However, they had managed to extend their communication methods to include picture messages. Brody had sent her a picture of a rocky tor bathed in dawn light only that morning. No words – they saved those for their late-night phone calls – but while the sun was up they sent each other pictures snapped with their phones, little snippets of their daily lives.

Brody often sent her images of beautiful sunrises and sunsets, misty moors, rabbits on his lawn. Anna was having to up her photography game quite a bit to make London seem as picturesque, but she was starting to get the hang of it, especially as Gabi had shared some tips about framing and lighting.

On the walk home from work, one day in early September, she stopped, noticing the way the early evening sun was highlighting the rough sandstone bricks of a converted warehouse. She zoomed in and took an angled, almost abstract picture of an area of light and shadow, including the corner of a cast-iron window. She shared the image with Brody instantly, hoping he would see the same stark beauty in the shapes.

When she reached home and collapsed onto her sofa, she checked her messages and was rewarded with a reply – a picture of a colourful pheasant in a leafy lane. She smiled as her stomach rumbled. What was she going to have for dinner? Pasta again? Or something from the selection of ready meals stacked up in her freezer? It was all she’d had the energy to cook for… well, years now, even though, once upon a time, she’d been a keen cook.

Salsa was providing some much-needed exercise in her routine, but it occurred to her that she’d feel even less sluggish if she started paying attention to the quality of what she was putting into her body too. Make the effort, Anna. Go on. A nice homemade Thai curry would be a good start. She hadn’t had one of those in ages.

Despite the fact she was tempted to lie down on the sofa and close her eyes, she pushed herself up and walked to the small supermarket a short distance away, grabbed a few items, and then headed back home, where she began assembling and preparing ingredients. She chopped a stick of lemongrass and added it to the finely sliced shallots that were sweating gently in a pan on her hob.

Just as she added a dollop of green curry paste, her phone rang. She turned the heat down and jogged back to the living room to fetch it, wooden spatula still in her other hand. It was her mum. At least she wanted to video call.

Her mother’s face appeared on the screen. ‘Hello, darling,’ she said, smiling.

Anna walked back to the kitchen and balanced her phone on the shelf to the left of the cooker hood so she could dump the chicken into the pan while she was talking. ‘Hi, Mum. What’s up?’

‘Nothing especially. I was just thinking about you. How are you doing?’