tenth I'm rememering. I changed my mind about which cake I wanted on the last day. My mother accommodated me. My parents gave me a Play-Dough magic garden set that grew beautiful dough flowers. I wanted to save it for later, but I had to share with my friends to be sociable, and they mixed up the dough together and ruined it, and I pitched a tantrum. I must have been so hard to deal with - in fact, I know I was, and for much more than just that occasion. I never want to stop honouring that girl's feelings, but *Gods* I must have been hard to deal with.