It turns out to be a long day. For the first time since my day-one experience with the excruciatingly boring introductory e-learning modules, I find myself watching the clock. Because having realised that Sasha is still as important a part of my life as she always was, I’ve also realised how much I miss her. As the clock hits five past five, I decide it’s safe to make my bid for freedom, so I shut down my laptop and pack up my stuff.

‘That you off to meet your friend?’ Emmanuel looks up at me from the desk opposite.

‘Yeah, her train gets in just after half past.’ I throw the last of my things in my handbag, then lock my laptop, notebook and papers in my desk pedestal.

‘I hope you have a lovely long weekend together.’

‘Thanks, Emmanuel. And thanks for giving me tomorrow off at late notice. It won’t be a big weekend. More just a nice quiet catch-up.’

As I say this, I feel a twinge of annoyance at myself. With Emmanuel, I’ve gotten into the habit of permeating all conversations relating to my social life with the message that I’m behaving sensibly – just in case I end up off unwell at some point. Though Emmanuel never says anything directly, she has quickly become attuned to this.

‘Go have fun.’ She gives me a pointed look that I read as I-know-you’re-far-from-irresponsible-and-you-need-to-have-a-life-without-constantly-looking-over-your-shoulder.

‘OK, thanks.’ I nod my understanding, then say my goodbyes to everyone.

Heading for the lifts, I see Danielle flouncing in my direction, her laptop tucked under her arm. She makes eye contact with me, and I immediately know she’s going to make some kind of unwelcome remark.

‘Heading home already?’ Her tone is breezy, deliberately so: the cruise missile within her statement a stealth one.

Having just found myself justifying my social life to Emmanuel, it hits its intended target square on: exploding in my gut, irritation rushing through me like shrapnel. Even more so because this is the first time I’ve left the office before 5:45 p.m. – and Danielle regularly disappears off home before me. She really is a piece of work, but I refuse to show any weakness.

‘First time for everything, I guess.’ I mirror her false smile to see if she even picks up on it, which she doesn’t.

Once outside, I leave Brindley Place via the canal bridge, walk through the ICC, and pass the leaping fountains of Centenary Square, enjoying the fresh autumnal breeze that’s whipping around me as I go. As I make my way through Victoria Square, past the magnificent columns of the town hall and the late nineteenth century Council House, standing proud and full of grandeur, I feel a swell of excitement: not just for my weekend with Sasha, but also for how at home I already feel here. Halfway down New Street, I’m drawn to a busker singing a tuneful and energetic rendition of ‘Here Comes the Sun’ by the Beatles. His enthusiasm is contagious, and I’m quickly sucked into his music and singing along.