Molly speed-walked to South Kensington station, squeezed on with the mass of blank-faced morning commuters and stood sardine-like for the short journey to Hyde Park Corner. Her head was spinning with all she had to do and here she was, the day of the damn party and already running late.

2

The headquarters of Dawson Marketing, the prestigious company Molly had worked for since qualifying with a degree in marketing, was only a ten-minute walk from the station. Thanks to her senior position, she was paid extremely well, earned ridiculously large bonuses and, best of all, worked hours that suited her. Normally eight till four thirty, she had planned to leave at three today to organise the party but here she was, over an hour late.

The ten-minute walk she’d travelled every day for so long required no concentration, every corner and crossing taken automatically while her phone was glued to her ear, her focus on her plans rather than the journey. Conscious of her low battery, with a minimum of words, she confirmed the caterers and the delivery of six cases of their usual wine and arrived at the front door of her office building, already stressed.

Chatter floated around her as she took a packed lift to the fourth floor. Why had she agreed to a party? She could have proposed they go out to dinner, take over a club, something, anything that didn’t involve all this time and energy.

There were too many people in the lift, standing too close to her. A wave of heat rushed through her, colour flooding her cheeks, claustrophobia sending her heart pounding. She had to get out of the lift. Now. When it stopped at the first floor, she pushed through and out into the airier corridor. Luckily everyone was too concerned with the start of their own day to give her more than a surprised glance.

There was a stairway. It was cooler, quieter, she took the steps slowly, calming down, trying to relax. She knew damn well why she’d agreed to the party. A desperate desire to fill the house with noise and life, a determination to pack the void left by Freya and Remi’s departure with excitement and fun. Muttering to herself that she seemed to have missed out the fun part, she checked the time, swore softly and increased her pace.

By skipping a lunch break, she managed to catch up with what she needed to do and as her desk clock clicked slowly from 1459 to 1500 she switched off her computer, grabbed her bag and threw bye, have a nice weekend, see you Monday to her PA, the last couple of words trailing behind her as she hurried from the office.