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Her mother’s voice was as artificially gushing as always on answering. She must have been in earshot of some colleagues. ‘Hello, darling!’

‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Just a moment, I just need to step back into my office. Right.’ There was the click of heels, then the creak of leather as her mum sank into her expensive seat. ‘So, how did it go? I hope you told that silly doctor what nonsense it all was. Sending you to a psychiatrist indeed.’

‘She was more of a workplace specialist.’

‘Well, whatever. Load of opportunists, if you ask me. Stress is what drives us! And that laptop wasn’t even a decent model. Probably did it good to chuck it against the wall.’

Becky laughed in spite of herself. ‘Mum! It was a top of the range – probably cost a couple of thousand. And it’s totally ruined.’

There was a snort. ‘Complete waste of time and money,’ her mum said, although Becky wasn’t sure whether she was talking about the PC or the appointment.

She took a breath. ‘Well, the doctor seems to think I’m approaching burnout,’ she said, scrunching up her face as if to ward off a blow. She held the handset a little distance from her ear.

‘Burnout? Whatever’s that?’ Her mum’s voice sounded outraged, as if the doctor had invented a new illness just to mess with her. ‘Absolute codswallop.’

‘It’s… well, being so stressed that your body sort of gives up,’ Becky explained. ‘And honestly I don’t think?—’

‘Of all the nonsense, Rebecca! I’ve never heard of anything so silly! All this modern woke terminology.’

‘Mum! It’s an established medical condition!’ Becky had googled it before the call to ensure she was completely informed. ‘And I mean, I’ve known people who’ve got really ill with it. But?—’

‘Claptrap.’

‘Richard Branson had it? Hillary Clinton?’

‘Yes, but darling, these are CEOs, presidential candidates! You work in advertising. It’s not… well, quite the same.’

‘It’s very stressful at work though, Mum. We’re working on a?—’

‘Oh, pish posh!’

Becky’s mum had a habit of using outdated but non-offensive expletives that usually secretly tickled her. She’d often repeat them to Amber later on. In her current state, she was less than amused, but still chalked ‘pish posh’ to her in-brain memo board to use on Amber at a future date.

‘Well, you’re not burnt out! The very idea! A hard-working young woman like you.’

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to say. I don’t agree.’ Becky drummed her fingers on her bedside table. She was not looking forward to telling Mum the next bit. ‘It’s just… she was adamant that I take some time off.’

She’d done it. She’d delivered the blow. Now for the fallout.

There was a brief pause, and Becky could almost hear her mother’s nostrils flaring down the line. ‘Horse feathers! Time off indeed! I take it you told her you’re the account manager for Tudors?’

‘Yes. Of course.’ Securing an account for the hotel chain had been her biggest achievement thus far and, Becky silently suspected, the first career win she’d had that Mum had actually been impressed by.

‘Well! Did you remind her that they’re the largest boutique hotel chain in the region? You are needed!’

‘Mum, she’s a doctor. I’m hardly going to argue with her. Not when I’m in there for… getting a bit angry in the office. I did try to explain but she was adamant.’

‘I suppose you told her the call you’d been on was about that ridiculous café.’

‘Yes, of course!’

Her mum harrumphed. ‘Maud has a lot to answer for, leaving you that… that sugar-coated Trojan horse.’

‘Mum, come on! Maud isn’t trying to derail my career from beyond the grave. It’s not her fault I got signed off.’

‘So the time off isn’t just a suggestion?’ Her mother’s voice went up an octave in alarm. ‘You let her sign you off? Oh, Rebecca. That’s going to be on your work record.’

‘I didn’t let her. It wasn’t up to me. And anyway, work can’t discriminate against?—’

‘Well, OK. Take a breath, darling. It’s a disaster, but we can get you back on track. Don’t panic. We’ll get through this like we get through everything. By hard work and determination. Pushing through. Give your boss a call, remonstrate. I’m sure she?—’

‘They’re the ones who employed the doctor. They’re hardly going to get her to rescind a medical note, Mum.’ Becky massaged her forehead, reminding herself that she’d actually considered most of these strategies herself and that her mum only had her best interests at heart.

A silence.

‘Well, how long do they think you need? A week?’

‘Two weeks,’ Becky lied. She would build up to the month in later conversations, once her mum had digested the idea. Anything else would be far too exhausting.

‘Two weeks! Balderdash!’ Becky had already moved the receiver away from her ear in readiness, so luckily didn’t suffer a burst eardrum. But it was pretty clear that Mum wasn’t happy.

‘Yes. Look, Mum, I know how extreme this must seem to you. It does to me really, but it is what it is. I can maybe do some training, meet up with some contacts for a friendly coffee. It doesn’t have to be a wasted fortnight.’

‘No. Well, I just hope that company appreciates the hard work you’ve put in so far, enough to overlook this…

unfortunate situation. It’s hard work climbing the career ladder as a woman, Rebecca, I’ve drummed it into you enough.

Let alone allowing emotions to rule the day.

We’ve got to be harder, stronger, better than every man in the building, just to get our dues. ’

Mum launched into one of her habitual speeches on the patriarchy – more familiar to Becky’s childhood than fairytales or kids’ TV. The best thing to do was to let it run its course.

‘OK,’ Becky said at the end. ‘Anyway, that’s where we are. And you know I haven’t been feeling great. Perhaps I have let my mental health?—’

‘Mental health? You don’t have mental health!’

‘Mum. I just mean I need to look after?—’

‘Enough. You’re beginning to sound like mad Maud.’

‘Mum. That’s not very nice…’ But it was no use. Now she was getting the story of Mum’s aunt who embraced all things ‘new age’, had dropped her job as a top lawyer and disappeared to live a life of reckless freedom. A story Becky had heard many, many times.

Ten minutes later, Becky ended the call with a promise that she’d look into whether it would be possible to get a second opinion.

Lying back on the bed, she wondered whether everyone felt so depleted after speaking to their mothers.

But then again, not everyone’s mother was Cynthia Thorne, CEO of Thorne Asset Management – the original hard-hitting career woman who stood for no nonsense and took no prisoners.

Mum had worked her way up from rather lowly beginnings to CEO of a FTSE 100 company, bearing her share of knock-backs and setbacks over the years, and had always assumed Becky would follow in her footsteps.

The minute Becky had left university, she’d helped her write a five-year plan, finessing it each year so that Becky knew at any one moment what she was meant to be doing and the impact it was likely to have on her life.

Burnout was not on the plan.

Becky and Amber would laugh a little at Cynthia’s pushiness sometimes; but Becky knew deep down that without her mother’s support and borderline pressure, she’d probably still be working as a junior, rather than a director.

‘She’s forceful. It’s what makes her who she is,’ her dad had told Becky once, and she hadn’t been sure whether he’d meant for better or worse.

Mum was brilliant, but she also expected brilliance of those around her, meaning Becky got the best education shoehorned into her, whether she liked it or not, had her career mapped out by the time she left for university, and had had to get used to a mum who asked her how her job was going before she enquired after her health.

After Dad had died unexpectedly fifteen years ago, if anything, it had become more intense – Mum and her ambition had become one entity.

Mostly, Becky was grateful. She saw how some of her contemporaries were faring on the job market and felt proud of how far she’d already come.

But sometimes – just sometimes – it would be nice to have a mum who would be concerned about a daughter’s potential burnout and come around with a flask of chicken soup and an even deeper well of sympathy.

There was a tentative knock on her bedroom door. Amber stuck her head around and grimaced. ‘Everything OK?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. Job’s done.’ Becky sat up and smiled at her friend.

‘How did she take it?’

‘About as well as you’d expect.’

‘That bad, eh!’ Amber moved over to the bed and sat down next to her friend, wrapping an arm around her. ‘Well, remember, she does love you. It’s just her way of showing concern.’

‘So I keep telling myself!’

Amber shrugged. ‘It’s not always great the other way, either. I mean, my mum worries about me so much I daren’t always tell her everything, just to keep her from getting anxious.’

‘Ah, I know. Your poor mum. What do you think she’d do if you got signed off for burnout?’

‘You mean, if I dared tell her about it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Probably force me to move back home, sleep in my childhood bedroom and eat hearty soups until she felt I was back to full health. Which, knowing Mum, would take about two years.’

‘That actually sounds quite nice.’

‘That’s because you’ve never tasted one of my mum’s soups!’

‘Anyway, I think I need to take my mind off it all,’ Becky said. ‘Distract me. What were you going to tell me earlier?’

‘It’s just a work?—’

‘That reminds me! I have to write an email to work – promised Mum. Doubt it’ll do any good but worth a shot. Do you want to watch the film after?’

Amber nodded. ‘OK. Well, good luck.’

‘Thanks. Think I’m going to need it.’