‘Oh, you know,’ she says, glancing down at her smartphone and up again. ‘Busy! I always feel like I need Mondays off, just to recover.’ She gives a little laugh.

I nod, as though I know what she means.

‘I made you tea,’ Emma adds, pointing to my desk. A full mug sits there, still steaming despite the cold; it takes a while for the heating to warm up in this old building.

‘Oh,’ I say, awkwardly. ‘Thank you.’ When I get this way – worries in the night – I try to avoid caffeine, but Emma isn’t to know that, how could she? I sit down at my desk and wrap my hands round the mug at least, enjoying the heat of it. The room is still chilly and I keep my smart wool coat on while I switch on my computer and open up the files, the allocation that it’s my job every day to check.

My list of tasks for this week is clearly set out, little tabs with my name against each one; such a sense of order it brings. A whole framework to contain the day, predictable tasks that fill my head with to-do lists and give so little room for other thoughts. The radiator behind me clicks and gurgles as I pull out my notebook to write out a plan, following the careful system I have, my way of doing each little thing. The Housing Association I work for is a big organization now. We took over from the local authority last year; maybe took on more than we could handle. I’ve learned the hard way how chaotic this job can potentially get, with all the situations that can arise and the million ways that things can go wrong. But I know I’m good at keeping things running. Most of the time. Ninety-nine per cent of the time.