Work hard, play hard, I begin. I figure I might as well go for it. Dance till I drop. Embrace love and life and all the world has to offer. Love thrills + excitement. Wind in my hair, sunshine, sand dunes, cocktails + rollercoaster rides. Seeking – Man who can dance w/me, not afraid to catch me + lols. Introduce yourself!

Mentally running through the new clothes I’ll need to purchase in order to dare venture into nightclubs, I upload the selfies I’ve taken, in which I actually look quite acceptable – sexy, even – with my fake tan, fake hair and face. Fake me, I think. It’s not really so hard to reinvent oneself. But I’m not trying to do that. I’m trying to find myself. I’m reassembling myself. Repackaging and presenting myself as a more attractive option than a boring wife and mother. Isn’t that what men want? What Jason is looking for? Obviously, I have to embellish a little. And when it comes to meeting men in the flesh? I’m an actress. It’s time I put my skills to the test.

I’m uploading the last photograph when John walks through my office door, almost giving me heart failure.

‘Karla…’ Trailing curious eyes over me, John looks surprised. ‘You look well.’

Hell. I cringe inside, realising it’s probably not a good idea to still be wearing the fake tan and false eyelashes when I’m supposed to have crawled here from my sickbed. ‘I thought I’d make a bit of an effort,’ I tell him, with a stoic smile. ‘If you look better, you feel better, that’s my motto.’

He nods, now looking taken aback, possibly because that last came out a little over-brightly and with no hint of the croaky voice I’d phoned in with yesterday. ‘It appears to be working,’ he says, smiling uncertainly. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but do you think we could have the post distributed any time soon? It’s just that I’m expecting tenders in for the maintenance contracts on the new-build site.’

‘Has it not been distributed?’ I glance around my office, where there is no sign of the post.

‘I don’t think it’s been brought up from the post room yet,’ he suggests hesitantly.

I look at him, flabbergasted. I know he’s the CE, but surely he could have fetched it himself, or organised someone else to. ‘Couldn’t someone have asked one of the admin assistants to go and collect it?’ I enquire, pushing my chair huffily back from my desk.

‘I left a note on Zoe’s desk.’ His response is almost apologetic. ‘I suspect she might have missed it.’