Naomi pulled her cardigan together as goosebumps rose on her skin. There was no turning back now. Tomorrow, a woman named Felicity Marshall would own the leasehold on her beloved flat. Naomi had left handwritten notes and Post-its explaining the apartment’s little quirks: how she’d have to lift the bathroom door to slide the stiff lock in the bolt. How old Mrs Gooch across the way had been getting tipsy every night since her husband died, and it would be good if Felicity would keep an eye out for her. She wrote of how the nearby city train had a regular rhythmic rumble, which was nice once you got accustomed to it. Then there was the list of recommendations of the best restaurants, coffee shops and bars. A lump rose to her throat as she recalled all her old haunts. She had been so impatient to leave this place – so why did she feel like she was rehoming her favourite pet?

She felt a dim sense of amazement as she came to terms with how much her life had changed over the last twelve months. But it came with some trepidation, and she flinched as Ed’s firm hands clamped down on her shoulders.

‘You’re all knots,’ he said, kneading her flesh. ‘I can book Sam to come around tonight, get a massage in before you leave.’

‘Thanks, hun, but I’m going to have an early night.’ Naomi winced as he hit a tender spot. ‘Big day tomorrow.’ Ed’s lifestyle was taking some getting used to, along with the privilege of having professionals on tap. She never asked her new husband how much money he earned; she didn’t need to when all the details were online.