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‘And now you’re about to head off and celebrate your twentieth wedding anniversary. It’s so exciting. Oh!’ Another little jump. ‘I forgot to say. Some of the promotional things arrived. I assumed they’re for VertX, so I’ve put the boxes at the back of your office.’

‘Fantastic. And you’ll forward me the minutes from that last meeting by lunchtime?’

‘I was about to hit send when you arrived.’

‘You’re an angel. Right, time to start the day then.’

Closing the door behind her, she sat down, shut her eyes and breathed in the aroma. Unlike Annabel, who was happy to start her working day with whatever combination of sugar, cream and additives she could get her hands on, Fiona’s beverage of choice from the coffee shop was always the same: a triple-shot, full-roasted, Guatemalan espresso. Sitting back in her chair, she held the cup under her nose and inhaled the bitter scent. She had a coffee machine in the office, a mid-range number that could produce a good-enough result, particularly useful if clients were visiting, but this first one of the day was special.

This was the one moment when she could relax and not worry about anything. Not about clients, or home, or whether or not she was ever going to get to the gym again. (Despite the fact that she’d been paying sixty pounds a month on membership fees for the last two years, she’d only gone about once a month, if that.) She allowed herself to dream of the upcoming holiday, and of the holidays after that. Only after she’d tasted those last, flavourful tannins, followed by a small glass of water, did she actually feel ready to make a start on the mountain of jobs that preceded a week-long holiday.

Casting the cup into the bin, she turned her attention to the box on the floor. As was typical, half a roll of packing tape had been used to almost impenetrably seal the two foot by two foot container, and it was only after grabbing a letter opener and stabbing her way in that she managed to reach the contents.

‘Excellent,’ she said to herself, as she finally pushed aside the polystyrene beads.

VertX Wellbeing Assistance was her biggest client and had been one of the first corporate businesses to sign with her independently, as opposed to those who’d come through a connection to Stephen or the golf club. Back then, life coaching as a business was barely in the fledgling stage. A fresh and cocky upstart, Dominic Tan had been so full of outrageous and outlandish ideas that, new to the whole corporate conference world, Fiona had been hesitant about even working with him. Ten years later and he had taken the city by storm, turning VertX into the number-one life-coaching platform in the country, with centres across Europe and plans to venture further still. It had been Dominic himself who had convinced her to work with him, after she’d sat in on one of his group sessions. That was back in the day when he used to run them himself, rather than delegate to one of his underlings. There was no doubt, what he did was impressive. He was very impressive.

From out of the box, she pulled a large, plastic bag and from that a smaller one. She tipped out one of the items onto her palm. Dominic was a sucker for a top-notch goodie bag at his conferences. Goodie bags and branding. The name VertX from floor to ceiling. He wanted people to leave his events unable to forget the name. And she knew just how to make that happen.

USB sticks and chrome pens, with the company logo engraved on them, were well-seasoned staples. But it was those little extras that stood out, that told people they meant business. For example, baseball caps in summer and branded gloves in winter. Flight socks or good quality eye masks, if not both, if people had come in by plane. Mugs tended to get left behind, as did water bottles, but she had yet to see anyone turn down a stylish hoodie or portable charger. Better still, electronics kits, with adapters and cables added into the mix. She’d learnt the importance of quirky items too, like customised puzzle cubes. A marketing marvel, in her opinion. After all, you weren’t likely to forget the name of a company after spending four hours attempting to reassemble its logo on six different faces.

‘Go for it,’ Dominic had said, when she’d run the idea by him. ‘And make sure the brand’s clear. Classy and clear. The brand is what sells us now, remember.’

‘I’ll send you through a prototype when it arrives,’ she’d said. ‘And don’t worry. That’s the only gimmicky thing. This conference is going to blow them away.’

‘I trust you,’ he’d assured her.

And go for it she had. With only three weeks until the big day, things were starting to come together. This was her favourite part, when all her ideas fell into place.

She pulled off the wrapping paper and turned it over in her hand.

‘Shit!’

After the discovery of the mislabelled puzzle cube, the entire morning was lost searching for emails she’d sent months ago and then on the phone.

‘It says VortX on them,’ she spat down the line. ‘The company name is VertX.Vertand then a capital X. VortX sounds like they’re going to send you spinning into a whirlpool of misery.

‘Annabel!’ she called out. ‘Please can you send me all the correspondence we’ve had on this. I wrote that order form myself. And I know it said VertX.’

‘Coming through now.’

‘Great. And can you dig out the contact and see who is in charge there? This is why I hate dealing with salespeople.’ The salesperson she was talking about was still on the line and could undoubtedly hear what she was saying. That was half the point.

By the time it was sorted – the company was going to expedite the new correct order, at no extra cost given that, as she already knew, the error was theirs – lunchtime had been and gone. Her head was buzzing from the caffeine Annabel had dutifully supplied her with and, despite the fact that she had, for the first time in years, indulged in a family breakfast that morning to mark Joseph’s departure, her stomach was growling incessantly.

‘Shawarma wrap it is then,’ she said to herself.

* * *

Six hours later, the sky had adopted a dusky-pink hue. Dropping her bag to the ground, she turned her key in the front door and let herself into the house. Another emergency had come up only minutes after her wrap had arrived, meaning that when she finally got around to eating, all that was left was a half-disintegrating piece of bread, some drastically wilted lettuce, and a few pieces of cold, hardened chicken. As such, she’d taken one bite before dropping the whole thing in the bin.

‘Stephen?’ she called, kicking off her shoes.

She hung up her coat and headed to the kitchen. He was sitting at the counter, drink in hand.

‘You’re home. God, I need a drink.’ She took a can of tonic from the fridge, cracked it open and swigged a mouthful before pouring the rest into a tall glass and topping it up with a generous measure of gin. She took a long gulp. ‘Christ, I needed that.’

‘So,’ he said, watching her. ‘Aren’t you going to ask how my day went?’