The Christmas work lunch is legendary, apparently. Everyone comes, and they hire a whole restaurant and take it over for the afternoon. But I’m just not in the mood. A waiter passes as I’m escaping to the bathroom, offering me some sort of twiddly-looking canapé. I shake my head and lock myself in the cubicle, sitting down on the top of the loo seat. Elton John’s playing through the speakers, and I listen as two of the women from editorial come in, chatting about an author they’ve had a nightmare time with. I sit, silent and patient, and they wash their hands, reapply their lipstick, and leave, still grumbling about how late he was delivering his last manuscript, and how it had screwed everything up for next spring.

Once I’m sure it’s quiet, I let myself out of the cubicle and wash my hands and face, looking at myself in the mirror. I look tired, and a bit miserable. It’s Christmas, I’m living in London, and this is everything I ever dreamed of. I think about this time last year and how I was giddy with excitement, wide-eyed, ready to soak it all up. Right now I’d like to just slink off somewhere on my own and have a rest. It’s probably just end-of-year tiredness, I tell myself, squaring my shoulders as I look at myself in the mirror. I add another layer of red lipstick as a protective barrier.

I make my way back downstairs and lean over the shoulder of Jav, who is wearing a purple Christmas crown.

‘I’m feeling a bit sick,’ I say, quietly. ‘I don’t want a massive fuss, so I’m just going to sneak off now before they do pudding. Will you let people know if they ask?’

She nods, waving the glass of Prosecco in her hand. ‘You sure you don’t just need another one of these?’

‘Definitely not.’ I shake my head.

As soon as I get outside into the fresh air I feel more human. I check the map on my phone to make sure I’m walking in the right direction, and decide I’ll set off home through Hyde Park.