‘Um…’ Excuse me? Baxter Bigwood, reclusive billionaire and founder of Bigwood Media, had asked her to call me? Thank goodness this wasn’t a video call, so she couldn’t see me gaping like a fish. ‘I never received an email.’

‘Yes, we sent it… one moment… on the third of December. We have a notification to confirm that you both received and read it.’

‘No, I really didn’t. I’m so sorry, I’ve been having a lot of problems with my emails lately,’ I garbled, almost drowning in dismayed panic. ‘The tech team think my account has been hacked, so that might explain it.’

‘Right.’ There was a brief pause. ‘So does this mean you would like to participate in the next stage of the selection process?’

‘For the national weather broadcasting role?’

‘The job you applied for, yes.’

‘Yes! Absolutely, definitely, yes!’ I paused to wade through the frantic thoughts whizzing through my brain for the right response to this bombshell. ‘Can you send me the email again? I’ll give you my personal address, so there’s no risk of it getting misplaced this time.’

I reeled off my email address and she gave me her phone number, just in case I didn’t receive it.

‘I’ll get that over to you now. Baxter will be delighted to see you this evening.’

I hung up, every cell in my body buzzing with adrenaline. This was unbelievable. It was a Christmas miracle! Baxter Bigwood was so keen about me interviewing for the job that he’d asked this person to call me on a Saturday morning to try to change my mind!

This was the answer to so many problems. A chance to get away from the issues at work. I could prove to my parents that I was more than a local weathergirl; I was a national broadcaster with the respect of Baxter Bigwood.

One other potentially monumental thing: the job was based in London.

Three stops on the Underground from Adam’s flat.

I’d checked as soon as I’d seen the job advert.

And I couldn’t help wondering if this could solve all our past relationship problems in one, fabulous swoop.

Only – hang on a moment – had she said this evening?

Christmas, one year earlier

‘I’m sorry, Bea, it was organised last minute. I can’t let the band down.’

‘So you’ll let me down, instead?’

‘Well, this way I’m only letting one person down, not four.’

‘That’s not how it works, Adam! One girlfriend should count for more than four “mates”.’

He gave an exasperated huff down the phone. ‘Be reasonable, please. You’re working Christmas Day, anyway. Do you seriously expect me to bail on our best chance of a record deal in months to sit in your flat by myself all day?’