Yet here I was, back so recently that I was still half out of my mind with jet lag, and James Caine was hot on my trail, hunting me down and refusing to get the message, for all the world as though it was impossible to amputate someone from your life if they refused to be cut.

It was the day after I got home and my first day back at work. My first coffee of the day was still steaming when my phone erupted into life and I knew, somewhere in my blood and bones, that I would not be allowed to walk away from what I had done.

A voice next to me was saying, ‘Not him … not him … not him …’

I ignored my phone, hoping it would go away, an inexplicable feeling of dread building. I was at my desk at Angel Eyes. My close friend and colleague, Mary, genius website designer turned dating guru, had her chair pulled up beside me as together we scrolled through the faces of smiling men, choosing next month’s male lead for our home page.

‘Not him … not him … oh, blimey, definitely not him!’ Mary said.

The phone stopped ringing and started beeping with the notification of a new message.

‘Not him,’ Mary said, laughing as she scrolled through the smiling men.

The story I always liked to tell was that my friend Ginger made my business happen. And in a way this was true enough. But if Ginger was the inspiration, then it was Mary who did all the heavy lifting. Mary created the Angel Eyes website, Mary got our subscription service up and running, Mary always made it look as if I knew what I was doing, when I really didn’t, not at the start. Mary never got the credit she deserved for Angel Eyes. Not from me – because she did not fit the story that I liked to tell – and not from the world at large. That framed magazine cover on the hallway wall of my home should, if there was any justice in the world, also feature Mary, who came to the photo shoot with me and who had had a facial and been to the hairdresser’s and bought a new dress from Zara, all in anticipation of having her photo taken. But the photographer did not want Mary in the picture because she is a strong, stocky, powerful-looking woman. Mary’s looks did not fit neatly into an article about finding love online. It was all a bit awkward. ‘You’re the babe,’ the photographer told me, with Mary standing right by my side, still glowing from her facial, but Mary took it with her usual jokey grace. ‘He’s right, Tara! You’re the babe!’ She has a lovely, impossibly sweet face but, quite frankly, there are weight issues. Even as we sat working out our lead man for next month, so soon after breakfast, Mary had an emergency almond croissant by her side.