Just the thought of it hurts, the memory of my mother’s comfort and assurance still so close to the surface.

I cough, batting away the tug at the back of my throat, and pull myself back to Anna.

‘But we’ve got other options,’ I go on. ‘There’s always the possibility of you staying here for a couple of days – just until you sort yourself out.’

It’s out before I can stop it. Shit. I can already see the look on Leon’s face when I tell him. The look that says I’ve finally lost my mind.

‘I can’t possibly expect you to get involved,’ she says. ‘The last thing you need is me and my kids camping out on your doorstep.’ She attempts a smile. ‘Especially when you’ve got children of your own, no doubt?’

‘No, I haven’t actually,’ I say, feeling like I always do when posed with this seemingly acceptable, yet searingly personal question. I should be able to leave it there, yet I feel expected to elaborate. ‘We’ve chosen not to have children.’

‘Oh,’ says Anna, in the same way that everyone else does when faced with this response. ‘Well, I’m sure your husband could do without us destroying your peace and quiet.’

I offer a tight smile. ‘He’d be delighted to help out in any way he could.’

‘That’s very kind,’ she says. ‘It certainly gives me something to think about.’

‘Well, you know where I am if you need me. I’m happy to help, night or day.’

She smiles ruefully. ‘I wish I was back there,’ she says, getting up from the sofa and slinging her handbag onto her shoulder.

I follow her gaze to the picture of New York she’d bought me. Perhaps she thought I was homesick. I didn’t have the heart to say I couldn’t feel any less homesick if I tried. Even in all its beauty, the Manhattan skyline stacked up against the banks of the Hudson River evokes nothing but bad memories, so I’d discreetly hung it behind me.

‘I thought you’d put it over there,’ she says, pointing to the opposite wall. ‘So that you could see it all the time.’

‘I know what a wonderful place it is,’ I say, attempting to laugh. ‘So I thought my clients might want to look at it.’

‘Don’t you ever wish you were back there?’ she says, her eyes alight.

‘Sometimes,’ I lie.

My phone vibrates on my desk and I give it a cursory glance to see who’s calling. A breath catches in my throat when I see Aunt Meryl’s number on the screen. I FaceTime her in America at the same time every Friday evening, so if she has cause to ring me midway through a Monday, it means something’s wrong.

‘I’m sorry, but I need to get this,’ I say to Anna.