Slipping my robe off the hook on the back of the bedroom door, I pad downstairs, grateful that Leon has already gone to work, as I don’t need him asking me questions I don’t want to answer. That’s all he seems to do lately. That’s all everyone seems to do.

‘Morning, can I speak to Wendy, please?’ I say, nestling my mobile awkwardly between my ear and shoulder whilst I fill the kettle. Coffee’s going to be solely responsible for getting me through today.

‘This is Wendy speaking,’ says the cheery woman.

‘I wonder if you can help me,’ I say, careful to keep my cards close to my chest in case it’s a scam. ‘I’ve just received an email from you this morning, confirming a flight for tomorrow.’

‘O-kay.’

I force a laugh. ‘It’s just that I haven’t actually booked anything with you. Or anyone else for that matter.’

‘Oh,’ says Wendy. ‘That’s odd.’

I imagine her sitting in a cubicle in an illicit call centre looking for the ‘what to say when they tell you they haven’t booked anything’, section on a laminated card.

‘Can you give me your name, please, and I’ll look into it?’

I give her my name and the flight booking reference, and hear her tapping away on a keyboard.

‘OK, so you’re on a Virgin Atlantic flight tomorrow from Heathrow to JFK departing at 16.35,’ says Wendy.

‘Yes, I know what it says, but it’s not something I’ve booked.’

‘So, are you looking to cancel the booking?’ she asks.

Ah, there it is. I silently count how long it’s going to take for her to ask for my bank details to process a refund.

‘Well, yes,’ I say, stating the obvious.

‘OK, no problem, let me just organize that for you now,’ she says, tapping away. ‘I can credit the original payment method, but there will be a cancellation fee.’ I have to hand it to her; she’s very good.

‘Thanks,’ I say blithely.

‘Will Mr Michael Talbot be looking to cancel his seat as well?’

My breath catches in my throat, obstructing my airways.

‘I-I’m s-sorry?’ I stutter, sure that I’ve heard her wrong.

‘Mr Talbot is down to travel with you on the same booking,’ she repeats with crystal clarity. ‘Will you be wanting to cancel his seat as well?’

I throw the phone down onto the kitchen worktop and watch it spin, hanging on to the granite to stop myself from spinning with it.

What the . . .?

‘Hello, Mrs Chandler . . .?’ calls out Wendy. ‘Are you still there?’

I numbly stab at the end call button, but she’s still talking. ‘Hello? Hello?’

What the hell is going on?