But reading it back, remembering it all, was like picking at a scab. It started with that feeling, that delicious temptation, knowing there was something you wanted to do but shouldn’t. Oh, and then the moment came when you let your self-control crash and gave in to it. Bliss. Relief. Everything focused on that moment of instant gratification.

But it didn’t stay that way for long. The wound was open again, and it began to sting and seep. There was a price to be paid for that split-second of euphoria, and Anna paid it in full as she stared at the bright screen of her mobile, full of Spencer’s personality captured in letters and stupid little cartoon faces, and the ache deepened until it was almost unbearable.

But then an idea crept into her head, a magnetic tug pulling her to a destination she didn’t want to visit. To take her mind off it, she opened up the photos app on her phone and began scrolling back through the images of them together, lingering on them the way she’d wanted to at her mother-in-law’s the previous Sunday (it had been secondary school pictures that day: toothy smiles, trophies and too-big blazers), but eventually she reached the earliest ones, and as many times as she tried to swipe down to reveal more, the pictures bounced back up to the top of the screen, stubbornly refusing to do as she asked.

And the tugging towards that bad idea, that black hole, was still there in the background, whispering to her, hypnotizing her to the point where she numbly opened her contacts and found the favourites. Spencer’s name was at the top. She stared at it.

You said you wouldn’t do this again, that sensible little voice in her head whispered. You promised yourself that Valentine’s Day would be different from New Year’s Eve, but her finger pressed the screen while the inner voice was still talking, and the phone began dialling his number. Even though her heart was beating double-time, due to the memory of what had happened last time she’d done this, she held the phone up to her ear.

The ringing on the other end of the line stopped and she held her breath, waiting for what came next. However, instead of Spencer’s message, she heard a generic robotic voice instructing her to wait and speak after the tone.

How the heck had that happened? Had she been in such a flap last time that she’d managed to press the wrong button and delete his voicemail greeting? No, that wasn’t right. You could do that to your own message but not to someone else’s. It didn’t make sense.

She pressed the end call button in frustration. What had just happened? Had it been a wrong number? Seconds ticked by as she glared at her phone screen, holding her breath, and then she dialled again. This time there was no message at all.

The call connected.

‘Hello?’

Anna froze.

Was that him? It had only been one word. She couldn’t tell! She couldn’t think! Once upon a time, she’d been able to tell his voice from anyone else’s, and it cut her to the core that she’d lost that treasured skill and hadn’t even realized it.