I scroll through the listings, which are mostly mock-Tudor houses and penthouse apartments. Nothing catches my eye. I hear Connor go into the bathroom and I’m about to click off when I see a house so beautiful it takes my breath away. It’s described as an early Regency gem in the heart of Surrey. A red-brick building with a pillared porch and wisteria creeping round the door. Inside, it has retained its original features with stone floors throughout, sage-green panelled walls and a mulberry-painted music room complete with grand piano. To the rear is a sweeping terrace and, hidden away at the end of the grounds, a walled herb garden with a twisted willow pergola running down the middle.

It might be the wine but I decide to make an appointment to view the house. It is, of course, completely out of my budget, at £1.5 million, but I reason that if I go to see this house it will motivate me, give me a solid sense of what I can achieve if I carry on working hard. Also, I feel an urge to get out of London this weekend. Connor has forewarned me that he’ll be working most of it as he has the branding for a big sports campaign to finish by the end of next week.

I bring up the ‘Book an appointment’ box on the website and I’m about to enter my name when I stop myself. As this property is well out of my price range, it feels silly to use my real name to view it. It would make more sense to come up with a pseudonym. But who can I be? I go back into the kitchen and refill my wine. As I make my way back to the sofa I’ve already come up with a name.

‘Tabitha Richardson’, I type into the form. Just the sort of person who would view this kind of house. I am so absorbed with Tabitha that by the time Connor comes back into the room to tell me it’s time for bed, not only am I quite tipsy but I also have a fully formed backstory for Ms Richardson which sounds so plausible I almost believe it myself.

Two days later

Sitting on the 10.35 from Victoria to Epsom, I practise my introduction.

‘Hellay, sooo pleased to meet you,’ I drawl to myself as the train departs. ‘My name is Tabitha Richardson. I’m here to view the Regency house.’

I repeat the lines over and over, easing my tongue across the words until they become part of me. Then, as we head into open countryside, I smile. I am no longer Vanessa. I have become someone else.

I have become Tabitha.