I click back into the search bar, about to type in Joel’s name, just to see if he’s there, but I shut the site down quickly. Even after all this time, it still hurts to think of him. There’s something comforting and equally terrifying knowing that they’re all there, only a click away.

I turn my attention back to the spreadsheet I’m working on and I try with all my might to focus on the figures, but I can only think of the words from the email and I end up caving and re-reading it again. I’m wondering if I should call it a day when the main office line rings. The office has thinned out, so I pick it up, relieved by the distraction.

‘Porter’s Office Supplies, Edie speaking.’

‘Ah, hello there,’ says a very posh-sounding voice. ‘I see that you offer supplies for people working from home.’

‘Yes, we do.’ I look over the top of my PC to see what members of the sales team are still in so that I can transfer it, but there’s only Lucinda left and she’s on another call. ‘All of our sales team are on other calls at the moment, but I can get some details and get them to be in touch.’

‘If that’s not too much trouble.’

There’s something in her voice and the way that she’s elongating her words that makes her seem familiar, but I can’t place it.

‘No trouble. What sort of business do you run?’

‘Um, well, it’s a sort of a discreet one. It’s just for … well, just for my fans, if you get my drift.’

‘OK …’ Why didn’t I let the phone ring out? ‘And what sort of supplies did you want?’

‘I saw that you did bespoke orders and that you sell novelty products and toys and I just wondered what you meant by toys?’

‘Um, usually it’s along the lines of yo-yos or stress balls, that type of thing.’

‘Stress balls you say,’ she says with inflection. ‘Hmm, that could work. I also had this idea with some other types of toys.’

‘Why don’t I get your name and number and I’ll get my colleague to call you back?’ I say, wanting to end this weird phone call.

‘OK, perfect. The name’s Elizabeth, Elizabeth Randall-Perry.’

My jaw hardens and my arm goes rigid.

‘Elizabeth,’ I practically whisper, the word catching in my throat.

‘That’s right, Elizabeth. Not Liz, not Lizzie, not Beth, E-liza-beth,’ she pronounces, syllable by syllable.

There’s only one person who took the piss out of how Elizabeth stressed her name.

‘Soph?’