Three chairs in pale leather circled a round table, each one a triumph of style over comfort. They were the kind that tipped you backwards when you sat down and always killed my spine. I perched on the end in a way that must have looked prim and weird and tried to ignore the thrum of anxiety that Todd’s strange expression was causing in my stomach.

‘Elliott,’ said Todd, much in the way of a man who is about to deliver difficult news. ‘We didn’t know that Anya was feeling up to coming in, so I’m a bit surprised to see you.’ We gawped at each other before he coughed into his closed fist, neatly, and continued. ‘We were very sorry to hear about your recent bereavement and had hoped to assure Anya that she could have longer off for compassionate leave, if needed.’

My heart was fluttering in my chest and I desperately wanted some water, partly to ease my suddenly parched throat, but partly also to give me something to do while my mind whirred and buzzed and attempted to come up with a coherent sentence.

Bereavement? What bereavement? Why on earth had Anya told her boss that? If I let on that I had no idea what he was talking about I was clearly going to get Anya into trouble.

Todd helped me out by filling the gap. But what he said turned the heat of my awkwardness into something that felt like a cold stone dropping into my guts.

‘… so if she needs another few days on top of the week she’s had, I’m sure we can get round her absence.’

A week. She hadn’t been to work for a week.

I forced words through lips that felt tight and dry. ‘Thanks, Todd, I really appreciate it. I think we got crossed wires this morning and maybe she wasn’t as up to coming in as she thought.’ The words felt like they were choking me.

We made our awkward goodbyes and I went back out into the bright sunshine. I didn’t notice a cyclist who was dismounting right next to me and almost walked into them, barely registering their complaints as I walked across the road.

I felt as though there might be eyes on me from the building I’d just left, so I hurried down a side street, jabbing at my phone and dialling my mysteriously disappeared, bereaved wife.

It went straight to voicemail and I swore viciously, making a woman passing me quicken her step.

‘Anya,’ I said, in a voice that trembled with anger. ‘What the fuck is going on? I went to surprise you at work and I hear you haven’t been in for a week. What the hell is this crap about a bereavement? Ring me back.’

I started walking, fast, not really paying attention to where I was going. My mind was turning over and over with the same questions.