My contacts in journalism have helped to spread the word about my blog, and, if you just ignore the trolls, I’d say it’s all going swimmingly.

Elliot, meanwhile, has been hanging onto his piece of my heart. It’s still the biggest piece – the first and last piece – and, once I get the other bits back, my path will lead me back to him. A walk down the aisle really would be the happiest of happy endings.

Late yesterday afternoon, Sara’s assistant called and asked me to come in for a meeting as soon as possible. Apparently, my agent had some news and she’d explain in person.

I got a little bit excited.

I know that Sara has started talking up my blog to publishers, but while the feedback so far has been good – they like my style, they like my wit – no one has wanted to commit to a relationship-blog-turned-book in the current market. Sara claims that publishers won’t be able to argue with the numbers if I keep growing my readership, so I intend to crack on. But has something changed in the last twenty-four hours?

‘You must be wondering why you’re here,’ Sara says to me now, reading my mind.

‘I’m pretty curious,’ I admit.

‘Yesterday, I had lunch with Fay Sanderson.’

The name isn’t familiar to me, but Sara explains that she’s an editorial director at a top publishing house.

‘She’s been avidly reading your blog and was raving to me about how well you strike the balance between warm and likable, and feisty, funny and fresh. She loves your voice. She absolutely loves it,’ Sara stresses, and there’s something about her tone that has me sitting up straighter in my seat. Am I about to be offered a book deal?

‘She has a proposal,’ she continues. Yes! ‘Have you heard of Nicole Dupré?’

‘Er, that name sounds familiar,’ I reply.

Sara swivels on her chair and takes a book down from the shelves behind her. ‘Nicole had a runaway bestseller with The Secret Life of Us, which was published last autumn. It took us all a little by surprise, to be honest.’

‘I remember hearing about it.’ I pick up the novel she’s placed in front of me. The cover has a photograph of a lone girl standing on a beach in Thailand. I turn over the book and scan the blurb. It’s about a travel writer who falls in love with two different men on two different continents.

Where is Sara going with this?

‘Nicole passed away shortly after that was published,’ Sara explains, her tone growing sombre.

I breathe in sharply and glance up at her. ‘Oh, God, that’s right, it was in the news. Was she one of your authors?’ I ask with surprise.

She nods.

‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea you represented her.’