As I stared mournfully at the phone and contemplated calling the police, not for the first time, Charlie stuck his head round the door and flung the You’re Dumped proposal on my desk with a sly wink. Leafing through it despondently, Joseph Blake ambled across my vision and I realised I still hadn’t broached his future with my boss. Right now, though, it could wait.

I watched the clock incessantly all afternoon, pretending to study the Christmas schedules until finally it was late enough to get the hell out of there. Like most TV companies, Double-decker promoted the entirely masochistic idea that the later you stayed, the better you were at your job. Most of the girls looked incredibly diligent right now, beavering away at their computers; in reality they were probably buying dresses on Net-a-porter and updating their Facebook profiles, biding time.

At six I grabbed my coat, muttering something about a meeting, in truth desperate to open a bottle of wine with Bel. But in the deli on the South Bank, as I filled my basket with fresh tagliatelle and rosy tomatoes and fat white mozzarella, Bel rang.

‘I’m so sorry, Mag, but Hannah’s come out in some really odd rash. I’m taking her to A&E. Really sorry, babe.’

I stared sadly at my basket before dumping the lot. I strode out into the cold night air of the Embankment, the wind whipping around my face, my newly shorn neck feeling cold and exposed. I wrapped my woolly scarf tighter and tried not to feel sorry for myself. Everyone else looked like they were rushing, like they had somewhere interesting to go – everyone except me. The lights of the Jolly Sportsman on the corner twinkled enticingly, and I thrust my hand in my pocket to check what change I had. My fingers closed round something else – Seb’s card. I glanced at my watch. It wasn’t even seven. I still had plenty of time to get to Piccadilly if I fancied it. Fancied Seb. But first I slipped into the pub.

I was halfway through my first glass of wine when someone snuck up and grabbed my arm, spilling my drink all over my bag.

‘Maggie!’

‘For God’s sake, Fay!’ I nearly choked on my Merlot.

‘Shall I get one in?’ She gazed at me. ‘It’s never fun to drink on your own.’

‘Sometimes – sometimes it’s all right,’ I said stiffly.

‘Oh, Maggie, don’t be silly!’

‘Please, Fay. I’ve had a bit of a bad day. I just – I could really do with some time alone.’

‘I don’t believe you!’ She grinned at me. ‘Anyway, I brought this.’ She handed me an envelope.

I gritted my teeth. ‘If this is another photo of the bloody crash –’ I said, placing it unopened on the bar.