Beth closes her eyes and transports herself to her pretend job in her imaginary office in Singapore. Their roots may be international, but her parents haven’t left England in decades, which luckily means they have no knowledge of different dialling tones or country codes for mobile phones. ‘It’s night-time,’ she whispers. ‘But I’m still at work. We had a board meeting this morning, so I’m catching up.’

‘I wish you didn’t work so hard,’ her mum says, both fear and reproach in her voice. Beth’s mum moved to England from West Germany when she was 18, nearly fifty years ago, and from Romania to West Germany four years before that, when the now infamous floods destroyed her home. But Beth can still hear the hard h’s and rolling r’s of her Eastern European accent. ‘It is not good for you,’ her mum continues. On one hand it’s a hypocritical comment, the woman who worked at least two jobs throughout Beth’s childhood admonishing her for having one. But Beth knows what her mum’s referring to, the problem that sparked their separation and how it will never truly disappear. That Beth’s job doesn’t even exist makes her mum’s fears even more heart-breaking.

‘You mustn’t worry,’ she says on autopilot, her voice flat. ‘I love my job, and it’s not tiring like the physical jobs that you had to do.’ She hopes that she doesn’t sound patronising. Except what does it matter if she does? After all the terrible things she’s done to her mum, what difference does a silent dig about her job choices make?

‘I just miss you,’ her mum continues. ‘I wish you could come home, just once. Not for long,’ she adds quickly. ‘I know you don’t like it here. But you’ve been away for so many years.’

Her mum’s voice drifts away and with Beth’s eyes closed, the silence feels like a black hole. She imagines herself spinning away from earth, from the phone call, from the hundreds of lies she’s told her parents over the years. The big ones: the high-flying jobs and penthouse apartments in international cities. And the small ones: the anecdotes about made-up boyfriends, her friends’ annoying children, the hobbies she’s tried and rejected. ‘It’s hard, coming home,’ she whispers.

‘We’re old now. We want to see you. We’re scared that—’