As a result we approached our lone social invitiation with gusto. We dolled ourselves up to Oscar-winning standards - wolfed back our champagne cocktails and canap�s like a couple of professional party goers - and were rewarded by photographs of ourselves appearing in the social page of a national newspaper and one glossy women's magazine. Of course we pretended not to care in the least, but I, for one, was secretly pleased that my posh evening jacket didn't go entirely un-documented on its maiden (and possibly final) voyage.

So when, a mere three months later, I received another invitation, this time to Richard Lewis's fashion show, I was determined to go. Richard's partner Jim died suddenly before Christmas. "I have to go as a show of support to Richard, " I said to my husband. A more accurate description might have been. "I miss my old life. I want to be fashionable and important again."

My mother came with me, and at the last minute I forbade her from wearing her waterproof and made her put on my floor-length cardigan coat, which I admonished her for trailing in puddles all the way down Ormond Quay to Number Ten where the show was being held.

When we got inside I knew everyone, but few people knew me. I flitted and said hullo to people with whom the line between friendship and acquaintance is blurred - we have shared good times but lost touch. Several times, afraid that people couldn't place me, I felt compelled to say my name. My mother stood behind me angling for us to get a seat. It was standing room only - and the seats were mostly filled with ladies of a certain age who I didn't feel I could ask to move to accommodate my rather sprightly-looking mother - even if I had had the courage to ask, which I didn't. I was feeling unnerved, out of place.

The show started and all that melted away as we became entranced by the clothes and models;

transported by the designer's creativity and the models' beauty. Mum - who loved Jim - started to cry when the music to Death in Venice came on and I joined her when Four Season's Spring accompanied the final models in their magnificent jewel-coloured gowns. We went backstage to see Richard and the team of creatives I knew would be holding him up in Jim's absence - Michael, Aishling, Sonia, Catherine. My mother grabbed Richard's hands and he asked warmly after my "Auntie Sheila". We talked until he got washed away in the deluge of congratulations and wellwishers.

"That man's a genius, " my mother said as we were leaving, "I can't believe he remembered Sheila."

I let Mum link me and as we walked back to the apartment I thought, it's not the fashion that I miss but the people after all.