On the day we left secondary school, my five closest friends and I made a pact. Our friendship, forged as awkward 11-year-olds, would span a lifetime, regardless of where careers or families took us.And sure enough, for 24 years, the six of us met regularly, husbands and children in tow, even going on group holidays together. Then last spring, a touchy subject tore our little group apart: money, leading to a sense of betrayal and, I'll admit, latent jealousy.For years, Rachel, 41, a project manager, and her husband Rob, 44, a surveyor, who live in a modest three-bedroom townhouse, had pleaded relative poverty and we had no reason not to believe them.
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