‘I don’t need your promises,’ says Connor. ‘You keep on promising me you’ll change but it doesn’t happen. It just gets worse. What we need is solid action.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well,’ he says, taking a deep breath, ‘we start by acknowledging that you are seriously ill. I’ve been doing my research, and you’re displaying all the symptoms of a breakdown.’

I nod my head. Before last night I would have disagreed with him but the incident with Jackie was so out of character it had scared me. I am ill. I know that now.

‘You also need to inform work,’ says Connor, his tone brisk and businesslike. ‘I know you love your job but you’re not in any fit state to be working at the moment.’

I think back to yesterday, how I had completely forgotten about the Shades of Autumn launch, the feeling of disconnect I got every time I walked into the office. Maybe a break will be good. Then I can clear my head.

‘Okay,’ I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll hand in my notice.’

‘Good girl,’ says Connor, getting up and coming to sit beside me. ‘And then we will go to the GP together and get some help. You’re going to get better, Vanessa. It’ll take some time but I’ll be with you every step of the way. Okay?’

I nod my head. He pulls me towards him and as I sink into his arms I feel like I’m falling.

I arrive at my office with five minutes to spare. As I walk in all is as it should be – the wide reception desk flanked by two glass columns, the pink velvet sofa with rose-gold cushions, the gold-rimmed glass coffee table on which are piled design books and magazines next to a tall vase with pale-pink peonies poking out. All familiar and reassuring features I have barely noticed as I walked through each day for the last five years. This time, however, I note every detail and, though they haven’t changed, I have. What is more, I know as I walk towards my office that this will be the last time.

I see Anne before she sees me. She and the HR manager – a tall, pale, auburn-haired woman called Heidi Wilson – are standing in Anne’s glass-fronted office, their backs to the door.

I feel a pang of sadness as I knock on the glass and enter, remembering how Anne had taken a chance on me – a green, inexperienced young woman with only enthusiasm and half-formed ideas to offer – all those years ago. Now here I am, about to throw it all away. Still, I only have myself to blame.