I can’t help but think of the anniversary of Mum’s death, which is looming large. It’s never not painful and I never feel any less guilty. But this year it’ll be especially hard as I know from that moment on I won’t get any more emails from my past self. After everything spiralled out of control and things got so bleak I wondered if I’d even make it to the age where I’d receive all those emails I’d sent myself, let alone writing any more.

I try not to think about that and instead I read today’s email again. My younger self predicted correctly that I’ve never taken a sick day. It’s never even crossed my mind to do it.

My eyes flick over to the profit and loss sheet; it’s not like the company’s doing badly at the moment. I pull up the internal calendar and my personal one to double-check today’s meetings and if anyone would miss me.

I look over the top of my computer screen at Claire, who’s busy processing a big pile of invoices.

‘Claire, do you think you could manage without me today?’

She leans round the side of her computer.

‘Yes, of course, everything OK?’ She stares hard at me over the rims of her glasses.

‘Yeah, there’s just something I need to do. I’ll have my phone with me if you need me.’

I glance over at Dad’s desk, which is empty. I hesitate, feeling a little guilty about what I’m about to do, then I remember that he is often late. He’s probably lost track of time with Julie this morning. I’m sure he’ll be in soon and that’ll ease my guilt.

By the time I arrive in Westerly I’ve experienced a plethora of emotions about skipping out on work: guilt, excitement, paranoia, happiness, nervousness. On the roundabout at the motorway junction, I nearly turned back to the office, but somehow I made it, and I’m glad I did. Spending the morning with Soph and Alfie was just what the doctor ordered.

‘I’m going to really miss these lazy summer days,’ says Soph, leaning over on the rug to stop Alfie scuttling off the end. He’s almost got the hang of crawling. He shuffles mostly on his tummy, but every so often he pushes himself up and almost manages to go. ‘It’s going to be a right shock to the system when I return to work.’

‘You’ve got a while left though, haven’t you?’

Despite my reservations, skiving off work seems to be agreeing with me and I’m already feeling more relaxed. I can’t remember the last time I lay on my tummy on a picnic rug, propping myself up with my elbows.