‘You were right, it wasn’t too late! A year after we finished our sessions, I was holding my beautiful baby girl in my arms. Thank you for teaching me that my dreams could come true – what we can believe, we can achieve. xxx.’ (Maria, 43, Winchester)

‘If you’re wondering whether to take the plunge, just do it. Amber will challenge you, enlighten you and, best of all, make you laugh like you’ve never laughed before. Tomorrow really is another day!’ (Chris, 44, Gloucestershire)

Was Chris a man or a woman? Were there even men like that, men who longed to be ‘enlightened’? That guy Rob, the friend of Lou’s who’d left me to swim in my own vomit on a cold London pavement, certainly didn’t seem like a guy who had enlightenment on the top of his Christmas list. Shame twisted up inside me at the memory, followed by a further blast at the realization that I was currently drawing a government salary to dick around on the internet.

I swiftly shut down the website without gobbling up any more of the ecstatic quotes. Besides, even a skim told me all I needed to know – they were riddled with excited capital letters and exclamation marks and little paths of kisses like birds hopping through snow. Amber meant a lot to a lot of people, it seemed.

I pulled up my emails again, forcing myself to become immersed. This work was important. It mattered. So why couldn’t I make it matter more to me?

I kept it up for the rest of the day. I powered through my report, refusing to let myself waste any time on pointless apps. I distractedly ate a soggy BLT at my desk, all my focus on how we were going to square the circle of flat teacher salaries and rising London rent with our ambitious building project in commutable towns. I emailed the draft of my document to Duncan around four, earning a double thumbs up from across the office. This surely earned me the right to a cup of coffee and a KitKat?

Each floor of our offices had a little kitchenette in the corner, known as tuck shops since before the war. Hot water whooshed into my cup, the tea bag floating up towards me. I squished it, comforted by the mundanity of the action, by the sense of simply performing a task and awarding myself a tiny, deserved reward. But then my phone began to ring: Josh. His name flashed up again and again, an accusation.