“I meant that you don’t know what people are like at work,” I gabbled, cursing myself silently. “You must miss her.”

“She’s certainly left a gap,” said Frances, as she picked up her phone and punched numbers into it.

I found some space by a work surface at the back of the office that gave out on to the steps that led up to the garden. I began to add to the piles of paper I had created the previous day. I tried to avoid speaking for a while, worried I might give myself away again. I felt startled and shifty every time Frances called me Gwen. Couldn’t she tell that I was not a between-jobs Gwen but an out-of-control Ellie, that my black trousers, gray jersey and eyeliner were a feeble disguise? I kept expecting a stern hand to fall on my shoulder.

“How did you know Milena?” Frances asked me.

“Oh.” My mind raced. “I met her at a fund-raising event. For breast cancer,” I added. “It was boring and she was fun so we kept in touch. Vaguely. I can’t remember when I last saw her, though.” I glanced at Frances: she didn’t seem to find my words incredible.

“What do you do normally, Gwen?” she asked.

“I’m a math teacher at a comprehensive school.” So far so Gwen Abbott.

“No wonder you’re good at this kind of thing. But why did you leave?”

“I don’t know if I have left, not permanently. I’m taking a break. I like teaching but it’s so stressful.” Frances nodded sympathetically and I warmed to my theme, remembering things Gwen had said, TV documentaries I’d watched, and my own schooldays, when I’d hated math. “I teach in an inner-city school in . . .” Areas flashed through my mind and I seized on one that was far to the north but still in London. “Leytonstone. Half the kids don’t want to be there. Some hardly speak English and need much more support than they’re actually getting. Instead of teaching them, I try to keep order. I thought I’d take a few months out and think things over. If I’m going to make a change, it should be now. Maybe I’ll travel.”

“Lovely,” said Frances, staring at a brochure and frowning. “Where?”

“Peru,” I said. “Or I’ve always wanted to go to India.” Without warning, tears stung my eyes. Greg and I had talked about going to India together. I blinked furiously and pushed two receipts into the appropriate folder.

“Are you married?”

“No. I was with someone for a long time but it didn’t work out.” I gave a rueful shrug. “Between jobs and between relationships. So, you see, I have this rare moment of freedom.”

“No children yet?”