When I get back to my desk I feel invigorated. The house viewings always leave me feeling this way, as though anything is possible. I have a list of emails to deal with but before I get down to work I type out a message to Connor.

Hi, baby, shall I meet you after work tonight?

He texts back within a few seconds.

Sorry, flat out here. Going to be another late one. See you when I get back.

The terseness of his message jars. I think back to the heady early days of our relationship, when he would text me numerous times a day, telling me how much he loved me and sending me links to songs that reminded him of me. But ever since the boxing match, something has shifted. Or had it shifted before then, and I just hadn’t noticed?

I text back.

No worries. I love you.

I place the phone on my desk and try to read through a press release that Claire, the new marketing assistant, has written but the words blur in front of me. I can’t concentrate. All the happiness I had felt after viewing the house has dissipated. I feel wretched and my eyes fill with tears.

‘Just popping out for some pastries. Can I get you anything?’

I look up and see Anne standing in the doorway. I quickly dab my eyes and flash her my best ‘everything’s fine’ smile.

‘Er, I’m good, thanks, Anne. I had a late lunch.’

‘Are you okay, Vanessa?’ she says, coming into my office and closing the door behind her. ‘You look upset.’

Then, noticing the document on my computer screen, she raises her eyebrows. ‘I see you got Claire’s press release,’ she says, sitting on the arm of the soft chair next to the window. ‘I got a copy this morning and couldn’t make head nor tail of it. She’s got great energy, Claire, but her communication skills require a little more work. Still, not bad enough to reduce you to tears. What is it, Vanessa? You can tell me.’

I look up at her and, to my shame, feel the tears start to stream down my cheeks.

‘Hey,’ she says, getting up from the chair and coming to me. ‘What is it, now? What’s made you so upset?’

‘You’ll think I’m stupid,’ I say, pulling out a tissue from the box on my desk and dabbing my eyes with it. ‘It’s ridiculous, really.’

‘Try me,’ says Anne, crouching on her haunches, her neat, blue-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose.

‘It’s … it’s just Connor,’ I say, trying to steady my voice.

‘Your boyfriend?’ says Anne, frowning. ‘What’s he done?’