‘Why wouldn’t I?’ he asked and she stood, relieved, a brief stir of guilt before reminding herself of all he’d already put them through. Besides, it would hardly be an act of generosity on his part to lend support for her application: she had earned this.

In characteristically convoluted FCO style, it was February by the time applications were considered and the new recruit announced.

It was a particularly mild morning and the remnants of the rain overnight left a light sheen on the pavement outside as she gathered her things in preparation for dropping Sadie at nursery. Tom was staying at home with Callum, who was unwell and had been up most of the night so that none of them had slept properly.

Retrieving items of clothing from across the house and grabbing Sadie’s scooter on their way out of the door, Gabriela feared she was already running late. She’d need to drop Sadie off early if she was to make the 9.30 a.m. briefing. Whatever bug Callum was carrying, Gabriela was about to be struck with it too: her head was pounding and her nose feeling as though it had been filled with rags. But she couldn’t afford to get sick, not now; not with the decision about to be made about the new HRD job – though, given Bradford’s indiscretion in the final interview, she already knew it was as good as hers.

‘Sadie, please, hurry up!’ she snapped, though the voice in her head reminded her this was not her daughter’s fault.

Sadie was making her way along the pavement without allowing herself to touch the lines between the slabs, hopping between each with an intense focus that should have been endearing, or, if she’d been paying better attention, a sign that something was off. It was a behaviour Gabriela herself had adopted at times in childhood when life felt particularly beyond her control; one of those incongruous ways, along with the counting and the systematic blinking, that helped her feel like she had some sort of hold over her universe, which seemed already to spin either too fast or too slow.

Pulling her gloves off with her teeth, Gabriela typed an email on her phone to Madeleine, whom she was supposed to be meeting for lunch. Gabriela had had to cancel their last get-together and, though today was already looking rammed, she couldn’t cancel again – even if she had embarrassingly little to share. Recently, Emsworth had gone remarkably quiet, indicating no particular interest in any of the work he signed off. It was almost as if a shutter had been pulled down.

She typed with her index finger, the wind causing her eyes to stream.

1.30 at the restaurant is perfect – see you then x