The windows overlooked a small park, though park was probably too grand a name for it – every spare space in London had been turned green over the last few years. So much planting had been done, so many new patches of grass sown, and all those bulbs resting quietly under the ground, waiting for spring. She thought the office had once had a view over a car park, but she couldn’t quite remember. Perhaps it had just been a bit of street where cars had parked. Now it was an elongated triangle of grass with chestnut and cherry trees along the sides and neat wooden benches in between. People went there for picnics, in the summer, parents and children. Today there was just a couple walking their dog. She looked to see if they were carrying anything, but saw to her relief that they weren’t.

She began with the slim white envelope, slid her finger along the seam and pulled out the contents. Next she did the same with the handwritten one, and then the brown envelope with the pristine address label on front – she didn’t bother to read the words, just placed the bill and another two letters of disagreement on her desk and clicked on the screen. Her long coat was starting to feel heavy on her shoulders and she could feel a trickle of sweat running down her spine, but she wouldn’t take it off. It had belonged to her mother, and perhaps her mother’s mother before that. The screen lit up, but didn’t show the login box. It was an old computer. Probably needed an upgrade it would never get. She pummelled the enter key, even though it was useless. Then stopped.

Leaning back in the chair, which adjusted for her comfort, she allowed her eyes to linger on the factory-set pale blue screen of her computer. There had been a photo there once. She closed her eyes, just for a second. There was no point in feeling sorry for herself, but she wanted to take a moment to listen. She listened to the soft pad of footsteps walking across the shared office space upstairs, to the drone of traffic outside, the murmur of indistinct voices from the start-up across the hall, the whisper of warm water flowing through cold pipes. And her own breath, the only sound coming from her office as she drew air into her lungs and held it there, imagining the oxygen passing into her capillaries, travelling, eventually, to the left side of her heart.

Enough.

She pulled open the empty bag that she’d carried from home and stood up, shrugging the coat from her shoulders. Walking around the edges of the room she ripped the last of the brightly coloured posters off the cream walls. It didn’t take long.