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Stepping into the flow of people the next day, she realised she didn’t feel part of the river of the city any more, but something caught in its current, observing everything around her with new eyes.

The flood of human life heading down the escalators, their faces focused, expressions grim; people with headphones lost in their own world; bodies packed together, touching but not acknowledging one another.

Nobody said hello – the trick was to focus your eyes on something else: a phone screen, a text, an advert on the wall, to make it clear to everyone around that you were not under any circumstances to be approached.

She compared it with her daily walks in Vaudrelle, where she’d been greeted by every person she passed.

Of course, this wasn’t necessarily a French versus English thing.

More the city versus the countryside perhaps.

People were so crammed in here, it was impossible to acknowledge one another without also acknowledging the strange, herded cattle sensation of being shoved so close to strangers, and the bizarre fact that you were paying for the privilege.

Two more Tube stops and then it was hers; she exited and walked up into Holborn, feeling relieved as she found herself breathing the comparatively fresh air of the street, with its tinge of dirt and smoke and sweet-smelling vapes.

She could see her office building, its glass front four times as wide as the café back in Vaudrelle, its reception open, the line of lifts that would take her up to her desk, to slot into this part of her life again: she was a USB stick, ready to be plugged into the socket of an enormous computer. The thought made her step back.

She’d loved it. Just a month ago, she’d been thriving. So what had changed? Having a holiday? Maybe the shock of Amber’s situation? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that she no longer felt like one of the people streaming in and out of buildings on autopilot. She’d been woken up.

She checked her phone, it was only 8.30a.m. Her meeting was at 9a.m. She had time to calm herself down before going in.

She walked past the entrance to her office building, aiming to keep her gaze fixed forward in case she made eye contact with anyone she knew, and imagined she was a tourist, visiting the city for the first time.

Tried to see the beauty of the city as well as the busyness and chaos.

A building caught her eye – a Tudor design stretching the length of three houses, buried between concrete block and glass.

How had she never seen it before? She imagined what it might have been like once, before modernity rose up around it.

Taking out her phone again, she opened the camera app and took a picture, then another.

And had the sudden desire to see whether she could draw it.

Where had that come from? She hadn’t drawn for years. Hadn’t had the time.

Taking a breath, she turned and headed back towards Holborn, back to the building where she’d spent years of her life. She stilled herself outside, straightening her jacket, trying to push her shoulders back and act confident. And then she went inside.

‘So how are you feeling?’ Julie, the HR lead, asked once Becky was settled into her office.

Julie crossed her legs and smiled sympathetically.

She had recently discovered contouring, but had not realised that the light she applied it in before she left for work was clearly a little duller than the light she sat under in the office.

Dark brown stripes streaked her cheekbones, giving her the look of a soldier in camouflage paint.

‘You know. OK,’ Becky said, smiling. ‘Ready to return, if that’s possible.’

‘Yes. Wonderful. Wonderful. And you’re sure that all of the stress is… um, out of your system?’

‘Yes. I’ve taken some time and really worked on myself.’ Becky knew the right words to say to get herself off the hook and rolled them off her tongue with ease. It was a circus performance of form-filling and box-ticking and jumping through hoops.

‘That’s amazing. Well, well done you!’ Julie said, giving a little patronising clap. ‘So you were signed off for a month, that’s up middle of next week. But it looks as if you’re more than ready to slot back in!’ She smiled broadly. ‘How would you feel about starting tomorrow?’

This was unexpected.

‘Tomorrow?’ Becky had hoped to be deemed fit to work, but had assumed it would take more than twenty minutes with Julie to clear her for take-off; had assumed she’d have the time to fly over for the launch, say goodbye to Maud and Pascal properly.

‘But the doctor said a month…?’ Surely, legally, she’d need a doctor to sign her back into work.

‘I know. It’s tiresome,’ Julie said, nodding sympathetically. ‘But you know, it seems silly for you to wait until the exact date when you’re clearly fine and ready to go. You’ll have to see the doctor of course, to get her to sign you back in, but I can’t see that being a problem.’

‘Right, but?—’

‘Now, while you’re here, I expect you want to go and see everyone, touch base?’ Julie nodded towards the door then swivelled her chair back to her desk, leaving Becky with no choice but to do as she suggested.

Feeling slightly dazed, she walked across the main office space, smiling widely, saying hello to people as she passed, as if there were nothing wrong, and never had been. She stopped by Stuart’s desk. The intern cowered slightly.

‘Stuart,’ she said. ‘I really am sorry about what happened.’

He looked at her.

‘You know, it was never meant to go near you. Go anywhere, really. The laptop, I mean.’

‘It’s OK,’ he said, his face flushing.

‘Well, still. It must have been horrible for you.’

She still remembered the incident, but it was as if it had happened to someone else. She couldn’t imagine throwing anything in fury, let alone something heavy and valuable, and in the vicinity of other people.

She moved on, before he started getting into the brace position or crawling under his desk.

And there it was, her little corner of the office.

Neat filing tray, new laptop closed, mouse mat.

Her little pot of pens. That ridiculous cactus Amber had given her with the googly eyes.

Walking towards her old home-from-home, she felt herself step into her role.

Becky, advertising whizz, queen of the corporate world.

On the up. She pulled her chair and slid into it, feeling the familiar curves of the fabric against her back.

‘You back?’ said a voice, and Wendy lifted her head from behind her screen opposite. ‘Nice holiday?’

‘Great, thanks.’ It was better not to remind her exactly why she’d been off.

‘Glad to see you back,’ said Maurice, moments later, passing from his glass-fronted office and perching a bum cheek on the edge of her desk proprietorially.

‘Actually, I hate to nab you when you’re first in, but Julie mentioned you’d returned early, and we’ve got rather a large presentation tomorrow at six.

I’d love you to be present. Get you back up to speed, so to speak. ’

‘At six?’

‘Yes. Only time we could fix. But it’s such an opportunity.’

‘But I can’t. I need to… My friend’s in hospital and visiting hours are…’

Maurice frowned.

‘I mean,’ she corrected, ‘of course. I’ll be there.’

‘That’s settled then! Great to have you on board!’ he said jovially.

‘Aw, your friend’s sick?’ Wendy said distractedly. ‘Hope she’s all right.’

‘She’s…’ But it was no use. The office had swallowed her back.

Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps she did need to get back up to speed. And Amber was going to be out of hospital soon. She opened her laptop and started the process of logging in.

Julie appeared at her side like a ghoul. ‘Can I have a quick word?’ she said, all smiles and warpaint.

‘Sure. Of course.’

‘Great.’

They walked towards Julie’s office and the HR lead slipped a Post-it into her hand.

‘Here you go,’ she said. ‘Doc confirmed for five o’clock.

So that’s good news!’ she grinned. ‘Just a formality, I’m sure, but with insurance being what it is…

’ She opened her office door. ‘See you tomorrow!’ A gentle but firm ‘fuck off.’

It was something of a relief.

Back on the underground, workers had been replaced on the Tube by tourists and day trippers, their mood clearly contrasting with her own: the freedom and enjoyment tangible on their faces; excited chatter over maps; pointing out sights in guidebooks.

She’d go and see Amber, she thought. Amber would know what to say. But when she arrived at the hospital and found her way (easily, this time) to her bedside, she couldn’t find the words. ‘How are you?’ she said instead.

‘I’m OK. Hopefully out of here tomorrow,’ Amber told her. She looked a little more upbeat.

‘Are you sure you won’t come back to the flat? I can pay your half of the rent for a bit?’

Amber shook her head. ‘I couldn’t let you do that,’ she said. ‘I need to start being real with myself. Not biting off more than I can chew.’

‘I’ll miss you though.’

‘You’ll have your brand new flat soon enough,’ Amber said, squeezing her hand as if Becky were the patient and Amber was simply there to give comfort.

‘Still, I’ll miss you.’

‘Even the ridiculous movie nights?’

‘Especially those.’

Amber opened her laptop. ‘Got the time?’

‘Definitely.’

It was four by the time she left, after a healthy dose of When Harry Met Sally . The light was still bright, the city still bustling. She called her mum as she made her way to the doctor’s office.

‘Fabulous news!’ her mother told her. ‘Getting back in there will be the best thing for you.’

‘Do you think?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘It’s just… Mum, I’ve been wondering whether… whether it’s right for me!’

‘Twaddle! Of course it is. You didn’t get where you are today without being a good fit.’

‘I just feel like the job takes everything else away. I’m not a good friend, not a good daughter. Not even a good colleague. If I’m good at this job, it’s at the expense of everything else.’

‘Oh Rebecca. That’s just being young. Trust me. You do the hard slog, and the rewards will come. Things will ease up. You’ll have assistants, more money. The second decade is always the hardest.’

‘I thought… Didn’t you tell me once that the first decade was?—’

‘Oh, it’ll pass in a flash!’

‘But…’

‘Rebecca,’ her mum said seriously. ‘Listen. You’ve been through a… tumultuous time. Your friend is ill. You’ve had all this Maud stuff to deal with. I’m guessing you don’t know whether you’re coming or going.’

‘Well, yes. That’s it. That’s just how I feel.’ Did Mum actually understand?

‘Then don’t listen to your thoughts right now. Put your trust in me. Get yourself back to work. Get back in the rhythm of life. And I promise you’ll start feeling more like yourself. It’s the best tonic. Push those pesky feelings out of the way.’

‘You think?’

‘Darling. I know.’