Frances Ruffelle has starred in several films and appeared in a string of West End shows, from Starlight Express to Les Misèrables. She has recorded two solo albums and sang the UK's entry for the 1994 Eurovision Song Contest. She is now playing Roxie Hart in the musical Chicago, at London's Adelphi theatre. Frances has three children: Eliza, 15, and Nathaniel, 13, from her first marriage, to the theatre director John Caird, and Felix, 8, from her second to the record-company executive Robert Manley. Now single, she lives in north London with her children.

FRANCES: The minute I hit my teens, I thought I was all grown up. I was always asserting my independence and wanting more freedom, and forever arguing with Mum about what I could and couldn't do. I had a boyfriend far too young and I must have run away at least a couple of times. And then I caused no end of trouble with my schools, bunking off all the time. I used to get into trouble in ways I don't really want to go into.

But throughout it all, I was always quite open with Mum. There were never any secrets between us — even if it was something I knew she probably didn't want to hear, like when I first started smoking dope. Luckily, I didn't like the stuff, so it was one issue she didn't have to deal with for very long.

Because of that honesty between us, there was a lot of trust. I could always go to her, no matter what. It was like when I got pregnant the first time. For a start, I was only 21. Secondly, my boyfriend was still married to another woman. And thirdly, I'd just won a Tony award on Broadway for my role in Les Misèrables and was being offered all these great parts. So, it was sh** timing, to say the least. But I had no intention of having an abortion.

I rang Mum straight away and, of course, she was like: "Oh my God, Frances!" But once she got over the shock, she was supportive from the start. That's what's always been so great about our relationship.

The one thing we've always shared is our passion for theatre. I inherited that from her. When I was small, she'd take me to see a show at least once a week. It was a passion she herself had inherited from her grandmother, who used to take her to the theatre. Back then, of course, it would have been a huge treat.

Another great passion of hers was all the old-time musicals. She would play them all the time in the house, so me and my sister were almost weaned on them. In fact, Mum used to go around putting on mini shows of all the songs for old folk's homes. And as soon as I was old enough she'd take me with her.

Apparently, I'd sit quietly in the audience with everyone else, but as soon as she started singing I'd join in. I knew all the words. I must've been only four or five, so it caused a lot of amusement with the people around me. In the end, Mum used to take me on stage with her and we'd perform songs together.

Mum had no intention of taking her singing further — she was busy enough working as a librarian and looking after us. Then our school, who knew about Mum's hobby, asked if she'd help run an after-school drama group. The idea was to stage a kids' show to raise funds. From that point, Mum's life changed for ever. When the fundraiser was over, everyone wanted her to carry on.

Over the next few years, all her time and energy went into developing proper drama classes. It was from these that the Sylvia Young Theatre School eventually evolved. The school has flourished and been responsible for nurturing the careers of loads of actors and pop stars. We probably don't say it often enough, but we're really all very proud of Mum and her achievements.

The only downside to all of this was that she wasn't what you'd call a domesticated mum. God, no! She hated cooking, for a start. I remember the very first time she baked me a cake. It was for my 18th birthday. I was so amazed, I was speechless.

It was Dad who did the cooking. In fact, it was Dad who did the washing-up, and probably Dad who did everything else around the house. It was the same with clothes. Mum would never buy anything white because, inevitably, the next time you'd see it, it would be a dull shade of grey. And she never bought anything you had to iron. I don't think I ever saw an iron in the house.